“The kids are obviously still awake if you want to pop up and say good night.” She pulled an afghan off the back of the couch and tucked it around her husband. Her hand gave his square jaw a quick, loving stroke. A snore ripped through the room.

Normally, Conor would like nothing better than a round of hugs from his niece and nephews, but tonight the thought of their energetic affection hollowed out his chest. Why? What had changed? Why did Jayne’s pregnancy make Conor nostalgic? Did it have something to do with Louisa?

The only thing he knew for certain tonight was that he was too tired and too strung out about the missing girl and the police investigation to analyze his love life.

“I really have to get back to the bar.” Conor turned toward the door, then paused, his gaze drifting toward his brother. “Is Pat OK?”

“Yeah, why?”

“He got all choked up at Jayne’s news.”

“He’s happy, but at the same time, the news made him feel older, less needed, like that chapter in his life is closed. You and Pat spent the last two decades acting more like parents than siblings.” Leena’s dark eyes zeroed in on Conor’s like X-ray vision. “How are you dealing with Jayne’s news? You raised her as much as Pat did.”

“Fine. Pat did most of the parenting.”

“You always do that.”

“Do what?” Conor eased backward, toward the door. He should have kept his mouth shut.

“Brush off the credit.” Leena closed the distance between them and poked him in the chest with one finger. She might as well have used a knife. “He couldn’t have done it without you, and you know it.”

Yeah. Leena saw right through him. Conor took a step sideways. “I’m thrilled for Jaynie.”

“Conor . . .” She shook her head. “You haven’t been yourself all summer. Talk to me. Pat said you have a new girlfriend?”

“She’s not really a girlfriend.”

“What is she?”

Good question. “I don’t know. She’s wrapped up in the police investigation.”

Leena put her hand on his biceps. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m innocent.”

“Duh.” Leena rolled her eyes. “That isn’t what I asked you.”

“Everything will be OK.” He leaned over and gave his sister-in-law a quick kiss on the cheek. “Good luck with Snorezilla. Love ya, Leena.” Conor bolted, closing the door behind him. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to Leena or anyone else about his mood. He wanted what Pat currently had—oblivion, at least for a short time. But he had a business to run. Only one Sullivan could be incapacitated at a time.

He strode out on the sidewalk, his boot heels ringing on concrete covered with chalk drawings of rainbows. Walking promoted thinking, another thing he was avoiding, and he was glad to slide back into the Porsche.