Page 44 of Buried Past

"What do we bring?" Matthew listened for a moment. "Right. Dessert. Got it." Another pause. "Ma, I have to go. We'll see you in a few hours. Love you."

He set the phone down and turned back to the coffee, but he was tense in a way he hadn't been.

"You're close with your mother," I observed.

"She doesn't take no for an answer." He poured coffee into mugs for both of us. "Three sons in dangerous jobs and one dead husband. She's earned the right to be persistent about Sunday dinner."

I accepted the mug he offered. "And I just agreed to walk into a family dinner with your brothers? Today?"

"Only if you want to." Matthew leaned against the opposite counter, studying my face over the rim of his mug. "Michael's already suspicious. Marcus will have questions. Miles will try toadopt you before we finish grace." He paused. "But they're good people. They'll see what I see."

"Which is?"

"Someone worth keeping around."

"Your family doesn't know about Hoyle. About any of this."

Matthew's expression turned serious. "No. And I'd like to keep it that way unless absolutely necessary. That might be harder than it sounds. They know something's different. Michael in particular. He's got cop instincts and no patience for deflection."

I imagined sitting around a dinner table in just a few hours with three men trained to read people, spotting inconsistencies and probing weaknesses. Everything about it should have triggered a flight response.

Instead, I said, "I think I want to meet them."

"Yeah? Marcus and Michael will have their guys with them—both college professors."

It was going to be a more crowded table than I expected. "Your mother invited me. Seems rude to refuse. Besides, how dangerous can Sunday dinner be?"

"Ma cooks like she's feeding a battalion. You'll leave ten pounds heavier with enough leftovers to survive the apocalypse." He smiled. "Fair warning—she's going to love you. That might be the most dangerous part."

"More dangerous than your brothers' interrogation?"

"Infinitely. Ma's weapons of choice are guilt and second helpings. Much harder to defend against."

I laughed, but as I stood in the morning quiet, drinking coffee, reality settled over me. In a few hours, I'd sit at a family table, pretending to be someone worthy of their son's and brother's affection.

I knew how to handle armed pursuit. Family dinner was uncharted territory.

While Matthew rinsed our mugs, I approached the living room window. The forest stretched in all directions—Douglas firs and cedars. Nothing moved except raindrops dripping from overloaded branches.

"See anything?" Matthew joined me, close enough that our shoulders brushed.

"Quiet, but the silence can mean they're hiding instead of absent."

Matthew nodded. "How worried should we be?"

"Hoyle's people already know too much." I stepped back from the window. "Your truck's license plate and probably your address by now. Maybe your work schedule and family connections." The words tasted bitter. "They know you matter to me. That makes you a target."

"But they don't know our next move."

I turned toward him. He was calm with no panic on his face.

"You assume we have one." I sat on the couch, sinking into the cushions. "React and respond only gets you so far. Eventually, you need to control the narrative."

Matthew settled beside me. "What kind of control?"

"The kind where we stop being prey." I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, fingers steepled as I thought through possibilities. "Hoyle's organization works because it stays invisible. Plausible deniability."

"So, our move is to make it visible."

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