Page 53 of Borrowed Pain
Dorian nodded like that explained everything. "I know the feeling. Some fights are worth more than careers."
Matthew settled into a chair beside me. "Want to tell us what's happening?"
I slowly described what we knew from Iris Delacroix to Tobias Rook's diner meltdown.
"They know where you work, live, and probably where your family lives," Dorian said. "If this network has the kind of institutional connections you suggest, they'll have access to databases most criminals only dream about."
"Which means staying ahead of them requires thinking like them," Rowan replied.
I listened to Dorian and Rowan strategize while Matthew refilled our mugs. Charlie rolled over on his back, asking for a belly rub.
"There's something else," I said during a pause in the tactical discussion. "We think we know who's been feeding us information from inside the system."
I told them about our growing suspicion that Patricia Hendricks had played a dangerous double game for years. "She's been documenting violations while appearing to protect the facilities responsible, but now they're onto her. Rook got an emergency call during the meeting with Miles."
"So you've got two federal fugitives somewhere in the Seattle area, probably trying to evade capture while protecting evidence that could expose this entire network," Dorian summarized.
"That's about the size of it."
Matthew stood, moving toward the kitchen. "Okay. You're both staying here tonight, obviously. Tomorrow, we figure out how to contact your sources without getting everyone killed."
"Matthew, we can't ask you to—"
"You're not asking. I'm telling." He started pulling ingredients from the cabinets and the refrigerator. "Ma raised us to take care of family. You're family. Rowan's with you, so he's family now, too."
I watched him work—chopping vegetables, heating oil in a pan, and adding spices. Dorian joined him, wordlessly taking over the prep work while Matthew managed the stovetop.
"They do this often?" Rowan asked quietly.
"Cook together? Every night. Matthew stress-cooks like you bake. Dorian enables him because the food's amazing, and it keeps Matthew's hands busy when he's processing his EMT work."
Twenty minutes later, we sat around the dining table sharing what Matthew claimed was "just pasta with whatever was in the refrigerator," but tasted like something from a restaurant that charged $40 a plate.
"This is incredible," Rowan said after his first bite.
"Family recipe," Matthew replied. "Meaning I called Ma three times last month until I got the seasoning right."
We ate in comfortable quiet, punctuated by Charlie's hopeful whining and Dorian's occasional updates from the security monitors downstairs. "When you need sleep, the guest room's ready," Dorian said as we finished eating. "Fresh sheets, towels in the bathroom, and the security system covers that building section."
I glanced at Rowan. Guest room singular. One bed. He appeared unfazed.
"Thank you." I looked around the table. "All of you. I don't know how to—"
"You don't have to know how," Matthew interrupted. "That's what family is for. Showing up when everything goes to hell. Then, we can figure it out together."
The guest room continued the industrial-meets-domestic aesthetic—exposed brick walls softened by warm lighting. Rowan took it all in stride. "Your family's impressive," he said, settling onto the edge of the bed.
"They're protective to a fault, but yeah." I sat beside him, our shoulders touching. "Matthew's been taking care of people since Dad died. It's what he does."
"And Dorian?"
"Protects the protector."
Rowan was quiet for a moment, studying his hands. "I've been alone for so long, I'd forgotten what a healthy partnership looks like."
"Is that what we're doing? Partnership?"
He turned to face me, and he answered directly without a hitch. "I hope so. Professional and personal."
