Apb: Baby. Julie Miller

the only woman in the tight-knit Watson family since their mother’s murder when Niall had barely been a teen. But there was no question that Liv ran the show. Despite Duff’s tough-guy grousing or Keir’s clever charm or Niall’s own reserved, logical prowess, Olivia Mary Watson—soon to be Olivia Knight—had each of them, including their widowed father and grandfather, wrapped around her pretty little finger. If she asked Niall to keep their headstrong Irish family in line today, then he would do exactly that.

      With Keir set for the moment, Niall angled his position toward the groom and best man Duff. He didn’t need to adjust his glasses to see the bulge at the small of Duff’s back beneath the tailored black jacket. Niall’s nostrils flared with a patience-inducing breath before he whispered, “Seriously? Are you packing today?”

      Duff’s overbuilt shoulders shifted as he turned to whisper a response. “Hey. You wear your glasses every day, Poindexter. I wear my gun.”

      “I wasn’t aware that you knew what the term Poindexter meant.”

      “I’m smarter than I look” was Duff’s terse response.

      Keir chuckled. “He’d have to be.”

      Duff’s muscular shoulders shifted. “So help me, baby brother, if you give me any grief today, I will lay you out flat.”

      “Zip it. Both of you.” Niall knew that he was quickly losing control of his two charges. He scowled at Keir. “You, mind your manners.” When Duff went after the collar hugging his muscular neck again, Niall leaned in. “And you stop fidgeting like a little kid.”

      A curious look from the minister waiting behind them quieted all three brothers for the moment. With everything ready for their sister’s walk down the aisle, the processional music started. Niall scanned the rest of the crowd as they rose to their feet. Their grandfather Seamus Watson hooked his cane over the railing as he stood in the front row. He winked one blue eye at Niall before pulling out his handkerchief and turning toward the aisle to dab at the tears he didn’t want anybody to see.

      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