her today? She needed to get a grip. That was ten years past, and this was now, and she was seeing the man tonight. She hadn’t told a soul about her plans for the evening.
“I’m seeing Brent tonight,” she blurted out, desperate to tell someone she could trust.
“You are? About the business deal? Or maybe about more,” her grandma said in a sly tone.
Shannon went with it, turning the moment playful. “Maybe more. We’ll see.”
“Some things are worth second chances.” Then her voice turned cold, as she held up a finger. “Other things—one must never grant a second chance.”
“I know, Nana. I know.”
Then the softness returned. “For what it’s worth, I always liked him,” her grandmother said.
“Liked who, Nana?” asked one of her brothers.
Shannon straightened her spine. Shit. Michael had just sauntered into the room with the toolbox, heading to the garage.
“Liked you, my love,” she said patting her eldest grandson on the cheek. “I’ve always liked you.”
Michael narrowed his eyes. “Hmmm. Doubtful,” he said skeptically, but continued into the garage.
Once he was out of sight, her grandma hugged her. “Some secrets are just between us girls.”
“Girl power,” she whispered, as her grandmother winked in response, then headed to her room to change out of her yoga clothes. Shannon turned the other direction to hang with her brothers in the backyard, passing Colin and her grandfather on their way into the house.
“Just going to make some more marinade,” Colin said. “My marinade rocks.”
“It’s not better than mine. We might need to have a taste test contest,” her grandfather chimed in, and Shannon smiled at their competitive ways, then joined Ryan by the grill. He pressed a spatula on top of a burger.
“Are you going to bring one home to Johnny Cash?” she said, asking about his dog.
“Of course. Nothing but the best for man’s best friend,” he said.
Like all her brothers, Ryan towered over her, but she was used to being surrounded by those sturdy men. Ryan’s brown hair looked lighter in the noonday sun, as if several strands were streaked with gold.
He flipped a burger. “You gonna eat today, Shannon bean?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Don’t give me a hard time just because I don’t eat like a grown man or a teenage boy,” she said, nudging him with her elbow. They’d always teased her because she’d never been a big eater. With a petite frame and a dream to dance, she’d never been a big foodie. Though, truth be told, she was saving her appetite for dinner. She wanted to enjoy that restaurant, especially since she didn’t usually splurge on meals.
She’d asked for the reservation partly because she knew Brent would be able to pull it off. He loved challenges, so she’d given him the kind he craved. The consummate man about town, he was known for greasing wheels and opening doors. Shannon knew her way around Vegas, but unlike Brent, she operated out of the limelight personally. Her dancers and her shows were the star. Not her. She prided herself on being able to walk around town, up and down the Strip, in and out of hotels and casinos without anyone recognizing her.
Ryan glanced carefully at the house. “Hey,” he said in a low voice. “Did you hear from Mom?”
She nodded. “Yeah. It’s the same old, same old.”
“But is it?” Ryan asked, holding up the barbecue tongs as if punctuating a point. “What if she’s right?”
Shannon sighed and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Ry, we can’t do this every single time she writes to us.”
“But what if she’s right that there were others involved?”
“Well, there were others involved. The other guy is also in prison because his fingerprints were all over the gun,” Shannon said. The details had been splashed across papers and the news at the time, and the specifics of how the local detectives had followed the trail of evidence to their mother was in black and white for anyone to find. She and Ryan had hashed this out a million times, and probably would a million more. It was an endless cycle with no answer, because the answer was this—the twenty-two-year-old Jerry Stefano, card-carrying member of the local gang the Royal Sinners, had pulled the trigger. Jerry Stefano had been in touch with Dora Prince many times, and was instructed to make the crime look like a robbery that had gone too far.
But the murder was never about the money in Thomas Paige’s wallet. Thomas Paige had a $500,000 life-insurance policy. Dora Prince was the