A Beautiful Funeral (The Maddox Brothers #5) - Jamie McGuire Page 0,20

goes along with our theme of naming the kids after us … sort of. James after your dad. Jessica after me … ish.”

Jessica James was the name on Abby’s fake ID. It was how she got into bars when we were freshman, but more importantly, how she gambled in Vegas. I remembered watching her in awe as she went head to head with gambling legends, hustling them for thousands, all to save her dad from being killed over an unpaid debt to Benny Carlisi. That trip to Vegas, fighting for the balance of what Abby didn’t make, and the fire at Keaton Hall was the cosmic trifecta that landed us in our present situation. I was investigated for my involvement in a fire that had broken out on campus, resulting in the deaths of dozens of my classmates, and my brother just happened to be investigating Benny. When he learned my girlfriend was the daughter of a washed-up Vegas gambler who had ties to the Carlisi family, I was brought into the federal fold in exchange for immunity from prosecution for the fire.

I was relieved that when Abby had figured out I’d been drafted into the FBI for most of our marriage and had lied to her about it, she’d helped me bring the Carlisi case closer to a conclusion instead of leaving me. I was able to hand over years of bank account statements, emails, letters, and text messages Abby had gathered by hacking into her father’s email account and phone, all tying Carlisi members to various felonious crimes.

Abby thought that would mean I’d be home more. Instead, the Bureau was going a hundred miles per hour trying to close the case. Now that Benny was dead and they were hell-bent on vengeance, we were all racing against the clock.

Abby smiled, resting her head against the couch cushions. Her hair was shorter than it was in college. Her caramel locks now just grazed her shoulders. She combed back what she called side-swept bangs with her fingers, but they fell right back into her eye. Abby would turn thirty in September. As wise as she was at nineteen, she was nearly clairvoyant now. I was sure that only made her more dangerous, but she was on my side—thank Christ. Her gentle curves filled her maternity jeans, her cleavage bursting from her bright tank top, and I chuckled thinking about how many times I’d begged her to have another baby—shamelessly enjoying the changes her body went through to carry our sons and daughter.

“What?” she said, catching me staring at her tits … again. Would I ever grow up? If it meant I had to stop appreciating how sexy my wife was, I hoped not.

I cleared my throat. “I’d like to meet Liis at the airport, but”—I looked at my watch—“you’ll be leaving soon to pick up the kids.”

“You should go.” She sighed, struggling to lift her chest to get a full breath.

“No,” I said, shaking my head.

“I can get the kids from school,” she said. “Wren is here. He can drive us if you’re nervous.”

I frowned. “This needs to be over.”

“And it will be,” Abby said, standing. She walked over to me, sliding her hands under my biceps and locking them at the small of my back. She had to bend over slightly to nuzzle her head under my chin, pressing her cheek against my chest, but even her sweet touch couldn’t cheer me up. We both knew the end of one case only meant the start of another. Abby was responsible for the break in her father’s case. Mick Abernathy was a washed-up gambler who had an in with the Vegas mob. She had found out I was working for the Bureau and only wanted to help end a case that kept me away too much. Since handing over information that would put her father and the underboss away, she was asked to be an occasional consultant for the FBI. They were still waiting for her answer, and so was I.

Her tip had allowed me to climb the ranks quickly. No legal employment in Eakins would pay what I was making with the Bureau. If Abby took the consultant job, she would be able to stay at home with the kids. Either way, we’d made a good life here.

“Dad is excited,” Abby said, “to see Stella.”

“It never gets old, I guess. No matter how many kids his sons keep spitting out, there’s nothing like holdin’ a grandbaby for the first