Loud, realistic shooting sounds traveled from the den where Wulf’s seven and eight-year-old nephews, Bryan and Ryan were playing. He sat at the kitchen table, with his four-year-old niece, Bree, leaning against him and sucking her thumb. She was a weird one and not at all hypnotized to cooperate when it came to cartoons.

Wulf smiled at her big sparkling eyes and offered her a keke pua’a, a steamed bun made of pork. Brenda had learned about Wulf’s culture the moment she took him in her home. And today, it seemed she planned on mending his broken heart with food.

Bree grinned, taking the bun from his hand.

He kissed her forehead. “Why don’t you run around, play, terrorize your older brothers?”

The toddler just continued to eat and sit there.

Brenda laughed from her spot at the stove, content with cooking even more food. “I’m surprised the baby even recalls who you are as long as you’ve been gone. But she’s stuck to you like glue.”

“How about a book?”

Bree nodded.

“Go grab your favorite book on your bookshelf and when you come back down, I’ll be ready to read.”

With that, she took off. Shaking his head with a smile, Wulf pulled out Shelly’s MacBook that she’d allowed him to borrow. Yesterday, he’d focused long enough to review his resume.

“Dylan.” Brenda placed her hands in the pockets of her muumuu and took a seat in the breakfast nook. “Are you still thinking about that girl?”

“No.”

“Yes,” Shelly stressed as she came into the kitchen scooting into the breakfast nook next to him and started to grab a keke pua’a off his once discarded plate. Wulf swatted her hand.

“Shi—sheesh!” Shelly stopped herself from cursing while waving her hand around. “For all the snitching I did as a child about you sneaking out when you first moved in, Dylan, you always got my back.”

“Yup. Your hand was always in my food.” He laughed.

“That stings,” she said, still flapping around her hand.

“I’ll make you a plate,” Brenda said with a smile as she rose. “I’ve got my court shows to watch. You two remember how old you are. No fights.”

“Dylan is head-over-heels for little Miss Crazy. She left him.” Shelly got the last word in as Brenda exited the kitchen.

“Thank you, Shelly,” Wulf replied, clicking a hyperlink for a private security job with an amount of pay that would’ve made him leery. However, he’d received the lead from an old colleague.

“You’re welcome. Now that the little zombie head is—”

“What?”

“Brainwashed woman. Does that sound better?” Shelly asked.

“Quincy told you,” he grumbled.

“Hell, yes! Anyway, I think Quincy only told me about Grienke being her husband so I would stop applying Grienke facial products. That’s what you get for introducing me to your cheap friends.”

“You married my cheap friend.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly in thought, as she grinned devilishly. “I ought to tell Brenda you’re moving in for good. She’ll be so hopeful.”

Wulf chose not to react to the threat. He loved his sister, and she loved goading him.

“Look, Dylan, you’re my brother. That woman owes you an explanation for leaving. I’m going to be as annoying as I was when we were teens, trying to get you not to go AWOL, until you get closure.”

“My life isn’t some tragic love story, Shelly.”

“I’d rather like a tragic love story after all you’ve been through for that girl. She needs to apologize; she owes you closure.”

“She tried.”

“When?”

Wulf grumbled. “I got a few texts and voicemails from Megan’s phone. Mary Jane—”

“From her sister’s phone? Why would she call you from her sister’s phone?”

“Can I speak?” Wulf asked flatly. When she nodded, he added, “MJ and I shared a phone in Mexico. The person who would be out took it. We didn’t have bill collectors calling in paradise,” he finished, taking a deep breath. “So she called and texted. I deleted them without reviewing a single one.”

“Why?” Shelly’s head tilted.

“Because Mary Jane would’ve offered an apology and tried to rationalize it. She would’ve wanted to lighten the blow by telling me.” His voice drowned out. In a tone devoid of emotion, he finished strong with, “She would’ve told me that no matter how much she cared for me, she loves Keegan.”

Shelly’s brown eyes brightened with tears. Her mouth opened and she hadn’t quite gotten the right words to say when Wulf gestured toward Bree. The tot bounded back into the room with a humongous Disney princess book that filled up both of her arms. “No more shit talk,” he whispered to his sister. “It’s reading time.”

Shelly scooted out of the nook and kissed Bree on her forehead before she claimed the spot.

“All right then, Dylan.” Shelly started walking backward toward the hallway. “But before I go. I know you mentioned searching for apartments, but I’ll just tell Mom you’re moving in. How are you liking the bottom bunk? The boys just love having you in their room.”

He chuckled.

An hour later, Wulf had finished a book about a princess whose hair was so long it tangled all the way down to her feet and wrapped around the perimeter of the tower she lived in. He’d also put a sleeping Bree into her bed, and then caved in to Shelly’s threats. They were almost locked out of the LAPD database. Shelly had figured out Quincy’s password on the third and last try. Wulf held the address to Megan Portman’s home in Lakewood, California. It read that she lived with her parents Lieutenant Colonel Vincent Portman and Elena Portman.

Forty-five minutes later, he sat in Quincy’s off-duty Charger and stared at the one-story house across the street. Even the home reminded Wulf of the house of terrors. The home was kept well, the yard neat, and the house with a fresh coat of paint. Symbolic of the perfect life Mary Jane was never allowed to have. It was like living in the perfect dollhouse, though people weren’t aware that it was a haunted house in disguise. He then thought of Vincent Portman, Mallory Portman’s biological father. The name was very familiar. Vincent. Vin.

The man Mary Jane knew as Vin had been abusive mentally, emotionally, and sexually. This man had been her biological father. He could only assume that Peter wanted to strike fear in Mary Jane’s heart at just the mention of her father. Maybe if father and daughter crossed paths in real life, she’d react so adversely that there’d be no weeding through the lies.