Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

REED

"If you don't come with me to the hardware store, you know they're all going to assume you've died of lake plague or something." I cast a glance at the gorgeous man in my passenger's seat as we drove down the winding two-lane road that led from Wrigley Campground to O'Leary.

Fall had come on for real now. The trees were a riot of color, and the distinct chill in the air made last weekend's warmth a distant memory. Chris was back in the hand-knit sweater he'd worn the first time he'd ridden beside me, but this time, his sunlight-dappled hair was a little damp from the shower we'd shared, and his cheeks were pink beneath his glasses… probably because that shower had involved blowjobs, and he'd been replaying it in his mind, if I knew my husband.

Fake husband.

Protect—

Never mind.

I couldn't get too up in arms about what I called him since my dick had been in his mouth half an hour ago, and I could still taste him on my lips. Especially when just the sight of him made me more than a little tempted to pull over and repeat the experience.

It turned out the need to have Chris in my bed—and shower, and sofa, and once yesterday up against a tree in the woods—hadn't gone away immediately after I'd given in to the temptation of him. The way Chris pulled at me was like gravity. You could fight it—and I'd tried—but it was a losing battle when your body knew exactly where it needed to be.

I mean, for now .

In a few weeks, when things with Dante were settled and I was off on my next assignment, when Chris and I weren't spending every waking moment just a few feet apart, when I didn't need to be close to him all night to make sure he wasn't feverish or thirsty or being hunted by his uncle's former associates, things would be different. Normal. The pull of him would fade until it died off entirely.

"Died. Pfft . As if." Chris waved a hand. "I'm fine. Super, entirely fine. Totally recovered… assuming I was ever actually sick in the first place, which I still don't think I was. I was, at most, ever so slightly under the weather. But that was three whole days ago?—"

I made a noncommittal noise.

"—and Watt saw me just yesterday when he and Oliver stopped by with more DVDs?—"

"Because the man doesn't understand what contagious means," I muttered.

"And I'm sure he's told everyone how, you know, fine and cured I am." Chris waved his hand again.

Chris had been fluttering quite a bit, come to think of it, ever since he'd given me my teasing "good morning, husband" kiss this morning and talking at increasing speed ever since we'd pulled out of the campground. Hmm.

"So tell me again why you don't want to come to the hardware store and see your fan club," I said, narrowing my eyes. "The whole time you were recovering, you were all, ‘I wonder if Hen's leg has been acting up since it's been rainy.' And ‘Hen said he'd take me to the diner where his wife works because they have amazing pancakes.'"

"O-of course I want to see them!" he argued. He toyed with the edge of his glasses. "Any other time, the hardware store is the first place I'd go. But I promised Ms. Dorian I'd swing by the library to get a library card, and that was nearly a week ago, so…"

"So all the library cards might be gone if you don't go today." I nodded. "That makes sense."

"N-no." His face reddened. "Today is the last day of the library card drive that she's running. She's giving out free laminated card sleeves. I appreciate good lamination."

"Uh-huh." I ran my tongue over the inside of my teeth. He was lying. Almost definitely. But about what?

"A-and I want to support her," Chris went on. "For some reason, people don't like Ms. Dorian very much. I think it might be because they just don't know her. I think she needs a friend."

And of course, he thought that friend should be him.

I sighed. "You know they're going to want to check your ID before they give you a library card. You can't?—"

"Give her my license with my real name and address on it?" he snapped. "Yes, Reed. I know. I didn't even bring my wallet, so if she asks, I can tell her honestly that I left it at home." He softened his tone. "It's not about the card. It's about trying to do something nice for someone."

I stretched my neck to one side and then the other. I was being ridiculous, and my bad attitude was probably responsible for Chris's nerves. "I'm sorry," I said finally. " It's hard for me to let you out of my sight. It feels like whenever I'm not with you, something dangerous happens."

Chris's big eyes went shiny with sympathy. "Oh, gosh, I should have known."

