“Until the next undercover job comes along.” Eve wrapped her fingers around her mug, mouth flat.

“Sarge knows this is a one-off.”

“You said that after the last undercover job.”

“This time I mean it. I was very clear about that. The stars just aligned for this one in a way that made me the right person to handle it. If I said no, there’s a reasonable possibility the truth would never be found—and that doesn’t sit well with the truth-seeking gene we all share. Look at the careers we chose.”

“At least my clients don’t carry guns or knives or other lethal weapons.” Grace skewered a piece of baklava and transferred it to her plate.

“Of course not. They’re dead.” Eve shuddered. “I couldn’t do what you do every day if they paid me a million bucks a year.”

“I wish it was that lucrative.”

“It should be. There isn’t enough money in the world to compensate people who are willing to cut up dead bodies.”

“I don’t do it for the money.”

“Lucky thing. And as for Cate”—Eve pointed to her—“they don’t pay her enough either to hang out with the dregs of society.”

“I’ll pass that on to Sarge.” Cate took a swig of her Diet Sprite. “You guys up for a game of Scrabble?” If a cutthroat round of their favorite board game didn’t distract her sisters, nothing would.

“I’m in.” Grace washed down a bite of baklava with the last of the high-end mango iced tea she favored.

“Me too.” Eve gathered up their empty plates and stood. “You want these in the dishwasher?”

“Yeah. Thanks. I’ll go get the game.” Cate rose and headed for the hall.

“Wait. When does this undercover job start?”

At Grace’s question, Cate pivoted. Over the counter that separated the small kitchen from the eating area, Eve had angled toward her to hear the answer too.

“Next Friday.”

“You’re coming over on New Year’s Eve, aren’t you?” Eve propped a shoulder against the wall, the determined set of her jaw brooking no argument.

“I don’t know. I feel funny about barging in on a newly engaged couple.”

“The Reillys always get together on New Year’s Eve.”

“Things change—as that four-day-old ring on your finger demonstrates.”

Eve lifted her left hand, lips curving as she examined the sparkling solitaire. “Some change is positive.” She lowered her hand, smile vanishing. “But it doesn’t have to alter a family tradition. What excuse will you use next year? That we’re newlyweds, and you don’t want to barge in then either?”

“You’re getting married in May. You won’t be newlyweds next New Year’s Eve.”

“Actually . . . according to everything I’ve read on the internet, a husband and wife are considered newlyweds for one year after their marriage,” Grace offered.