Protection Detail

“I date,” he insisted.

“Escorting a female work friend to the annual police officer’s ball does not constitute dating.” She straightened his red silk tie, an homage to the February 14 date that all the men in the bridal party except for the groom himself were wearing. “You’re a handsome man. You’re fit. You’re smart, a rock of dependability and caring. Maybe you could ease up on the whole alpha male of the pack thing you’ve got going on. But that’s SOP for any senior detective I know, and besides, you probably needed that to raise the four of us. You have a nice house and a good job consulting with KCPD. The right woman is out there waiting to snatch you up if you’d let her.”

Thomas laughed. “Let your old dad get through marrying off my baby girl today before you start matchmaking for me.”

“Old dad, nothing. You’re a catch.” Thomas gave her a stern look he couldn’t sustain in the glow of that bemused smile. “All right. I’ll allow you today.”

Thomas walked her to the foyer outside the church’s sanctuary. “Gabe makes you happy?”

“You know he does.”

“I’d be pitchin’ a fit if I thought you were marrying a man who didn’t love you as much as you love him.”

Olivia grinned. “You would not. You have never in your life pitched a fit.”

Thomas paused when they reached the center archway at the end of the long aisle, waiting for the music to change. He looked up the aisle as his youngest son, Keir, stepped into his place at the altar beside his firstborn, Duff, and his middle son, Niall. Being a single father hadn’t been easy. After Mary’s death, he’d needed the help of his father, Seamus, and the older woman he’d hired to run the household, Millie Leighter, to help him raise four kids.

Olivia had grown into a smart, courageous woman. And his boys, lined up as best man and groomsmen at the altar, had turned into three good men, three good cops—a streetwise detective who’d nearly given his life on one of his undercover assignments, a medical examiner with the crime lab with more brains than social acumen and a hotshot young detective who was probably going to be his boss at KCPD one day.

Thomas’s smile thinned. “I might pitch one now.” Even as adults his sons could sometimes become the Three Stooges. Duff and Keir were trading one-liners under their breaths, and Niall was caught in the middle, trying to shush them both. His middle son adjusted his glasses and said something to both his older and younger brothers that snapped them to attention. “Did you put Niall in charge of corralling Duff and Keir today?”

Olivia nodded. “You taught me to be prepared for any contingency. I figured Niall was the most reliable.”

“Smart girl.” Now that her older brothers had gotten a look at their baby sister in a wedding dress, their whole demeanor changed. Their fidgeting stopped, and Thomas saw the love and pride on their faces. Thomas was surprised to see he wasn’t the only Watson man struggling today. “Your oldest brother is crying.”

“Duff’s not as tough as he tries to be.”

“Neither am I.” As Niall slipped Duff a handkerchief, Thomas wiped away his own tear. “I love you, Olivia Mary. You know that?”

Olivia leaned against his shoulder for a moment. “I know, Dad. I love you, too.”

The organist in the balcony over their heads started the processional music and the guests filling the pews stood. Thomas pulled his shoulders back to attention, squeezing Olivia’s fingers where they rested on his arm. “Let’s do this.”

Thomas walked down the aisle, honoring his daughter and her marriage, ignoring the twinge of pain shooting through his stiff knee. Almost every bit of that leg had been blown out, torn up, scarred and rebuilt. He was lucky to still have his leg after that fiery wreck he and his partner, Al Junkert, had had in pursuit of a fugitive. That accident had taken him off the front line of law enforcement, but he’d eventually come back to earn his detective’s badge and lieutenant’s rank, working special cases and mentoring new detectives. So he was a veteran with a desk job, focusing on teaching and behind-the-scenes investigative duties now. He was still a proud man, and he’d be damned if he was going to limp down the aisle like some washed-up hero on this happy day.

When they reached the altar, Thomas winked at his future son-in-law, Gabriel Knight, and succinctly answered the minister’s question about giving his daughter away. He caught Olivia in a bear hug before stepping back, marveling again at how much she reminded him of Mary in both looks and personality. As she exchanged silent greetings with her big brothers, Thomas saw parts of his long-dead wife in each of his children—Duff’s strength of will and tender heart, Niall’s smarts, Keir’s gift of the Irish gab as well as Mary’s tenacity. He hoped they got some good stuff from him, too, and that he’d done right by them all.

Heading to his seat, Thomas traded a salute with Al, who sat a couple of rows back. Even after the accident that had taken their lives and careers down different paths, they’d remained good friends. He smiled at the silver-haired woman in the second pew. Millie Leighter was sniffling bravely into her lace hankie, losing the battle with her tears. As dear to him as a treasured aunt, Millie had been a godsend from the day he’d hired her to cook and clean and help him raise his children. Even with the kids grown and out of the house, she remained a vital part of the family. So when the next sniffle turned into a quiet sob, he leaned down and wrapped her plump frame up in a hug. Slipping her his own handkerchief, Thomas whispered, “You and I will both get through today okay. I promise.”