"Known what?" I scowled. "There's nothing to know. I'm supposed to protect you. That doesn't mean?—"

"We watched season two, episode two last night, and it freaked you out when John Ruffian got trapped in the antique doll workshop," he said knowingly. "Nothing to be ashamed about. That one freaks me out, too."

"Uh, no. No way. I didn't freak out. I'm not freaked-out . I had a moment of concern because the workshop was on fire, and he had that dog with him, and I wasn't sure the dog made it out safely." I slowed as we approached the center of town, past quaint shops adorned with pumpkins and plants I now recognized as sedums. "And because those dolls had those fucking eyes ."

"Yuuup."

"And because the show has zero relation to reality! None. It's a show about a man who goes around pretending to be a new person practically every episode, for goodness' sake. That's not sustainable."

"Right."

"And the villains monologue to their captives. No villain monologues in real life! Jesus . It'd be like saying, ‘Hey, I'm gonna be over here mentally jerking off, so now would be a great time for you to escape.'"

"Mmhmm."

"Also? No professional in the universe would think, ‘Oh, the building is on fire, let me construct a bomb out of doll-making equipment so I can blow the door open, and never mind that all the creepy doll hands and creepy doll feet will become creepy doll shrapnel that could fucking decapitate someone.'"

"Uh-huh."

I shot Chris a glare. "And I really don't understand why he needed to take his shirt off and oil his chest before he did the bomb making."

Chris pulled his lips in, trying unsuccessfully to hide his smile. "Yes, I remember you said the same thing last night?—"

I nodded.

"—right before you asked me to turn on the next episode," he concluded, smug as fuck.

"Only because I wanted to see about the dog!" I insisted, pulling into a diagonal parking spot half a block down from the library. "Not because I like the show or anything."

"No, I would never think that, Reed," he said sweetly. "Not when you've made it so clear that you were only watching for my benefit last night. And every night. For the past three nights."

Reluctantly, I laughed. "Fine, maybe I don't hate it."

"I know that, too," he said saucily.

But when he reached for the door handle, my laughter fled, and I grabbed his sleeve. "Just… promise me you'll keep your guard up, okay?" I glanced up and down the street, where cheerful moms in knee boots and sweaters pushed baby carriages, two older gentlemen, both on walkers, chatted as fall leaves swirled around them, and a hand-chalked sign outside Nickerson's Books n' More announced it was Mystery Monday, All Mysteries Half Off! "I feel like there's something going on. Something I'm missing."

To my surprise, though, Chris's good humor fled as quickly as mine had. He let go of the door handle, but only so he could turn toward me, arms folded over his chest. "Do you honestly think something's going to happen to me, Reed? Here ?" He waved a hand toward the sidewalk.

Someone walking by mistook his wave for a greeting and waved back enthusiastically.

Chris tilted his head as if to say, See? And I did see. But also…

"Look, O'Leary and Copper County seem safe enough, I grant you. But I thought that about the flamingo house, too, and there was a fucking gun battle on the side lawn?—"

"And we still don't know if that had anything to do with us. We don't," he insisted when I opened my mouth to argue. "No one followed us, and no one knew we were there. You suspect it was related because you look for the danger in everything. And I understand it, sort of—that's your job, right? But you have no proof." He tilted his head. "Just like I haven't seen a single shred of proof about my uncle, even though we've been in Copper County for a whole week . I'm trusting you completely, Reed, and you promised?—"

"I know." I clenched the steering wheel with both hands. "You're right. I need to message Janissey again and?—"

"And really push the issue this time ?" He cast his eyes to the roof of the car. "Because that's what you said two days ago, but then you got busy and forgot?—"

"Because I really was busy! I cut down all the trees and grass that were choking the RV parking areas, I got the electric and water hookups working, I helped you paint the interior of Cabin 7 that Peace Yellow color you like, which took two coats, and I… I ran to town for supplies so you could make the butter board from the magazine—which was delicious, by the way." And I am trying to protect you because when you see the proof, it's going to hurt you.

My excuses sounded pitiful to my own ears, though, and clearly, Chris agreed.

