“I saw you talking to a woman. Did Gram send her over?”
“No.”
“You scare her off with your brooding Heathcliff imitation?”
“No, she had to work. She’s the florist who supplied the flowers for the wedding.”
“Huh. Nice job.”
“Since when do you notice flowers?”
“Since I’m trying to be evolved.” Derrick looked to the closest table where Kady had left an arrangement. “Hey, these are pretty.”
Dylan laughed. “Evolved, hmm?”
“Complaints from the last two women I dated.”
“And you’re listening to their suggestions? After they dumped you? I’m impressed.”
Derrick shrugged his shoulders as if brushing off Dylan’s jab. “So how are you doing? Leg okay?”
At the mention of his injury, Dylan reached down and rubbed the back of his thigh where the exit wound still seemed raw. The gunshot damage had taken longer to heal than he’d hoped. On the bullet’s journey through his thigh, it nicked the femur and splintered the bone. Multiple surgeries removed the fragments. Repairing structural damage had laid him up. Not that he was complaining. If the bullet had hit his femoral artery, it would have been lights out. Physical therapy had finished two weeks ago, but the ache still haunted him.
Besides the physical pain, there was the emotional as well. A constant reminder of whom he’d lost. A partner and a good friend. The grim reality Kady had eclipsed a few minutes ago returned with a vengeance. The constant enemy who never left his soul.
“I’m fine.”
“Not true. I saw you favoring your leg when we walked into the hotel. Too much activity today?”
“Since when is sitting at the beach and walking into a building too much activity?”
“When you’re recovering from a gunshot wound.”
“I’m fine,” he repeated through clenched teeth.
Derrick held his hand up in defense. “Hey, man. If you say so.”
He wasn’t fine. Not by a long shot. But he wouldn’t burden Derrick, or his other brothers, and especially not his mother, with his problems. The burden and the guilt were his and his alone to carry.
When Dylan started as a special agent for the DEA ten years ago, he’d gotten into a few tight spots. Some moments had even been dangerous, since he went after guys who would rather shoot first and run later. He was relentless when pursuing dealers who put drugs on the streets. His good fortune finally came to an end when he ticked off the wrong guy.
He and his partner, Eddie, had spent many months in Miami planning to cut off the pipeline of a major dealer who didn’t appreciate them gumming up his operation. Esposa was an especially tenacious criminal, moving operations whenever he and Eddie got a lead on his location. They’d played cat and mouse for so long, Dylan wasn’t sure if he’d ever arrest this guy. He made headway by securing an informant within Esposa’s organization. Every time the creep turned around, Dylan was right on him. But with that success, Dylan had made an enemy—an enemy who wanted him out of the picture permanently. Here Dylan was still breathing, while Eddie’s wife and son grieved the man they’d loved.
Six months. Six long, hard months recovering from the wound. He had survived. Eddie had taken a fatal bullet. The shot meant for Dylan. Nothing could make him forget that fact. And nothing would stop him until the shooter paid.
Except that he was on desk duty at the division office for the foreseeable future. He was only thirty-five. Was his career over?
His jaw tensed as he thought about his fate, when his brother interrupted.
“Heads up, bro. I overheard Mom talking to Aunt Betty.”
Derrick stared at Dylan, waiting. His brother loved to draw out a moment.
“And?”
“The florist convention is next week.”
Dread immediately gripped Dylan. “How did we not know this?”
“Because Mom lulled us into a false sense of complacency. Since she hasn’t mentioned it, our guards were down,” Derrick replied. “She’s sneaky like that.”
Jasmine Matthews loved her boys. Enough to guilt or con them into doing her bidding and not feeling the least bit of remorse.
“To make matters worse, the convention is at this very hotel. I’m sure her evil plan is to get one of us to agree to stay since we already have rooms here.”
For a man who didn’t panic over much, Dylan’s fight-or-flight response kicked in. “We gotta get out of this.”
Every year since their father died, their mother guilted her sons into attending the convention with her. Since she usually won some award, she claimed she needed a date to the banquet. Dylan had lucked out of this duty for five years now, but he was on borrowed time.
Belatedly he understood why his mother hadn’t made a fuss about not supplying the flowers for his cousin’s wedding. For the most part, she created arrangements for all the family affairs. He assumed she hadn’t done so this time because of the distance, since she lived in Cocoa Beach, on the other side of the state from Cypress Pointe. Although a very capable woman, she would have had to work with a local florist due to the logistics of the ceremony and reception. Now he realized she had a much greater goal in mind.
Derrick shook his head. “Too late. Mom wants all of us to stop by her room after the reception.”
Dylan closed his eyes. His thigh began to burn.
“Flip you for it?” Derrick said.
His eyes flew open. “No way. You cheat.”
Derrick’s fake offense was funny. “Hey.”
“I saw the double-sided coin last time.”
His brother sent him a sheepish smile. “You can’t blame me.”
“Deke does. He got stuck going with Mom.”
“Guess that explains why he punches me in the arm every time he sees me.”
“You deserve it.” He leveled his brother with his meanest special-agent glare. “We’ll check the coin before we toss it.”
“Spoilsport,” Derrick grumbled. “I don’t want to lose.”
“None of us do, bro.”
KADY PARKED THE van in the alley behind the shop and hurried inside. A smile still remained on her lips. Meeting Dylan had been a pleasant surprise. His cologne lingered in
