Apb: Baby

And then Olivia and their father, Thomas Watson, appeared in the archway at the end of the aisle. A fist of rare sentimentality squeezed around Niall’s heart.

His father was a relatively tall, stocky man. His black tuxedo and red vest and tie—an homage to the date, February 14—matched Niall’s own attire. Niall knew a familiar moment of pride and respect as his father limped down the aisle, his shoulders erect despite the injury that had ended his career at KCPD at far too young an age. Other than the peppering of gray in Thomas’s dark brown hair, Niall saw the same face when he looked into the mirror every morning.

But that wasn’t what had him nodding his head in admiration.

His sister, that tough tomboy turned top-notch detective, the girl who’d never let three older brothers get the best of her, had grown up. Draped in ivory and sparkles, her face framed by the Irish lace veil handed down through their mother’s side of the family, Olivia Watson was a beauty. Dark hair, blue eyes like his. But feminine, radiant. Her gaze locked on to Gabe at the altar, and she smiled. Niall hadn’t seen a glimpse of his mother like that in twenty years.

“Dude,” Duff muttered. He nudged the groom beside him. “Gabe, you are one lucky son of a—”

“Duff.” Niall remembered his charge at the last moment and stopped his older brother from swearing in church.

Gabe sounded a bit awestruck himself as Olivia walked down the aisle. “I know.”

“You’d better treat her right,” Duff growled on a whisper.

Niall watched his brother’s shoulders puff up. “We’ve already had this conversation, Duff. I’m convinced he loves her.”

Gabe never took his eyes off Olivia as he inclined his head to whisper, “He does.”

Keir, of course, wasn’t about to be left out of the hushed conversation. “Anyway, Liv’s made her choice. You think any one of us could change her mind? I’d be scared to try.”

The minister hushed the lot of them as father and bride approached.

“Ah, hell,” Duff muttered, looking up at the ceiling. He blinked rapidly, pinching his nose. The big guy was tearing up. “This is not happening to me.”

“She looks the way I remember Mom,” Keir said in a curiously soft voice.

Finally, the gravity of the day was sinking in and their focus was where it should be. Niall tapped Duff’s elbow. “Do you have a handkerchief?”

“The rings are tied up in it.”

“Here.” Niall slipped his own white handkerchief to Duff, who quickly dabbed at his face. He nodded what passed for a thank-you and stuffed the cotton square into his pocket, steeling his jaw against the flare of emotion.

When Olivia arrived at the altar, she kissed their father, catching him in a tight hug before smiling at all three brothers. Duff sniffled again. Keir gave her a thumbs-up. Niall nodded approvingly. Olivia handed her bouquet off to her matron of honor, Ginny Rafferty-Taylor, and took Gabe’s hand to face the minister.

The rest of the ceremony continued with everyone on their best behavior until the minister pronounced Gabe and Olivia husband and wife and announced, “You may now kiss the bride.”

“Love you,” Olivia whispered.

Gabe kissed her again. “Love you more.”

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

Niall pondered the pomp and circumstance of this particular Valentine’s Day as the guests applauded and the recessional music started. Logically, he knew the words Liv and Gabe had spoken and what they meant. But a part of him struggled to comprehend exactly how this sappy sort of pageantry equated to happiness and lifelong devotion. It was all a bit wearing, really. But if this was what Olivia wanted, he’d support her wholeheartedly and do whatever was necessary to make it happen.

Following Duff to the center of the aisle, Niall extended his arm to escort bridesmaid Katie Rinaldi down the marble steps. Despite his red-rimmed eyes, Thomas Watson smiled at each of his children. Niall smiled back.

Until he caught the glimpse of movement in the balcony at the back of the church. A figure in black emerged from the shadows beside a carved limestone buttress framing a row of organ pipes.

In a nanosecond frozen in time, a dozen observations blipped through Niall’s mind. The organist played away upstairs, unaware of the intruder only a few yards from his position. The figure wore a ski mask and a long black coat. Clearly not a guest. Not church staff. The pews were filled with almost two hundred potential targets, many of them off-duty and retired police officers. His new brother-in-law had made more enemies than friends with his cutting-edge editorials. What did he want? Why was he here? Didn’t have to be a cop hater with some kind of vendetta. Could be some crazy with nothing more in mind than making a deadly statement about a lost love or perceived injustice or mental illness.

The gleam of polished wood reflected the colored light streaming in through the balcony’s stained-glass windows as the shooter pulled a rifle from his long cloak. Mauser hunting rifle. Five eight-millimeter rounds. He carried a second weapon, a semiautomatic pistol, strapped to his belt. That was enough firepower to do plenty of damage. Enough to kill far too many people.

Time righted itself as the analytical part of Niall’s brain shut down and the years of training as a cop and medical officer kicked in. Move! Niall shoved Katie to one side and reached for his father as the shooter took aim.

