Jeremy O’Bannion had been like a father to Diesel in the years since his move to Cincinnati. At first the man had welcomed him out of sheer gratitude, because Diesel had pulled Marcus out of a Baghdad firefight one night. But then he’d been welcomed for himself. Jeremy and his husband, Keith, included him as one of their kids. They never forgot his birthday, and he’d had a place at their table on every major holiday for years. They were his home.

The thought of the two men as grandparents made him grin. “I’ll just bet they are. Keith’s probably bought a baseball bat and glove already, and your dad’s picked out wallpaper with all the best organs. Hearts, spleens. Bladders.” Jeremy had been a surgeon before suffering permanent damage to his hands in a fire.

Marcus laughed. “Yes to the baseball, no to the bladders. Scar’s folks aren’t far behind. Her mother’s knitting already. At least this isn’t their first grandchild, so the pressure’s a little less from them. I’ve been so close to telling you, but Scarlett threatened to make me cook dinner for a month if I told before now. She hasn’t even let Deacon and Adam know yet. She doesn’t want CPD to know. She’s afraid they’ll be weird about it.”

Diesel crossed his arms over his chest. “She is going to take a desk job when she starts to show, though. Right?”

Marcus rolled his eyes. “It’s ‘under discussion.’” He used air quotes. “But enough about me. What are you finding about the boy’s stepfather?”

“Enough to know the guy had severe money troubles.” Diesel sat behind his desk and Marcus pulled up a chair. “And a taste for young boys,” he added in a murmur.

Marcus grimaced. “Oh God. Not Joshua.”

“I don’t think so. But maybe his brother.”

“The one you asked Rex to meet downtown?” Marcus’s eyes widened as the significance sank in. “Oh shit. That’s not going to look good for Michael. It goes to motive.”

“Yeah. Deacon and Adam told me that they don’t think Michael did it. But I hate the thought of him getting dragged downtown. He’s had a shit day.”

Marcus frowned. “They couldn’t have questioned him at the clinic?”

“No.” Diesel told him what Deacon and Adam had explained. “I mean, I get it. I do. They don’t want anyone coming back later and pointing a finger at Michael, citing preferential treatment. But . . . God, Marcus.”

“Yeah,” Marcus murmured. “You’ll be good for him, though. Sounds like he could use a good male role model.”

Warmth at Marcus’s words spread through Diesel’s chest, softening the edges of the sadness, the helplessness, the absolute rage that had all but suffocated him since he’d heard Michael’s sobs in the clinic. “Thanks. That means a lot.”