"What happened to this work being only a cover?" he said, and though his voice was quiet, I knew an accusation when I heard one.

"I already agreed you're right," I said grudgingly, watching the older gentlemen inch down the sidewalk. I blew out a breath. "I'm sorry. Really. You've been more than patient. You deserve to see the proof you asked for. I'll get someone to handle it today. I swear."

"Okay," Chris said stiffly. "Thank you." He hesitated a moment, then blurted, "Look, I don't want to argue with you?—"

I turned my head toward him and lifted an eyebrow. "Because you hate arguing?"

His lips twitched, and his shoulders loosened a little. "Yes. That. Although, with you, I don't actually hate it. It's even sometimes kind of fun because you don't get angry about anything except my safety. But I also don't want to argue because I know you're still worried about John Ruffian's dog. Spoiler: Lola lives."

I snorted. "Thanks a lot, husband. You've just ruined the whole series."

"The thing is," Chris continued in a more serious tone, "I'm an adult, Reed. I can take care of myself."

I lifted the other eyebrow.

He blushed a bit. "In any situation that doesn't involve guns," he conceded.

I lifted both eyebrows.

"Or… sudden, completely unpredictable outbreaks of beer-fueled aggression," he added .

I curled my lip.

Chris huffed. "Fine, or unexpectedly deep bodies of water. But I'm not very likely to encounter any of those things in the library, am I? And the thing is…" He ran a hand through his hair, disordering the damp strands, then bent his knee up on the seat so he could lean toward me. "Reed, you know how much I love my uncle, right? How grateful I am for everything he did for me?"

"Yeah, I know." I closed my eyes briefly. "You need to think the best of him. I get it?—"

"That's not what I was going to say." He laid one small hand over my mouth. "Of course I think the best of him. He's not a criminal, whatever he might have gotten mixed up in. But the last few days, being with—I mean, being in Copper County, I've started thinking Danny kept me a little too protected."

I narrowed my eyes. Was that even possible?

"See, I didn't have a lot of friends when I was growing up." Chris rubbed his thumb over my lip and spoke abstractedly, his eyes watching his fingers. "And I always figured it was my own fault. I'm shy and I get nervous around people, which means I babble a lot . I get distracted sometimes, which can be annoying. My interests are kinda specific and unusual. I'm just not the easiest person to be around?—"

"Bullshit," I said. The sound came out muffled by his fingers, so I grabbed his hand and held it so I could repeat myself. "Bull. Shit. Every person in this town decided after thirty seconds of knowing you that they wanted to be your friend. And I ?—"

I had thrown professionalism out the window because I craved him so badly—not just his hot body and his enthusiastic kisses, but his sweet smiles, his stammering, and even, sometimes, the arguing he claimed he was definitely not doing.

"Yeah," Chris sighed happily. He pushed up his glasses with his free hand. "It's been kind of amazing. But like I said, it's made me think. If I can fit this well in Copper County, why not back in New Jersey? Why not in a beautiful place like Little Pippin Hollow? Was it that people didn't like me? Or did I hold myself back so much I didn't give them a chance to like me?" He turned his hand in mine so our fingers slotted together. "Danny used to tell me all the time not to trust too easily because people had ulterior motives. He told me the world was dangerous, so I needed to be smart and tough and protect myself. When I was sad about some kid at school not wanting to be my friend, he'd flare his nostrils—that's a thing he does—and say, ‘Don't you waste another minute trying to make people like you, Christoforo. You don't need friends when you have family.' And when I wanted to take the money Nonna left me and go to Italy on a cheese tour, he said it was risky to go alone and impractical to go at all . And when I wanted to take over the Cellar…" He sat back in his seat and twisted his fingers together. "Well, I already told you about that."

"Yeah." Chris, too soft? Please. I wished, not for the first time, that Dante Fromadgio wasn't under protective custody so that he and I could have a little chat.