“Gun!” he shouted, pointing to the balcony as his fingers closed around the sleeve of Thomas Watson’s jacket. “Get down!”

The slap, slap, slap of gunshots exploded through the church. The organ music clashed on a toxic chord and went silent. Wood splintered and flew like shrapnel. A vase at the altar shattered. Flower petals and explosions of marble dust rained in the air.

“Everybody down!” Duff ordered, drawing the pistol from the small of his back. He dropped to one knee on the opposite side of the aisle and raised his weapon. “Drop it!”

“I’m calling SWAT.” Keir ducked between two pews, pulling his phone from his jacket as he hugged his arms around Natalie Fensom and Millie Leighter.

Niall saw Gabe Knight slam his arms around Liv and pull her to the marble floor beneath his body. Guests shouted names of loved ones. A child cried out in fear, and a mother hastened to comfort him. Warnings not to panic, not to run, blended together with the screams and tromping footfalls of people doing just that.

“I’ve got no shot,” Duff yelled, pushing to a crouching position as the shooter dropped his spent rifle and pulled his pistol. Niall heard Keir’s succinct voice reporting to dispatch. With a nod from Katie that she was all right and assurance that her husband was circling around the outside aisle to get to her, Niall climbed to his knees to assess the casualties. He caught a glimpse of Duff and a couple of other officers zigzagging down the aisle through the next hail of bullets and charging out the back of the sanctuary. “Get down and stay put!”

Niall squeezed his father’s arm. He was okay. He glanced back at the minister crouched behind the pulpit. He hadn’t been hit, either. The man in the balcony shouted no manifesto, made no threat. He emptied his gun into the sanctuary, grabbed his rifle and scrambled up the stairs toward the balcony exit. He was making a lot of noise and doing a lot of damage and generating a lot of terror. But despite the chaos, he wasn’t hitting anyone. What kind of maniac set off this degree of panic without having a specific—

“Niall!” His grandfather’s cane clattered against the marble tiles. Niall was already peeling off his jacket and wadding it up to use as a compress as Thomas Watson cradled the eighty-year-old man in his arms and gently lowered him to the floor. “Help me, son. Dad’s been shot.”

Chapter One (#ulink_08caa858-b294-5a9a-b373-fc079acb3d69)

Niall stepped off the elevator in his condominium building to the sound of a baby crying.

His dragging feet halted as the doors closed behind him, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled a deep, weary breath, pulled the phone from his ear and checked his watch. Two in the morning.

Great. Just great. He had nothing against babies—he knew many of them grew into very fine adults. But he’d been awake going on twenty hours now, had been debriefed six ways to Sunday by cops and family and medical staff alike, hadn’t even had a chance to change his ruined fancy clothes, and was already feeling sleep deprived by switching off his typical nocturnal work schedule to be there for Liv’s wedding. No way was he going to catch a couple hours of much-needed shut-eye before he headed back to the hospital later this morning.

He put the phone back to his ear and finished the conversation with Duff. “You know we can’t investigate this shooting personally. There’s a huge conflict of interest since the victim is family.”

“Then I’m going to find out which detectives caught the case and make sure they keep us in the loop.”

“You do that. And I’ll keep track of any evidence that comes through the lab.”

“We’ll find this guy.” Duff’s pronouncement was certain. “Get some sleep, Niall.”

“You, too.” Niall disconnected the call, knowing he couldn’t comply with his older brother’s directive.

But it wasn’t the pitiful noise of the infant’s wails, nor the decibel level of distress that solid walls could only mute, that would keep him awake.

His brain’s refusal to let a question go unanswered was going to prevent his thoughts from quieting until he could solve the mystery of where that crying baby had come from and to whom the child belonged. As if the events of the day—with his grandfather lying in intensive care and an unidentified shooter on the loose in Kansas City—weren’t enough to keep him from sleeping, now a desperately unhappy infant and Niall’s own curiosity over the unexpected sound were probably going to eat up whatever downtime he had left tonight. Cursing that intellectual compulsion, Niall rolled his kinked-up neck muscles and started down the hallway.

Considering three of the six condos on this floor were empty, a retired couple in their seventies lived in one at the far end of the hall and Lucy McKane, who lived across the hall from his place, was a single like himself, the crying baby posed a definite mystery. Perhaps the Logans were babysitting one of the many grandchildren they liked to talk about. Either that or Lucy McKane had company tonight. Could she be watching a friend’s child? Dating a single dad who’d brought along a young chaperone? Letting a well-kept secret finally reveal itself?

Although they’d shared several early-morning and late-night chats, he and Lucy had never gotten much beyond introductions and polite conversations about the weather and brands of detergent. Just because he hadn’t seen a ring on her finger didn’t mean she wasn’t attached to someone. And even though he struggled with interpersonal relationships, he wasn’t so clueless as to think she had to be married or seeing someone in order to get pregnant.

So the crying baby was most likely hers.