Page 44 of Captive of Outlaws

Tuck rubs the back of his head. “God, I don’t know. Rob since I was a kid. Lost touch, then reconnected. And then the other two just kinda...” He trails off. “It’s kind of complicated.” He blows out a breath. “I feel like we’re keeping a lot of secrets from you, Maren, and that’s not fair.”

Now it’s my turn to shrug. “You’re right. It isn’t. But I guess it’s a need-to-know basis. Or something like if you told me, you’d have to kill me.”

Tuck laughs, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, which is unusual for him.

“Something like that,” he says, “but I can tell you this. I’ve known Rob since I was ten, the other guys almost as long, and they’re literally the best guys you could ask to have in your life. Even LJ. I know he comes off rough, but he’d snap a neck for you if it came to that.”

“Probably not for me,” I counter.

Tuck purses his lips. “Don’t be so certain. We’re pretty ride or die that way.”

“I can tell.” I try to steer the conversation into something less involving murdering people for protection. “What have you been up to all day?”

“Oh, just a lot of reading and research, some spare time kind of hobby stuff. I’m a bit of a geek, in case you can’t tell by looking at me.”

I have to restrain myself from bursting out laughing. Tuck might be a bit shy, and he definitely wears glasses, but he’s far from the pencil-neck geek stereotype. A puzzled look slips over his face.

“Sorry,” I say, “I’m not making fun of you. It’s just, I don’t know, you don’t have geek vibes.”

Tuck’s smile softens. “Oh, come on, Maren. You don’t have to flatter my ego. I mean, I guess I’m not bad looking, but I’m not jacked like LJ.”

“So you’re saying you wouldn’t snap a neck for me, if it came to that?” I joke.

Tuck’s face goes steely. “I mean, if I had to,” he says carefully, “I would, Maren. Protecting a woman’s honor is something I take pretty seriously.”

It should sound really corny when he says it, like something out of a medieval fantasy movie. I mean, who talks aboutprotecting a woman’s honor? But something about the way Tuck pronounces the words feels so genuine. So real. And the fact that he’s talking about me...

Warmth blooms in my stomach and spreads all the way to my fingers and toes.

“That’s really sweet of you,” I say, “of all of you. You guys are so generous.”

Tuck smiles again. “You sound surprised.”

“Well...” I drum my fingers on the counter. “I mean, youarecriminals.”

“We prefer the wordoutlaws,” Tuck says, “but yeah, I get it.” He sighs. “The thing is, Maren, there’s crimes and then there’s crimes, and then there’scrimes. I mean, think of it this way: a white-collar criminal can destroy ten thousand people’s retirement funds with one insider trading deal just to line his own pockets. And he gets off with a light sentence, maybe a slap on the wrist. Some guy pulls a gun on a home intruder who’s there to kill his girlfriend, and he’s locked up for life.” He chews his lip. “Justice is complicated, is what I’m saying. And sometimes what’s morally right isn’t square with the law. It’s not fully black and white.”

I stare at what remains of my sandwich.

“You okay?”

I nod. “Yeah. It’s just...” I chuckle. “This issothe opposite of how I was brought up.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, absolutely. It was all right and wrong. Black and white. You can’t get something for nothing. Criminals just want to cheat the system. Et cetera, et cetera.”

“Sounds like a bummer way to grow up.”

I lift a shoulder. “I don’t know any different. Daughter of a lawyer, here.” I point at myself. “Daughter of an assistant U.S. attorney for the Eastern District of Virginia, in fact.” I rattle it off like a little memorized speech, which I guess it is. I pinch off a hunk of bread, roll it into a wad between my fingers. When I look up, Tuck is staring at me. He blinks, then unfreezes.

“Sorry,” he says, giving his head a little shake. “Just...you were saying? Your dad?”

“Oh,” I say. “I...I mean, that’s the kind of thing he used to say, is all. So he would have disagreed with you hardcore.”

“Would have.” Tuck swallows. “He passed away,” he says. It’s a statement, not a question.

“He did,” I say shortly. “So did my mom. It was...sudden. I’m basically an orphan—” I shake my head. “Iaman orphan. I don’t have anyone.” I don’t know where that last line comes from, but it croaks coming out of my throat. My mouth feels suddenly dry, and not even another sip of the fizzy water will take it away.

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