"I know Danny only said those things because he cares for me. He wants me safe. He doesn't want me bullied, or to lose the business, or to accidentally take a train to Romania instead of Rome because I got distracted, daydreaming about a John Ruffian episode." He blushed. "Not that I would ever do that, obviously."

I huffed out a laugh. "Obviously."

"But when I came here, everything in my life was already so… so mixed up—I was worried about Danny and keyed up from the business at the safe house and the low-key altercation at the roadhouse?—"

"The bar brawl," I corrected.

"The low-key altercation ," he repeated. "And, well, I might also have been trying not to, um, let a certain bossy person see that I was really quite attracted to him?—"

I felt a slow smile spread across my face, and I squeezed his fingers. "Is that right?"

Chris's blush was one of the unrecognized natural wonders of the world. "I didn't say you . I said a certain person . I could have been talking about Watt."

I scowled, pulling him closer. "Not funny," I said darkly.

"The point is, I didn't have the energy to pretend to be anyone else, or to hold myself back. I just acted like my own, weird self. And… people liked me anyway." His voice held a kind of wonder and disbelief that made my stomach plummet in sympathy while my fingers itched to find every person who'd ever hurt him and show them the error of their ways. Slowly .

"So, now I'm thinking all that protection Danny gave me wasn't as helpful as he thought it was. Because maybe if I hadn't expected people to hurt me everywhere I turned, I might have put myself out there sooner." Chris bit his lip. "You can't cut a plant off from sunlight and expect it to thrive, you know? You have to expose it to the elements a little bit. You have to let it do its plant thing. You have to trust that it knows how to bloom."

I sighed. "You're saying that I'm making you feel stifled."

"No!" He hesitated. "Not… exactly. I know this is a different situation. I know you think I'm actually in ph ysical danger. I know you're a Division agent, first and foremost, and you're doing your job. And I like how protective you are. I like that I feel safe with you and know you're looking out for me. A lot . I just… I don't want to be kept in a little pot anymore. I don't want to go through life scared. What good is being safe if it means you're not happy?"

I'd wondered a lot about how Chris had ended up so innocent with an uncle like Dante, but I hadn't considered what it had taken to keep him that innocent. How much effort Dante must have put into it, how many big and little lies he'd told… or what kind of toll that had taken on Chris.

I ground my teeth together. I shouldn't give a shit about any of this. My job was to keep him physically safe and whole, not to encourage him to "bloom" or whatever. Chris was right; I was a Division agent first and foremost. Or at least I should be.

The trouble was, I liked Chris. Very much. And I respected him, too. He was thoughtful, and intelligent and, yes, capable. I trusted his judgment. I trusted him , even now, when I was pretty sure he was lying about something, because I knew his intentions were good.

Keeping him safe at the expense of his happiness didn't seem right. It made me feel a little too much like the figure skating coach who'd told him he couldn't fly because nobody was strong enough to lift him.

A tall, dark-haired, solidly built man in a police uniform strolled down the sidewalk in front of us. When he spotted Chris, they both waved.

"You ‘blooming' might not bother me so much if every man in this town didn't seem so interested in pollination," I muttered.

Chris turned to me with a frown. "Pardon?"

I shook my head. "Nothing. "

"That was Silas." Chris jerked a thumb at the cop, who'd pulled open the door to the diner a block down the street. "His fiancé, Everett, is Hen's grandson."

I had no idea how Chris knew all this since he'd actually spent less time in town than I had this week, but I wasn't surprised. Not anymore. People, like charcuterie boards and horrifyingly unrealistic action shows, were Chris's thing.

I ran my free hand over Chris's smooth cheek and cupped his jaw. "Go on," I told him, nodding toward the library. I squeezed his fingers one last time, then released them. "Get your embroidered card holder or whatever the fuck. Just please try to avoid all bodies of water, even the small and placid ones, until I can teach you how to swim. I'll meet you back here in an hour and a half. Okay?"

Chris's answering smile was warmer than sunshine. But instead of reaching for the car door, he bit his lip again… this time with intent. "You know, the husbandly thing to do would be to kiss me goodbye. It would probably be good for our, um, cover story."

