A Favor

This story contains spoilers for The Evening Wolves .

The problem was that Emery couldn't do it alone.

True, it was only a contingency plan. But after everything that had happened over the last four months, he suspected he'd need it. If nothing else, it never hurt to be prepared.

So, the question became: who?

From the living room came the sounds of laughter and voices. When they'd gotten home from the restaurant called the Nifty Fifties, Theo and Auggie had already put Evie and Lana to bed, but Colt was still awake. He was asking North something about his new car, while North was—to judge by the sound of things—telling Jem all the reasons he ought to shave his beard, and Jem was trying to recruit Theo for the defense. Auggie and Shaw were listing all the reasons beards were great—a couple of times, to judge by Shaw's verbal stumbles, veering into inappropriate-for-children territory. Emery's personal favorite, of the reasons he'd heard so far, was "And remember that time we went to a lesbian bar and that lady tried to kiss you?" Tean, of course, was saying nothing.

Emery discarded the wildlife veterinarian first. Tean was too gentle, and although he might no longer identify as Mormon, Emery suspected a rather tightly oriented moral compass lay under his quiet fa?ade.

Jem, on the other hand, would have made an excellent choice. He was savvy, he was competent, and he was dangerous. He talked too much, but Emery imagined that, with enough time, he could correct that—one of those shock collars for dogs that barked, maybe. No, the real problem was that Jem was still something of an unknown quantity.

Theo was another good candidate. He was big and physically powerful. He was intelligent. He had a brutal streak that would be an advantage. Like Tean, though, the teacher had strong opinions about right and wrong. He was capable of tremendous violence when defending himself and people he loved. But in cold blood? Emery wasn't sure.

Auggie was another easy no. Emery had no intention of admitting it, but he was rather fond of the little guy. Auggie was surprisingly likeable, especially when—with his particular brand of good looks—he easily could have been another sex bunny with an underdeveloped personality. He was also a convenient intermediary when Emery had zero fucking idea what his son was saying. And, when pressed, Auggie was resourceful. But he wasn't a fighter, not the way Jem and Theo were. And perhaps Emery was wrong, but he thought, when push came to shove, Auggie didn't have the right…grit.

Under certain circumstances, North might have been the one to ask. Aside from being a bewilderingly annoying ass, the blond man was an excellent investigator, and he knew how to handle himself. In a tight corner, Emery would have picked him in a heartbeat. But as with Theo, Emery thought that North might balk at certain necessities.

In his dream world, Emery would have asked John, of course. But John could never know about this.

And that left Shaw. If Emery had said it out loud, the others would have laughed. Shaw in his kilts and kimonos and wooden clogs. Shaw with his crystals and his auras and his psychic boners. But all of that was only part of it. And Emery had seen another part—just glimpses, really. But he recognized it.

Once, when Emery had been taken by dangerous men, Shaw and North had saved him. Shaw had sprayed a man with pepper gel. He had taken the man's gun. While everything else dissolved into chaos, Shaw had stayed cool, calm, and unflappable. And irritating as all fuck, for sure.

Another time, a sniper had almost shot Shaw. Emery had crashed into him, carrying both of them to the ground, and he remembered the look in Shaw's eyes. That same icy control. No panic. No screams. Calculation. Control. And yes, he'd still managed to be a jackass.

And then there had been the time that Emery had picked up North and Shaw on the side of the road. North had been staggering, barely able to walk. Shaw had practically carried him. Emery had seen it then, too. The resolve. The determination. The unyielding strength hidden under so much bullshit.

Perhaps most important, though, was the fact that Shaw kept it all hidden. The proof that Shaw understood that some things—sometimes, the most important things—had to be kept secret.

Emery found his way to the living room, where the jackassing was still going on. North was trying to get Theo to wrestle him, which Auggie thought was a great idea. Jem was egging them on. Tean had taken refuge behind a book, although he was sneaking peeks, and Shaw was saying something about greasing each other up, Greco-Roman style. Emery didn't understand his son a great deal of the time, but he had little trouble reading the expression right then on Colt's face.

When Shaw ran into the kitchen for Crisco, Emery caught his arm.

Shaw looked over at him, grinning, mouth already opening to spill out nonsense.

He stopped at what he saw on Emery's face. And his own expression changed in an instant: serious, almost grim. For an uncanny moment, Emery had the strangest thought that somehow, Shaw already knew.

It was harder than he'd expected. He had to remind himself of all the reasons this was the right thing to do. That it was a contingency. Only if everything else failed. And that, long ago, he'd left behind the person he'd been—the one who had believed in clear lines of black and white, who had believed that an impartial system could provide justice.

He cleared his throat. And then he said, "I need your help."