Millie’s tears turned into a sweet smile and she nodded. Thomas straightened and slipped into the first pew beside his father. Seamus Watson moved his cane to the other side and tapped Thomas’s leg. When he looked down, he saw his father was handing him his handkerchief. “You’re going to need one, too, son.”

Thomas arched his eyebrow, daring his father to be honest.

The white-haired man put up a hand in mock surrender, then reached inside his black jacket to pull out a second handkerchief. “I brought two.”

Thomas grinned as the minister spoke to Gabe. Yeah, they were all a bunch of tough guys.

They’d survived tragedy. Their hearts had mended. He couldn’t be prouder of following his father into a career at KCPD, or seeing his children follow him into the same job. Thomas’s family was happy. Secure. The guilt over Mary’s death was a little less sharp than it had once been, and he’d done right by her memory. He’d done right by them. Maybe Olivia had a point. Maybe it was time he stopped being a dad and a cop 24/7 and thought about finding that woman Olivia had mentioned. Man, wasn’t that a scary thought—putting himself back out there after all these years. He wasn’t even sure he knew how to be in a relationship anymore. Maybe he should just sit back and watch the ceremony, and be content surrounded by the love of his family.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Thomas smiled through teary eyes as the minister wrapped up the wedding vows.

“Love you,” Olivia whispered.

Gabe kissed her again. “Love you more.”

“I now present Mr. and Mrs. Gabriel Knight.”

* * *

THOMAS BEAMED FROM ear to ear as Gabe and Olivia walked past. He looked back toward the altar to watch Duff, Niall and Keir escort the maid of honor and bridesmaids to the center aisle. His smile vanished and his eyes narrowed when he saw their steps hesitate, saw their jaws go rigid, saw their gazes turn up to the balcony.

His own muscles clenched in that split second and he knew something was terribly wrong.

“Gun!” Niall shouted. His sons were already scrambling when Thomas heard the first shots. “Get down!”

The organ music clashed on a toxic chord and went silent.

Niall touched his arm and Thomas nodded that he was taking cover. Flying like shrapnel, wood splintered over his head as he ducked. A vase at the altar shattered. Explosions of marble dust filled the air.

Thomas’s entire world flashed between heartbeats.

Duff was pulling a gun from behind his back. “Everybody down!”

Keir was hugging his arms around Millie and his bridesmaid, tugging them down between the pews. “I’m calling SWAT.”

Gabe was shoving Olivia to the floor and shielding her with his body, even as his daughter tried to reverse positions to protect him.

Thomas hadn’t protected Mary all those years ago. He should have been the one at that convenience store when the bullets had taken down every customer and cashier in the building. He should have saved her.

People were shouting, ducking for cover, running to save loved ones, running toward the threat raining terror down on the guests in the sanctuary. His gun and badge were locked up at home. He was helpless to protect his children, to save his friends. Helpless to do anything but reach for his elderly father.

Blood spattered his cheek a split second before his father’s cane clattered against the marble tiles. Thomas caught Seamus as he fell, cradling him in his arms as he lowered his limp body to the floor.

“Niall!” He shouted for the closest doctor at hand. “Help me, son. Dad’s been shot.”

Chapter One (#ue3a99c30-2bd9-5a84-9216-5ad6a9cdade1)

September

If anyone had to suffer a stroke after a traumatic brain injury like being shot in the head, Thomas hoped he or she possessed the same stubborn cussedness Seamus Watson did. There were bound to be a lot of arguments, setbacks and hurt feelings along the road to recovery, but apparently, it was the only way to survive.

He just wished there weren’t so many casualties along the way.

Thomas looked from his father’s red face to Millie’s pale, gaping expression to the retreating backside of the young speech-therapy intern who was running out the door of the Saint Luke’s Hospital rehab center in tears. Although the young woman barely looked old enough to have graduated from high school, much less college, her youthful enthusiasm, pretty face and obvious competence hadn’t spared her from Seamus’s wrathful outburst at the end of a long afternoon of medical evaluations.

While he went down on his good knee to gather up the flash cards his father had knocked to the ground, Thomas spared a glance at the fourth person in the room, the private nurse he’d hired to aid in Seamus’s recovery, Jane Boyle. How was Battle-Ax Boyle, as his three sons had secretly nicknamed her, going to handle his father’s refusal to do the speech test since she was taking point on Seamus’s health and physical rehabilitation?