My stomach clenched with want, even as I pretended to consider this. "Good thinking," I finally agreed. My fingers slid around to cup the back of his neck, tangling in his soft hair as I drew him closer.

I'd meant it to be a short kiss. A tease. But as so often happened, the moment Chris sighed against my lips and I tasted his sweetness, my intentions went out the window. My hand slid down his back, pulling him closer until he was on his knees in his seat, fully leaning over the center console with his hands clasped behind my neck and his chest against mine.

He still wasn't close enough. I yanked at the hem of his sweater, needing to feel his soft skin against my palms?—

Someone knocked on the passenger-side window. " Chris? Chris Sunday, is that you? Are you feeling better? Have you finally come for your library card?"

Startled, we jumped apart. A woman I vaguely recognized as the librarian we'd met last week waited impatiently on the sidewalk like I was the one interrupting her morning.

"Fucking fuck ," I muttered. "You will never convince me that I like small towns."

"Liar. This town's growing on you already." Chris laughed as he sat back, but it came out a little breathy, and when I turned to look at him, I noticed his glasses were askew. I fixed them so they sat perfectly straight on his face, resisting the urge to pull him against me again.

"Later?" he asked.

"Definitely," I agreed.

As he scrambled out of the car and greeted the woman, I fought the urge to follow. But Chris wasn't the only one affected by our kiss. I adjusted my pants before reaching for my own door handle. By the time I got to the sidewalk, he'd disappeared into the library.

My errands at the hardware store took considerably less time this morning since Hen Lattimer wasn't manning the cash register, and his replacement, a blue-eyed, young charmer named Theo, was quick and helpful without being nosy.

Is that the Theo whose boyfriend is Vega's uncle Bennett? I wondered as I loaded my supplies into the trunk. Because if Bennett's old enough to have a teenage niece, there must be quite the age gap. Bet there's a story there …

I froze in horror. Was Chris right? Had the town been growing on me? I slammed the trunk lid closed, silently vowing to gouge out my own brain with a paint stirrer if it ever produced such a gossipy, small-town notion again.

With an hour to kill and no desire to wander into any other shops and face an inquisition about my husband, I knew I couldn't put off my call to Janissey any longer. I looked up and down the main road, searching for a relatively private place to make a call—a call that might ultimately involve a lot of yelling if anyone tried to stonewall me from getting the answers I needed—and decided the open lot under the "O'Leary Farmer's Market" sign on the far side of the street was good enough.

I walked purposefully down the sidewalk but couldn't help inhaling the crisp autumn air that carried the faint hint of woodsmoke, or grinning when I saw a mint-condition sunshine-yellow Chevy Corvette from the 1960s that could have been my dad's dream car, or shaking my head as the world's largest and ugliest camper gave a little warning honk as it putt-putted down the center of the street.

The town had its charms, I could admit that. It felt comfortable. Familiar.

Maybe it was growing on me…

Like a zombie virus.

I passed under the sign, parked myself on a nearby bench, and placed my call. To my shock, Janissey answered on the first ring.

"Sunday! I was just about to call you. You must have a sixth sense—" he joked.

But I was not in the mood. "A sixth sense? I've been trying to get in touch with you for over a week, and you've been putting me off. I haven't gotten an update on Dante or the Evanoviches, I still don't know what the fuck happened at the safe house you arranged, and it seems like nobody over there gives a good goddamn where I am or whether my protectee is still alive. He is ," I added. "No thanks to you assholes."

"I get it. I'd be pissed, too. But you know what I' m dealing with here. I just got back in the office yesterday, myself. And of course we know where you are. I got all your messages. I just trusted you'd be doing your job, just like I was doing mine?—"

"If I don't have the information I need, how am I supposed to do my job effectively? How am I supposed to keep my protectee safe? What happened to ‘Security Through Trust'?" There was a distinct note of bitterness in my tone that I didn't bother trying to hide.

"If you'd shut up a second, I'd give you information."

