Page 133 of Beyond Protection
"Sorry. Not very hungry."
"That's fear, not appetite." She sat down across from me and folded her hands on the table. "I've seen it before. Graham used to get the same look before difficult calls."
"I'll be fine."
"I know you will. You're competent, trained, prepared." She paused. "But you're also scared. That's good. That's what will keep you careful."
***
The afternoon settled cold and colorless. I sat on Ma's back steps with my equipment spread across my knees—tactical vest, magazines, each one counted and recounted until the numbers stopped meaning anything.
Fourteen hundred. Five hours until departure.
I thumbed the magazine release. Checked the spring tension. Slid it back into place. The mechanical click should've beensatisfying. Instead, it only reminded me I was bringing a weapon to end a woman's delusion.
The back door opened.
Mac stood in the frame, backlit by kitchen light. He'd changed into dark jeans and a sweater that made his shoulders look broader.
He stepped onto the porch. Closed the door behind him. "Can I sit?"
I moved the vest. He sat close enough that our shoulders touched.
"I need to ask you something," Mac said finally. "And I need you to answer honestly."
"Okay."
"Do you have to go tonight?"
It was a heavy question. "Yes."
"Why?" His voice stayed steady, but I heard the cracks underneath. "Michael's going. Clairmont has a full tactical team. You could stay here. Stay safe."
"I can't."
"Why not?" He turned to face me. "Give me one good reason."
I could've listed tactical justifications. My behavioral analysis experience. Pattern recognition.
I said: "Because you matter to me. More than I expected."
He lowered his head and wove his fingers together.
"I've spent three years keeping distance," I continued. "Staying professional. Not letting clients become people I cared about because caring compromises judgment." I set down the magazine. "But somehow you've gotten under my skin anyway. And now the thought of sitting here while someone else handles the threat—while someone else decides whether you get to be safe—I can't do it. I need to be there."
"What if something goes wrong?"
"Then I'll handle it."
"What if you get hurt?"
"I won't."
"You don't know that." His voice cracked. "Eamon, you don't know that."
I reached for his hand. Found it cold and trembling. "Three years ago, I hesitated when I should've moved. And she died. Tonight I get to move when it matters. I get to be there for you. I get to prove to myself that I didn't destroy my instincts."
"But what if you freeze again?"
