"Then play against my father. You'll be his favorite person at the party when he soundly kicks your ass." She pointed across the lawn and caught sight of Tyler's older brother, Carson. "Play with my nephew. He's already half in love with you over the zombies. He also sucks at the game, so you won't look quite as bad."

"Way to stroke my ego."

She moved back into his orbit, well aware the heat she saw in his gaze was a pure reflection of what lived in hers. "I stroked quite a few things earlier, as I recall. Best I could tell, your ego's just fine."

"So it is."

He planted one last kiss on her before strolling in the direction of the game.

"Dad's going to kick his ass."

Daphne smiled at Cade from where he'd materialized out of the back door that led to the kitchen. "That's the whole idea."

"He'll be Pop's favorite."

"I know."

"You're a piece of work, Daph."

Daphne opted to take that as a compliment and used the sweet moment of sibling affection to push her other agenda for the afternoon. "You've been kind to me, so I won't call you what I'd really love to call you."

"Which is what?"

"A horse's ass."

"What?" The sheer offense on her brother's face was immensely satisfying, and Daphne used his momentary loss of words to her advantage.

"Jasmine has been here for almost two hours-looking amazing, I might add-and you've ignored her."

"I didn't ignore her."

"Yeah, you did."

When Cade didn't offer up any additional protests, Daphne pressed on. "You should ask her out."

"No."

"Oh, come on, Cade. What's wrong with you? She's great. You're great. I think you'd be great together."

"Sweet fucking Christ, Daphne. Leave it alone, will you?"

The outburst was so sudden-and so unexpected from her normally affable brother-that Daphne immediately stepped aside. "I'm sorry."

"Fine. It's fine."

"No, Cade." Daphne laid a hand on his arm, but he shook it off. He turned and had almost walked away when he seemed to think better of it.

"I apologize for my outburst."

"No, Cade, it's on me. Look, I really am sorry."

The stiff set of his shoulders telegraphed far more than anger. In that unyielding frame, she saw something she'd never noticed before.

Sadness.

"I get it. She's your best friend and you love her. We all do. But you just need to leave that one alone, okay? Third rail, ya know?"

"Sure. Okay." She nodded. "Right."

Third rail.

Whatever the hell that meant.

Daphne wended her way through the backyard, her gaze unfocused as she maneuvered through people. She waved and engaged in meaningless small talk, continually excusing herself by claiming she was on an errand for her mother.

And it was only once she was inside the house, her gazed focused on stirring the fresh pot of meatballs her mother had warming, that Daphne gave in to the questions.

What was up with her brother and Jaz? The way Jaz told it a few weeks before, Cade wanted nothing romantic to do with her.

Had something changed? Or had something happened well before that to create whatever tension was between them?

And what the hell was his "third rail" comment all about?

"Heavy thoughts for a party." Her mother picked up a potholder and pointed toward the meatball pot. "Hold it still."

Daphne took the proffered potholder and did as she was asked. "Thanks."

"Why are you hiding in here, leaving your young man to fend for himself?"

"I'm just helping. Landon went off to play bocci as Carson's partner. I thought you could use a hand in here."

"Lord help him." Giavanna shook her head. "That child can't throw in a straight line no matter how many times his Poppy takes him in the backyard to practice."

"From the sounds of it, Landon can't, either."

"Oh. Well then, I guess that's okay."

Daphne took the slotted spoon her mother handed over and began ladling out a fresh batch of meatballs into a nearby bowl. "Landon's a fan of your cooking."

"That's because he has taste. He's dating my daughter. He likes my cooking. And he's going to let your father win in a game that your brothers usually play to the death. In my day, we called that a catch."

"In my day we call that someone we'd like to make a life with."

Giavanna chuckled at that and hip bumped her daughter as she moved a fresh pot from the fridge onto the stove. "Does that mean you got him to open up a bit?"

Daphne was momentarily stymied but had enough presence of mind to keep it out of her voice. "About what?"

"His life. His past. He had a time of it as a kid. It's important to understand that."

"Why?"