I shut my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm my temper. The sun filtering through the trees made brightly colored lights wheel across the back of my eyelids. It felt a little like kissing Chris. My voice was noticeably calmer when I said, "Tell me."

"Dante Fromadgio's agreed to the terms of a plea deal. Fucking finally . The attorneys say he's signing tomorrow morning. He's not happy about it, but he's going to testify against Robert Evanovich."

I opened my eyes. "Which means the Evanoviches are going to come after him harder." Come after Chris harder.

"Actually, no. Our sources now claim the Evanoviches aren't moving against Dante at all."

"Not moving against…?" I frowned. "Your sources are wrong. Someone was looking for Chris back in Vermont. That's what prompted this assignment in the first place. And they attacked our safe house?—"

"Nope. We still don't know what happened in Vermont that got Dante spooked. And what we're hearing now is that the Evanoviches have turned their backs on Robert. He's not popular in the organization—a little too crime-y and violent even for them. Old Man Evanovich washed his hands of Junior and passed leadership of the family business down to a grandson, passing over Robert entirely. Now, the old man's gone to ground to ensure a peaceful transfer of power, and the grandson's trying to clean up the family's act and take their businesses legitimate." He snorted. "We'll see how that goes. In the meantime, everyone seems happy to have Robert in jail for a good long time, and everything's tied up in a bow. If there's a threat, Sunday, it's not coming from them."

If there was a threat?

"Well… shit." I stood and paced the area around the bench, trying to think. Did this mean Chris had been right all along? Was the shootout at the safe house related to Kenny's business, not ours? Had Chris's presence been nothing but a coincidence? Was I really just so determined to look for danger that I saw it even when it wasn't there?

"So what happens now?" I demanded. "If there's no danger, what does that mean for Ch—for my protectee?"

"Once again, asking the good questions, Sunday," he approved. "We maintain the status quo for a bit, but the end is in sight. I'll probably need to loop you in on a preliminary call about your next assignment in the next day or two, but we can circle back to that."

"Sure." I rolled my eyes. "Loop me in and circle back. Leverage those assets."

I tried to ignore a twinge of unease at the thought of my next assignment. Usually, I was more than ready to move on to the next assignment as soon as the first one was finished…

But nothing felt finished here.

"In the meantime, I don't suppose your protectee's heard from his family?"

"Oh, sure. The Marshals brought Dante over for a tea party just last night. Super fun. Sorry we didn't invite you."

"Smart-ass. I meant the cousin. Nicky. He's been trying to find Chris… at least according to our FBI friends who've been keeping tabs on him?—"

"Keeping tabs on him for what?"

"Usual shit." A squeak in the background suggested Janissey was leaning back in his chair. "They call him Nicky Knives for a reason, you know."

"And he's looking for Chris?" I demanded. "Is he making threats?"

"Chill, Sunday." He snorted. "Jesus. Yes, Nicky's looking for Chris. He's also looking for Dante. Which is what people do when their family members fall off the face of the planet. No threats. More likely, he's looking to contact his cousin for business reasons."

"They don't have business together."

"Not yet. But Nicky's lost a lot of clout since Dante took himself off the chessboard. And since he fancies himself next in line, that shit's gonna sting. He probably wants to get his cousin in line to consolidate power. Fromadgio 2.0 or whatever the fuck."

The very idea that Chris would agree to co-rule a criminal empire was laughable… at least to me . Janissey wasn't laughing.

"There's never been any indication that Chris had a role in Dante's illegal activities," I reminded him. "When I took this assignment, you told me he had no arrests, no investigations, not so much as a parking ticket. You said he was squeaky-clean. And that's definitely been my impression, as well."

"I told you he looked clean. But when you're dealing with a family like that…"

He trailed off, expecting me to finish his sentence, to agree as I usually did that there was no such thing as innocent. This time, I refused .

"Anyway," Janissey went on. "We'll have to see how things shake out now that Uncle Cheese is out of the way. But I don't think?—"

"Could you not call him that?" I said without thinking. "It's a stupid nickname. Dante might be a criminal, but he's a person."

