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      “MA WON THE LOTTERY?” Truman Steele was still unable to believe it. The jackpot had been growing for weeks, and because it was June first and another hot, steamy New York summer was right around the corner, people had been amusing themselves by speculating about the lucky winner on subways, street corners, and around office watercoolers. Every day, the TV news depicted long lines outside delis and street kiosks where people waited to buy tickets, and the New York News had been running man-in-the-street interviews, asking people what they’d do if they won the huge windfall.

      Truman had told himself he’d buy a fishing boat, maybe vacation in Vegas and invest in blue-chip stocks, but now that he might actually get a third of the money, he wasn’t so sure. He needed to rethink his game plan. Wearing the NYPD’s standard-issue navy uniform, he stretched his long legs, then put one hand on his holster and paced to and fro in his oldest sibling’s childhood bedroom. Sullivan’s room was where the three brothers had retreated to mull over family crises since time immemorial.

      Not that winning fifteen million dollars was a crisis, exactly. At least not yet, thought Truman, releasing a throaty whistle. “I must have bought thirty tickets.”

      “Me, too,” confessed Rex, who’d kicked off dirty sneakers so he could lie on a neatly made twin bed so small it was hard to imagine Sullivan Steele ever occupying it. The only brother to work undercover, Rex was a master of disguises. He’d come from a stakeout looking homeless, sporting a scraggly black beard, baggy, oil-stained jeans and a questionably perfumed trench coat, which he’d thankfully left outside.

      “You buy any tickets, Sully?” asked Rex.

      Sullivan shook his head. “Waste of money,” said the oldest, thrusting his hands into the pockets of gray suit trousers. “At least I thought so.”

      “What were you going to do if you won, Rex?” asked Truman.

      Vanish and start a whole new life, thought Rex, picturing himself wearing white, rolled-up trousers while combing a beach for shells. His throat constricted as he glanced away. Unlike his brothers, Rex had never wanted to be a cop, although he rarely admitted it, even to himself. Rex was still haunted by how scared he’d been as a kid every morning when their father holstered his gun and left for work. He’d always waited for the evening Augustus Steele wouldn’t make it home for dinner, and because Rex wouldn’t put another kid through that worry, he’d long ago decided that having a family and working for the NYPD didn’t mix. He finally shrugged. “I don’t know. Fifteen million’s a lot of dough, little brother.”

      “Sure is,” agreed Truman, staring through a window into the courtyard, admiring a leafy jungle of trees, bushes and ferns. Before Sheila Steele had been blessed with one of the biggest lottery wins in New York history, she’d also been the more modest