Page 42 of Beyond Protection
"It's an inch."
"Close it anyway."
He did, and I caught a smile. He was testing boundaries.
"You know Seattle has a coffee hierarchy, right?" Mac's voice cut through the white noise of tires on wet pavement.
"I'm aware Seattle has opinions about coffee."
"Not opinions. Doctrine." He shifted in his seat, angling toward me, more relaxed than he'd been in days. "There's your corner Starbucks. Acceptable for emergencies only. Then there's the local roasters. Solid daily drivers."
"And the Reserve Roastery?"
"That's the temple." He grinned. "Tourist trap, overpriced, and completely unnecessary. Also worth it."
Mac thinks this is freedom, I thought. It wasn't. It was a moving target. Still, I understood the hunger for it.
"You're doing it again," he said.
"Doing what?"
"The thing where you disappear into your head and come back looking like you've calculated the weight of the world."
"That's my job."
"Is it? Or is that what you tell yourself so you don't have to stop?"
I didn't answer. It was impossible to reply honestly without admitting that the hypervigilance had stopped being professional years ago and had become the only way I knew how to exist.
Two blocks from the Roastery, a woman stepped off the curb. My pulse spiked.
Black umbrella, face partially hidden. Gray coat, dark jeans. She moved with purpose—crossing against the light, jaywalking like every other Seattle resident.
I focused on her anyway. Height, build, gait. Nothing threatening except the pattern recognition firing in my brain, screaming that something was wrong, and if I'd missed something, it would be the moment everything went to hell.
She reached the far sidewalk. Kept walking. Disappeared.
I exhaled—only someone crossing the street.
"Eamon?" Mac's voice pulled me back. I'd slowed the car, tracking the woman's movement.
"Fine," I said. Pressed the accelerator. "I'm fine."
"That woman—"
"Was just crossing the street."
"But you thought—"
"I think about everything." I turned into the parking garage. "My instincts see threats in everyone. Which means I either listen to all of them and never let you leave the house, or I learn to sort signals from noise."
I found a spot on the second level, backed in, and killed the engine.
Mac's hand landed on my forearm. Light. Careful.
"Hey," he said quietly. "We don't have to do this."
"It's not too much." I glanced at him. "I'm here to protect you. That means going where you need to go and managing the risk. Today, the risk is manageable."
