Page 57 of Borrowed Pain
She turned her attention to the overall gathering. "Now then. Matthew filled me in on the basics, but I want to hear it from Miles. All of it."
Miles straightened. "Ma, there are confidentiality issues—"
"Your client is dead, sweetheart. Confidentiality doesn't protect the dead—it protects the living. And right now, I'm more concerned about keeping you alive than your job's professional ethics."
Her bluntness—the casual acknowledgment of death while serving comfort food—revealed something essential about Ma McCabe. She'd buried a husband, raised four sons in dangerous professions, and learned to navigate grief without flinching.
Miles outlined the entire story, beginning with the death of Iris Delacroix. Ma listened without interruption, occasionally nodding, but her gaze kept returning to me.
"And you," she said when Miles finished. "What's your part in this?"
"I've been tracking similar patterns for years. Miles's case connects to a larger network targeting trauma victims." I met her gaze directly. "Someone needs to stop them."
"Someone like my son."
"Someone like your son and me. Together."
"You care about him," she said.
Her economical speech stole my breath. Around the table, conversations paused.
"Yes," I said. I understood that lying to Ma McCabe was impossible.
"How much?"
Miles made a soft protest. "Ma—"
"Enough to die for him?" she asked, ignoring Miles's embarrassment.
The question shocked me. It made me think about the surveillance equipment in Miles's apartment, Lucia's car sliding through guardrails into dark water, and the systematic way powerful people eliminated those they considered obstacles.
"Yes," I said quietly. "But I'd rather live for him."
Ma McCabe's expression didn't change, but her posture relaxed. "Good answer." She turned back to Miles. "And you? Are you willing to trust this man with your life?"
"I already have. And I will."
"That's not what I asked." Her voice sharpened with maternal authority. "Trust and survival are different things. Are you willing to put your life in his hands? Your future? Your ability to come home to this family?"
Miles looked at me.
"Yes," he said.
I was suddenly aware that this wasn't only about the investigation anymore. It was about whether I was prepared to become part of something larger than individual survival. Whether I could transform from an isolated former federal agent who trusted no one into someone worthy of a family's faith.
"Now, who wants to tell me what we're going to do about these bastards who've been spying on my son?"
The plates disappeared with military efficiency—Matthew and Dorian working in synchronized motion while the rest of us pushed back from the table. Ma McCabe claimed the armchair with clear sightlines to everyone, positioning herself like a presiding judge.
Marcus broke the silence, pulling out his legal pad. "We need a systematic approach. That means a clear threat assessment, resource allocations, and communication protocols."
"We should consider federal involvement," he continued, pen moving. "FBI, U.S. Marshals, someone with jurisdictional authority."
"Agreed," Michael said, leaning forward. "Miles needs protective custody until we neutralize this threat. Full witness protection if necessary."
Heat flared in my chest as I spoke. "Protective custody means removing him from the investigation entirely."
"Exactly." Michael met my gaze.
