Chapter 7
GRAYSON
Marcus shows up at six on the dot.
He looks exactly like a man who has been on planes and in cars for twenty hours and slept for none of them. Same set to his shoulders I remember from every extraction we ever ran. Same way of entering a room, eyes first, body second.
He hugs his sister at the door. Long. Doesn't say anything. Just holds her.
Watching it does something to me I don't have a place to put, so I go into the kitchen and pour three glasses of whiskey and give them a minute.
When I come back, Marcus is on the couch with her on the armchair across from him. She's got her feet tucked under her. Her face is the composed version, the one she puts on when she's done letting anything spill.
I set the glasses down.
"Gray." Marcus stands up. Grabs my shoulder. Pulls me in for the quick one-armed thing men do when they don't have words.
"Brother."
"Thank you."
"Don't."
"No. Thank you."
I step back.
He looks between us. His eyes do the thing his sister's eyes do. He clocks the distance in the room, the two glasses next to one glass, the way she's looking at her whiskey instead of at him.
He doesn't say anything about it.
Not yet.
We sit.
"Talk me through it," he says.
I do. I walk him through the text, the threat profile on Tremblay, the team on the ridge, the go-bag in the truck, the arrests rolling up on the other end. I keep it clean and short. Simone adds detail when I miss it. Marcus takes notes on a little pad he pulls from his jacket.
When I'm done he closes the pad. Rubs his face with both hands.
"Okay. I want her in Vancouver. I've got a building. Top floor. Doorman. Cameras. I can put two of our guys on the hall."
"No," Simone says.
"Simone."
"No, Marcus."
"It's four days. Maybe five."
"I said no."
"You don't get a no on this. You get a location."
She stands up. Which means I stand up. Which means Marcus stands up because he's known his sister longer than I have and he knows what's coming.
"I'm staying here, Marcus."
"Here."
"Here."
"In the cabin."
"In the cabin."
"With Gray."
"With Gray."
Marcus turns and looks at me.
He doesn't say anything for about four seconds. The kind of four seconds a man uses to run his whole mental rolodex and land on a conclusion he hates.
"Gray."
"Marcus."
"Outside."
"Okay."
I set my whiskey down.
Simone opens her mouth. I shake my head at her once.
"Let us talk."
She sits down. Crosses her arms. Does not look happy about it.
Out on the porch the evening's settling into cold. The light's gone blue. I can see my breath.
Marcus faces the trees, not me. Hands on the rail.
"You're going to tell me what I think you're going to tell me?"
"I'm going to tell you I can keep her safe here for four days."
"That's not what I asked."
"I know."
He turns his head.
"Are you sleeping with my sister, Gray."
"No."
"Are you going to."
I don't answer that one right away. Because he's my brother in the way that matters, and he'd take a lie across the face like a slap.
"I don't know where this is going."
"Don't feed me that."
"I'm not feeding you anything. I'm telling you what I know.
I know she's in trouble and I can stand between her and it.
I know she's staying whether you like it or not because your sister doesn't do what she's told.
I know if something happens between us it's going to happen because she walked into it with her eyes open and I did too.
And I know if you need me to tell you right now that nothing is going to happen I will tell you that, and it might even be true for tonight. "
"Jesus, Gray."
"Yeah."
He turns fully. Leans on the rail. Looks at me.
"You know what I sent you."
"Your sister."
"The one person in this world who raised me back after my mama died. The one person who stayed up with me on leave when I came home jumpy. The person who does not need one more man in her life who doesn't know what he's doing."
"I know what I'm doing."
"You sure."
"With her? I'm not sure of anything. With the threat, yeah. I'm sure."
He studies me a long time. The wind moves the trees. Somewhere the owl from last night does the owl thing again.
"I should drag her to the SUV right now."
"You could try."
"She'd claw my eyes out."
"Yeah she would."
He lets out a tired laugh. Shakes his head.
"You remember when I pulled you out of that Humvee."
"Every day."
"You remember what you said to me when you could talk again."
"I said don't tell my mother."
"You said you owed me one. You remember that."
"Yeah."
"I'm collecting. Not the way you think. I'm collecting that if you lay a hand on my sister this weekend you do it like she's the most important person in the world and not a thing you earned."
"Marcus."
"Because she is the most important person in the world. And the last man who didn't know that lost a tooth and a job and a car window."
"Noted."
"I'm serious, Gray."
"I know you are."
He lets out a breath that shakes a little on the way out. He's been carrying her all the way from Vancouver. He's tired in a way that isn't sleep.
"Four days."
"Four days."
"And you call me every twelve hours."
"I'll call you every twelve hours."
"And if she tells you to stop you stop in the middle of the sentence."
"Marcus."
"Say it back to me."
"If she tells me to stop I stop in the middle of the sentence."
He nods once. Looks back at the trees.
"Alright."
"Alright."
We stand there. A long second. Two brothers on a porch with a whole conversation still sitting under the one we had.
"Gray."
"Yeah."
"You like her."
"Yeah."
"That's gonna cost you."
"I know."
He claps my shoulder.
"She deserves it to."
He goes back inside without waiting for me to answer.
Dinner is pasta and garlic bread and the bottle of red I had stashed for a bad night. Marcus tells old stories on himself to keep his sister laughing. She does. She throws her head back when she laughs and I try not to watch the line of her throat.
He stays two hours.
He hugs her at the door. Longer than the first time.
"Be stubborn," he tells her, low. "But not stupid."
"Same to you, big brother."
He gets in the Suburban. I walk him to the door of it. He rolls the window down.
"You call me."
"I'll call you."
He holds my eyes a second.
"She said yes sir in front of you."
"Marcus."
"I heard her. In the office at lunch. When you asked her for her phone."
"Jesus Christ."
"I'm not mad about it. I'm just telling you I heard her."
"What do you want me to do with that information."
"I want you to do right by her. She hasn't said that to anyone since some photographer three years ago, and that boy didn't deserve it."
He puts the window up before I can answer.
The SUV rolls out. Taillights in the pines.
I stand on the gravel a long minute.
Then I go inside.
She's in the living room. Fire down to coals. She's got her knees up on the couch, a blanket over her lap, the whiskey she barely touched in her hand. Her eyes meet mine across the room.
"You survived."
"Barely."
"He gave you his blessing?"
"He gave me an invoice."
"What's the price."
"Doing right by you."
Her eyes go soft. Just a flicker. Then the corner of her mouth lifts.
"Poor baby."
I walk over. Sit on the other end of the couch. Don't touch her. Don't need to yet.
"So," she says.
"So."
"That different conversation."
"Yeah."
She sets the whiskey down.
Looks at me.
"I want you to know what I know about myself, Gray. So you don't have to guess."
"Okay."
"I've done this before. Not like this. Not with a man like you. But I've knelt for someone and I've been rope-marked and I know what a safe word is and I know the difference between someone who plays at it and someone who lives it."
"Yeah."
"You live it."
"Yeah."
"How long since you did."
"Two years."
"Why."
"Because the last person I was supposed to protect died and I decided I wasn't going to be trusted with anything precious again."
Her breath catches. Small. Barely there.
"That's a lot to put in a weekend."
"It's a lot to put anywhere."
She reaches across the couch. Slow. Takes my hand.
Turns it over in hers. Runs her thumb along the line across my forearm, up past the wrist, along the callus at the base of my thumb.
"Then let's not put it in a weekend," she says. "Let's put it in tonight."
I look at her hand on mine.
I look at her.
"Come here."
She comes.