Atlanta, Sunday, February 4, 1:30 p.m.

It was controlled chaos, Susannah thought. There were people everywhere.

The women had gathered in the kitchen, the men in the living room. At first everyone had been politely curious when Luke had introduced her, even turning the sound down on the television to check her out.

But Mama had put her arm around Susannah’s shoulders and ushered her into the kitchen with the “rest of the girls.” The television in the living room went back to its ear-numbing volume and everyone just talked louder to be heard over it.

“Pop is losing his hearing,” Luke’s sister Demi confided as she chopped vegetables. As the oldest, she was second in command. Mama Papa, of course ran the show.

Mama shrugged. “Papa doesn’t think so, so it’s not so.”

Susannah had to smile. “The beauty of denial. Are you sure I can’t do anything?”

“No,” Demi said. “We’ve got a system.” Her two youngest tore through the kitchen, Darlin’ the bulldog lumbering behind them. “Stop bothering that dog,” she scolded.

“I think Luke’s just happy Darlin’s following somebody else,” Susannah said.

“He pretends to be gruff,” Mitra said, turning from the stove. “Luke’s an old softie.”

“I know,” Susannah said, and Demi looked up, eyes narrowed in speculation.

“Do you now?” she asked, then lightly smacked the hand of another child, this one about twelve. “Don’t you touch my clean vegetables with your dirty hands, young man. Go wash. Go.” She looked at Susannah, again speculatively. “Do you like kids?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been around them much.”

Mitra laughed. “She’s asking you if you plan to have children someday, Susannah.”

The women were all looking at her. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

“You’re not getting any younger,” Demi said and, startled, Susannah laughed.

“Thank you.”

Demi just grinned. “I live to give advice.”

Mama looked up from her lamb. “Leave her alone, Demitra. She’s young still.”

Susannah looked at the two sisters. “Your name is Demitra?” she asked Demi.

“Yes. And so is hers,” Demi pointed to Mitra. “In Greek families, the oldest is named after the father’s father or mother. Pop’s mother was Demitra. The second child is named after the mother’s parent, and so on.”

“Mama’s mother was also Demitra,” Mitra said.

“So you can have two children in the same family with the same name?”

Mitra shrugged. “It happens more often than you’d think. I know a family where three sons are Peter. Actually the Greek names are different, but all translate to Peter.”

Demi nodded. “So what are your parents’ names, Susannah?”

“Demi,” Mitra hissed, making a fierce face.

“What?” Then Demi blushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think. Your parents were… You didn’t have a good relationship with your parents.”

Demi seemed to be the master of understatement, but she also looked upset, so Susannah smiled. “It’s okay. I don’t think I’d be naming any children after my parents.”

“So you will have children.” Satisfied, Demi went back to her chopping.

Susannah considered protesting, then caught Mitra’s grin and closed her mouth.

“How are the clothes I bought working out, Susannah?” Mitra asked, deftly turning the topic. “Stacie was thrilled that you gave her that outfit back, by the way.”

“I figured she would be. Your clothes are perfect, thank you. But I’m nearly out.”

Mitra’s eyes widened. “How? I got you five outfits.”

Susannah grimaced. “They keep getting bloody.”

“Oh, yeah.” Mitra shrugged again. “Well, Johnny can clean them for you.”

“Johnny can clean anything,” Demi said. “An-y-thing.”

Their conversation shifted to the stains cousin Johnny had removed, then on to other cousins and so many family members Susannah gave up trying to keep them straight. Instead she enjoyed the pleasure of being in a warm kitchen instead of a restaurant, part of the conversation, instead of listening in on others from a table for one.

The meal was the same. Sitting between Luke and Leo, Susannah watched the quiet devotion his father showered on Mama. And there was laughter, so much she wanted to hold it all in.

“What does Lukamou mean?” she whispered to Leo. Mama had called Luke by that name more than once and every time he’d softened. That’s when Susannah realized she was seeing him being superglued back together before her very eyes.

“It’s a pet name,” Leo whispered back. “Like if someone called you SuzyQ.”

“But no one would,” Susannah said darkly and Leo chuckled.

“Luke’s real name is Loukaniko, by the way. Luke is just a nickname.”

“Loukaniko,” she murmured. “I’ll remember that.”

Too soon the meal was over. To think that they did this chaotic, wonderful thing every Sunday afternoon. No wonder Daniel loves it here so much.

“You come back next week,” Demi said with authority. “Even if Luke must work.”

“Thank you. I’d like that.”

Like a noisy herd, the whole family moved toward the door. Leo was waiting with her coat and purse. He helped her with her coat, then pressed her purse into her arms. Startled, her eyes flew up to meet his. Her purse was three pounds heavier than it had been before she arrived and she immediately understood what he’d done. “Leo.”

He caught her in a hard hug. “Feel safe,” he whispered. He pulled back, his eyes as black as Luke’s and just as intense. “Come back soon.”

Her throat tightened. “I will. Thank you.”

Mama caught her in another bear hug. “That matter we discussed on Friday night,” she said. “Your crossroads. Have you decided which path you’ll take?”

Susannah thought of the press conference, now only hours away. “I knew which direction I had to take then,” she said. “I just didn’t like it.”

“Then it must be the right one,” Mama said wryly. “As Leo says, come back soon. Luka, do not leave that dog in my house.”

Luke sighed long-sufferingly. “Fine. Come on, Dog.”

“Call her Darlin’,” Susannah teased. He’d not done so in front of his family.

Leo snickered. “Yes, darlin’.”

Luke glared at him. “It’s bad enough I have to take the damn dog,” he muttered. But when he lifted Darlin’ into the backseat of his car, his hands lingered to pet her head. “Good girl,” Susannah heard him murmur. “Good Darlin’.”

Her heart cracked open. I want him. I want this. They’re happy. I want to be happy.

He got into the car, eyes resting on his mother’s house. “Chase told me to go home, get recharged,” he said. “I just did. Thanks for giving up your sleep. I needed this.”

She took his hand, entwined her fingers through his. “So did I.”

He brought her hand to his lips. “Let’s take the dog home. Then I have a team meeting before your date with the media. Are you ready?”

“Yeah. I’m ready.” And she found she really was. “Let’s go.”

Dutton, Sunday, February 4, 3:15 p.m.

Luke found Chase sitting on a bench in the outdoor break area, staring morosely at a pair of ducks that greedily pecked the ground. In one hand Chase held a bag of popcorn. Between his fingers was a lit cigarette.

“You don’t smoke,” Luke said.

Chase looked at his cigarette. “Used to. Quit twelve years, four months ago.”

“What’s wrong?” Luke asked, bracing himself for the next wave of bad news.

Chase looked up, no smile on his face. “Bobby just hit a baker’s dozen.”

Thirteen. Luke’s heart sank. “Monica’s dad?”

“No. No, he’s still missing, as is Judge Borenson.”

“The Davis kids were found, so who is it?”

“Jersey Jameson. He transported the girls from the bunker to Ridgefield House. He tried to clean, but we found one of Ashley Csorka’s hairs, along with traces of vomit.”

“She said she’d gotten sick in the boat,” Luke murmured. “Who was the thirteenth?”