Her mother stilled, obviously sensing she'd hit a nerve. The gentle probing shifted to deliberate instruction. "You can't hide these things or pretend they don't matter."

"I'm not suggesting either of those things. What I am suggesting is that Landon has a right to his privacy."

"Privacy over matters that changed the course of his life? Because if this relationship is headed where it appears to be, you'll be the one sharing that life."

"It's fine, Mom." Daphne kept her eyes averted, making a show of moving the meatballs to the counter nearest the door. "We talk."

"Do you?"

Although Daphne attributed a considerable amount of her skills as a cop to the legacy of police work in her family, she'd always believed her intuition came straight down the genes from Giavanna Rossi.

The woman could discern a hint of omission faster than a lion scenting prey.

Turning from the counter, she gave Giavanna her full attention. "We're good, Mom."

"You have a right to know him, Daphne. You earned that right the moment you gave him your heart."

The immediate urge to fight rose up inside of her and Daphne swatted at it, unwilling to be baited over something so important. She'd done that long enough. With her job. With the oppression of her brothers and their constant need to be up in her business.

With her life.

Daphne, why move out to a place of your own? There's plenty of room here.

Daphne, why did you let that Mike go? He was such a good guy. Why was that detective's test so important to you?

Daphne, why would you want to put yourself in the line of fire? Leave the terrorism task force to others.

In those instances, and a million other ways, she'd listened, bore up through the endless harangues, and then went on to do whatever the hell she wanted to do.

But not now.

Landon wasn't a job. Nor was he a family disagreement.

He was the man she loved.

"You're absolutely right. I do have a right to know him. To know what drives him. What fulfills him. What has made him the man he is."

The stubborn fight in her mother's eyes calmed, her head nodding. "Yes, exactly."

"And what if he can't give that to me? What if he can't even give it to himself?"

"The man has baggage, Daphne. When horrible, terrible things are wrought on a child, they leave a mark."

"What sorts of things?" Daphne stilled. "Do you know something?"

"No."

Scenting an omission herself, Daphne moved closer to her mother, willing her to share what she knew. "You do know something."

"I know rumors. Stories. Nothing more."

"Stories about Landon?"

"Stories about his mother. I remember that little boy who went to school with Rory. The days he'd walk into school, his head bent to the ground. The clothes that never fit, and the sad look that lived in his eyes. I remember him."

Daphne saw the picture her mother painted, as clear as a summer day and as dark as a sky about to open with a winter storm. "You remember him then?"

"Of course. You don't forget those things."

"Yet you haven't said anything."

"You haven't wanted me to say anything. You've shut me out of this, Daphne." Her mother returned her focus to the stove. "Perhaps you should ask yourself why."

Daphne walked back to the door and picked up the big bowl of food that was needed outside. "Maybe you should ask yourself the same thing."

Landon wrapped an arm around Daphne's shoulders, the view of the fireworks going off in Overlook Park close enough for them to see from the Rossis' backyard. She leaned in close against him, but there was a stiffness to her body he hadn't felt before.

"You okay? I barely saw you all afternoon."

"You mean after you showed your prowess with bocci?"

He couldn't hold back the laugh at that. Between him and her nephew, they'd barely managed any points, but he'd had fun-and he was pretty sure he'd passed some sort of test with Papa Rossi.

While not his intention in playing the game, it was a nice side benefit.

"Your father's title will stay intact another year."

"What title is that?" She looked up at him, the question clearly stamped in her gaze.

"Not last."

"Ahhh." She smiled.

An explosion of red and green lit up the sky, the rain of colors filling the air above them. He'd always loved fireworks. Loved the way they lit up the air, carried away on nothing but magic. Even getting grounded for a month the summer he was fifteen hadn't been enough to turn him off the wild sparks that lit up the sky.

"What's that smile for?"

"A memory of getting into trouble with my brothers one summer."

"Who did it?"

"As I recall, this one was me, fair and square. I could usually squirm out and claim Nick or Fender was responsible for whatever we got into, but not this time."

Daphne lifted an eyebrow. "And your mother bought the innocent routine?"

"Every now and again."