LITMIR.BIZ

      1

      One week ago…

      AS SHE SWUNG OPEN the carved oak door to the New York brownstone she shared with her husband and where she still tidied her three sons’ rooms daily even though they’d long ago left home, Sheila Steele felt the sticky summer heat gust inside, dislodging loose gray strands from her pinned-up hair. Anxiously smoothing them, in case this was another officer asking her to come to police headquarters to talk about her husband, Augustus’s, disappearance, she peered out, heart clutching.

      When she saw the man on the stoop, her heart sank. A lost tourist, she decided, taking in the khaki shorts, Hawaiian print shirt and shaggy blond hair. Dark blue eyes surveyed her from behind black-framed glasses, and a camera was slung around his neck. As a female New Yorker related to four cops, Sheila was safety conscious to a fault, and so, despite her husband’s disappearance, which was consuming her with worry, she was also regretting that she’d be unable to let this poor stranger inside to use the phone, if that’s what he wanted. He looked honest, like the kind of young man who’d get robbed on city streets if he wasn’t careful. “Can I help you?”

      He squinted. “Ma? It’s me, Rex.”

      Her lips parted in frank astonishment. “I didn’t even recognize my own son!” Underneath the disarming attire, her son Rex was as dark and swarthy as a pirate.

      “I came as soon as Sully called with the news about Pop.”

      Sheila pressed a hand to her heart as her middle child stepped into the foyer, giving her a hug and kissing her cheek. “Don’t feel bad about not recognizing me,” added Rex, who’d worked undercover for years. “Nobody does, you know. That’s the point.”

      Despite the circumstances of the meeting, Sheila leaned back to study the son who most shared her passions and temperament. “Hard to believe the tall, dark, handsome man I gave birth to is really under that costume somewhere.”

      “He is,” Rex assured. Without the wig, contact lenses and cheek pads, he had dark unruly hair and hazel eyes that shifted between shadowy, moody colors—gray, blue and green. His cheeks were shallow, his lips full, his body sculpted from the hours he spent in the precinct gym. “My big case broke yesterday,” he explained, “so I spent this morning riding the F train.” The Mr. Nice Guy outfit was designed to make him an appealing target for pickpockets who rode the subway, hoping to fleece tourists.

      Sheila managed a watery smile. Under other circumstances, she would have laughed. “My son,” she murmured. “The professional victim. How many times have you been robbed this morning, sweetie?”

      “Three,” Rex admitted. “But I arrested them all, Ma.”

      “Good for you.” She took a deep breath. “Well, c’mon inside. Everybody else is in the courtyard.”

      He followed her down a long hallway. “Everybody?”

      “Both your brothers. Sullivan got here first. And Truman brought the woman he’s been dating, Trudy Busey.”

      “The one I met the other day at lunch? From the New York News?”

      Sheila nodded. “Truman was with her at the newspaper when I called him.” Sheila grasped Rex’s hand for support. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

      “Pop’s gonna be fine,” he said, his voice reassuringly soft and yet grimly masculine, his eyes focused on the summery light at the end of the hallway. Through a screen door, riotous leaves sprawled in a courtyard garden that was one of Sheila’s passions.

      “I can’t imagine what’s happened to your father.” She sighed. “You were supposed to go on vacation tomorrow, right?”

      “To Seduction Island. Just off Long Island.”

      “That’s where the boat was anchored before it…”

      Exploded. Rex didn’t blame her for not wanting to voice the word. “Pop knew I was going there as soon as my case broke.”

      “Maybe he wanted to meet you there,” she probed, her voice catching. “Are you sure he didn’t tell you why he was going there? Or who he was going with? Did he say anything about what he’s involved in?”

      “Nothing.” Augustus Steele had begun his career as a beat cop in Hell’s Kitchen, graduated to arresting gangs in Chinatown, then landed a job in administration at Police Plaza. Since he no longer worked cases, no one knew how he could have wound up aboard a boat that exploded near Seduction Island, New York. Or where he’d gone afterward. If he lived. Rex pushed aside the thought.

      “If he needed help,” Rex murmured, trying to ignore how much it hurt to admit it, “Pop would have gone to Truman or Sully. You know that, Ma.” In the deepening warmth of her gaze, Rex felt her quiet understanding. He and his father had never really bonded. “I’ll do whatever I can,” he continued. “This is Pop we’re talking about. Starting tomorrow, I’ve got a month off.”

      Dismay was in her voice. “But your vacation…” She knew Rex lived for the times when he fled to unknown beaches, often registering in hotels under assumed names so no one but her could find him. For one month a year, he pursued interests unlike those of his father, brothers and many Manhattan law enforcement officers—reading, writing, painting and cooking. Hobbies he loved, but that, in the Steele household, had often gotten him pegged as a sissy by his father. Not that his dad didn’t love him, but Augustus had strict ideas about what constituted manhood, none of which involved interests in the arts.

      “My vacation doesn’t matter,” Rex replied, wishing he could take the uncertainty from his mother’s eyes. “Family first,” he assured. “C’mon. Let’s see what Sully’s found out.”

      It wasn’t good, Rex realized, after seating his mother and himself at a round table shaded by a leafy oak. He glanced at Truman, who’d come in his uniform, then at their oldest, suit-clad brother, Sullivan, who was captain of the precinct nearest the house. Both brothers, with their light brown hair and whiskey eyes, were the spitting image of Augustus. Rex looked like Sheila. Her hair had been as dark as his before it turned gray.

      “My boss Dimi’s refusing to run the article I’ve been writing about your family and the NYPD,” Trudy was saying, her blue eyes snapping with indignation, her straw-blond hair blowing across her cheeks with the breeze. “It was supposed to be in tomorrow’s News, but Dimi won’t publish anything until he’s sure Mr. Steele’s done nothing wrong.” She groaned in frustration. “I can’t believe this! Now, more than ever, your names should be in the paper! We need to figure out what’s happened!”

      Rex squinted at his brother’s girlfriend, who was a reporter. Along with the news about Augustus, Rex had been apprised that Trudy and Truman had just cracked what the tabloids had dubbed the Glass Slipper Case. Judging from the light in Trudy’s eyes when she glanced at

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