I nodded, throat too dry to speak immediately. I'd watched as Michael transformed fully into this other self. He was a tactical specialist and the ultimate protector. It was both reassuring and terrifying.
"Your brothers. They're risking a lot for this. For... me."
Michael crossed the space between us, his hand cupping my cheek with surprising gentleness. The contrast between his touch and the soldier who'd just arranged an armed extraction was dizzying.
"For us," he corrected. "And yes, they are. That's what family does."
The thought of these men—men I'd only just met at Sunday dinner—putting themselves in danger because of what my research uncovered left me with a complicated mixture of gratitude and guilt.
"I never meant to drag anyone else into this."
"You didn't drag anyone." Michael's thumb brushed my cheekbone. "I made the call. I brought them in. They chose to come."
I leaned into his touch, drawing strength from his certainty, but it wasn't enough to smother the words rising in my throat.
"What if something happens to you?"
My voice cracked halfway through the question. I hated the sound of it, small and broken, but I couldn't pull it back.
"I don't think I could survive that."
Michael took my hand and anchored me with his grip. "Nothing will happen to me."
"And what are we doing when they get here?" I asked the question because I needed a way out of drowning in fear.
"We disappear for a while." He stared into my eyes. "You're not alone in this. Not for one second."
I watched Michael secure his apartment with practiced efficiency. Every few minutes, he paused to examine his phone, scrolling through what appeared to be security footage from somewhere in the building.
I organized my thoughts while removing a few unnecessary items from my bag. Best to leave some space. The weight of what was happening settled more deeply with each passing minute.
"Any sign of the bad guys?"
Michael shook his head without looking up from his phone. "Nothing on the cameras. That worries me more than seeing them."
"Because they've gone or because they're beyond the perimeter?"
"Both." He pocketed his phone. "They want us nervous, waiting for the next move."
"It's working."
A faint buzz emanated from Michael's phone. He pulled it out, studied the screen briefly, and then typed a response.
"Marcus and Miles are five minutes out. They're coming up through the service entrance. No signs of surveillance, but that doesn't mean it's not there."
"Your brothers—" I wanted to ask a question but couldn't formulate the words.
Michael glanced up. "What about them?"
"Are they—" I hesitated. "Are they like you? Military background and tactical training?"
A smile appeared on Michael's face. "Marcus was a Marine before fighting fires. Special operations. He's more paranoid than I am, if you can believe that."
"And Miles? The one who jokes?"
"Crisis counselor. Surprised us all when he decided to be a shrink. No military, but he grew up in the same house as the rest of us. Dad made sure all of us could handle ourselves." Michael zipped his duffel closed. "Matthew's an EMT. Couldn't make it tonight—he's on shift. We'll send him to keep Mom company. Sometimes, she worries."
The casual mention of their professions—all first responders of different varieties—solidified something I'd already sensed about the McCabe family. They were protectors by nature, people who ran toward danger rather than away.
