Page 55 of Borrowed Pain
Miles straightened his shoulders. "Breathe," I told him.
"I am breathing."
"No, you're hyperventilating in a controlled manner. There's a difference."
Charlie bounded toward the door to greet the first arrivals. Marcus McCabe filled the doorframe with broad shoulders and a commanding presence. Behind him, a lean man carried a tablet, looking every ounce the rumpled academic.
"James," Miles said, moving toward them. "Thanks for coming."
James accepted a warm hug. "Wouldn't be anywhere else."
Miles turned to his oldest brother. Marcus's gaze swept the warehouse's defensive positions before landing on me.
"You must be Ashcroft." He extended his hand, offering a firm grip. "I've heard about your work."
"Some of it, anyway." I accepted the handshake while Charlie wound between our legs. "The parts that don't require security clearance."
"Marcus McCabe. This is James Reynolds, my partner."
Before any of us could say more, the intercom buzzed again. Different energy this time—urgent and protective.
Michael McCabe emerged, scanning the room before his gaze settled on Miles. Behind him, a man with dark hair and calm eyes radiated a steady presence.
"Jesus, Miles." Michael crossed the space in three strides, pulling his youngest brother into a fierce embrace. "When's the last time you slept?"
"Good to see you too, sunshine."
The man behind Michael approached more slowly, offering Miles a gentler hug. "We came as fast as we could. Michael barely stopped for gas."
"Eight-hour drive in six and a half hours," Michael said, releasing Miles but keeping one hand on his shoulder. "Luna's still carsick in the truck."
"You brought the dog?"
Alex spoke with affectionate exasperation. "Try leaving her behind when Michael believes you're in mortal danger. She howled for twenty minutes straight."
Michael shifted his attention to me. "So you're the podcaster who's got my baby brother chasing federal conspiracies."
"I like to say former federal agent, currently a podcaster. And your brother found me, not the other way around."
"Same difference if you both end up in the crosshairs."
Dorian materialized beside Matthew, carrying coffee mugs with practiced efficiency. "Everyone caffeinated? This might take a while."
The warehouse began to feel crowded—not from bodies, but from accumulated protective energy. Apparently deciding the tension was a little too high, Charlie dropped onto his back and wiggled hopefully.
"Attention whore," Matthew said fondly, crouching to provide the requested belly rub.
"Family trait," Marcus observed, glancing at Miles.
"I prefer enthusiastic entertainer," Miles shot back.
James settled into a dining chair, tablet already open. "Should we wait for your mother?"
"She's coming," Matthew confirmed. "Insisted on bringing food. Said she wanted to meet Rowan properly."
My stomach clenched. Being sized up by the woman who'd raised four protective sons felt like walking into a tribunal with no correct answers.
"Ma wants to meet Rowan?" Michael's eyebrows rose. "That's... significant."
