Page 17 of Borrowed Pain
I'd spent three years working alone, forgetting that others carried similar weights. That someone could understand the particular fear of loving family members who ran toward danger. "Jake's been after me to move closer to family, stop working so many late nights." I gestured toward the evidence wall. "He thinks I'm too isolated."
"Smart brother."
"Yeah. He is." I met Miles's gaze. "Probably wouldn't approve of me dragging a stranger into this mess."
"Maybe not a stranger, not anymore."
"And Miles?" I said as he reached for the door handle.
"Yeah?"
"Be careful checking your systems. If I'm right about any of this, investigating the surveillance could put you on their radar."
He paused. "You think they're watching you?"
"I think they watch anyone who asks too many questions about the dead."
Miles looked back at me. I saw genuine concern in his expression.
"Maybe you should be careful, too," he said quietly. "Your brother's already lost enough."
The reference to Jake—to family, to the people who'd grieve if something happened to me—hit harder than any professional warning could have.
Chapter five
Miles
My thumb hovered over Alex's contact for the third time in ten minutes. My coffee had gone cold beside my laptop, the cursor blinking accusingly at an empty email I'd started and abandoned twice.
Involving Alex meant involving his partner, my brother, Michael. Family protection instincts ran deep in the McCabe bloodline, and my brothers would circle the wagons the moment they caught wind of surveillance and dead clients.
Michael would want to take point, Marcus would demand a strategic plan, and Matthew would probably volunteer to escort me to therapy sessions.
None of which would help Iris.
I pressed call.
"Miles?" Alex's voice was warm and gentle as always. "Everything okay? It's barely nine AM."
"I need to ask you something. It's an academic favor." My rehearsed casual tone sounded artificial. "Hypothetically, if someone wanted to investigate whether medical databases were being accessed without authorization—"
"Hold on." Papers rustled, then silence. "Sorry, Luna knocked over my coffee mug. Again."
"Luna?"
"The dog. Michael didn't tell you?" Alex's voice brightened. "Adopted her last weekend. German Shepherd mix, about two years old. Previous owner couldn't handle her energy level, which should have been our first warning."
Despite everything weighing on me, I smiled. "Michael with a dog. Never thought I'd see the day."
"She's already got him wrapped around her paw. I caught him buying organic dog treats yesterday, muttering about proper nutrition." Alex chuckled. "He's researching training techniques like he's planning a tactical operation. Very serious business."
The normalcy of it—Michael fussing over a rescue dog while I contemplated surveillance and dead clients.
"Sounds about right."
"Anyway, what were you saying about medical databases? And who'ssomeone?"
The shift in tone reminded me of why Michael had fallen for him. Alex possessed the rare ability to cut through bullshit while remaining kind, a skill that served him well with undergraduates and McCabe men alike.