Janissey was silent just long enough for me to play back what I'd said and mutter a curse under my breath.

"Sunday," he began, "you better not be going soft for your protectee." The not again was unspoken but strongly implied.

I kicked at a rock. "This is nothing like last time," I said truthfully. " I provided us with a safe house, Janissey. I have been doing twenty-four-seven protection with zero support and no updates from you, which is like having one hand tied behind my back. I'm doing my job."

"Uh-huh. And the information on Danny's crimes you asked for? What's that about?" he asked, suspicious.

I hesitated. I'd already explained to Janissey, in my many unreturned messages, that Chris had no idea he'd been signed up for protective custody but was cooperating fully. I hadn't explained just how ignorant Chris was regarding his uncle's activities, though, because I knew Janissey wouldn't believe it any more than I had at first. You couldn't believe it unless you'd met Chris and experienced his kind, open nature firsthand.

Worse, I was afraid that if I tried to explain it, Janissey would realize that I wasn't soft for my protectee; I was… well, hard for him. Janissey would have me off the case so fast I'd leave a cartoon dust cloud behind, even if it meant he had to leave his precious office and come and take over this assignment himself.

A week ago, I might have agreed that was a good idea. Now… I didn't trust anyone to protect Chris the way I would.

"It's about me having all the information I can get on the situation," I said, injecting a little righteous anger into my tone. "It's about me not getting a callback for ten goddamn days while the Division left me twisting in the wind. It's about no one thinking to share this info about the Evanoviches or Nicky Knives until now so that I don't know where the fucking threats against my protectee are coming from or if I'm wasting my time over here. Are you really questioning me, Janissey, after I prevented this assignment from turning into a massive clusterfuck you would've had to answer for?"

Janissey sighed. "No. You're right. You're a good agent, Sunday, and I owe you one. I'll talk to the Marshals and get you a copy of Dante's agreement today. My word on it."

"Good. And keep me updated on anything regarding this case. If Dante so much as twitches, I want to know about it."

"Fair enough. Look, I know this assignment has been a shitshow," he offered. "I take full responsibility for that. We should never have gotten so short-staffed. We shouldn't have been forced to let untrained people take support roles?—"

I blew out a breath. "Not entirely on you," I protested. "That shit's above your pay grade."

"Yeah, well. This isn't the first time the Powers that Be have gotten their priorities fucked, and it won't be the last. Next time you call, Sunday, I'll answer. Security Through Trust, right?"

This, this , was why I'd spent so much of my life with this organization. Not because of the higher-ups and their questionable priorities but because of the incredible men and women I'd worked with over the years. Because I'd felt like I was a part of something. Something big. Something good.

"Right." I stretched my shoulders, trying to dislodge the nagging tension there. "Thanks, Janissey."

"Sure. Oh, hey, before I forget, I got a message for you from your family. They called the emergency ‘think tank' number a few days ago, but the message got routed to my inbox somehow, and I didn't see it until?—"

"My family?" I interrupted, tension returning. "What was the emergency?"

Was it Uncle Drew? He was getting older, but he'd seemed fine when I'd left just over a week ago. Had something happened to Emma? Was Hawk in trouble? Was little Aiden okay?

"I dunno, man. Message just says Knox Sunday?—"

"Why did they call you and not me?"

But I already knew the answer. They'd called the Division because I didn't carry my personal cell phone while I was on assignment. They couldn't get hold of me because I was busy working.

The idea that they'd needed me days ago and I hadn't known was an acidic burn in my gut, and it was tempting to vent my frustration at Janissey, but it wasn't really his fault any more than the other fuckups this week had been.

Besides, I was the one who'd chosen this career and then chosen to hide the truth of it from my family. I'd been the one who'd not only put distance between myself and the people I loved but erected a wall of lies between us.

This was entirely my fault.

"Gotta go, Janissey."

I jabbed the End button and quickly dialed my brother.