Page 44 of Beyond Protection
He needed a distraction while I calculated the cost.
"Mac!" the barista called.
He retrieved our drinks, handing me a paper cup, warm hands brushing against mine.
"Upstairs," Mac said. "Quieter."
The mezzanine opened up—fewer people and more space. Someone had hung vintage-style ornaments from the railings, silver and red catching light. Below, a small artificial tree sat on the counter, covered in coffee-themed ornaments. Tiny espresso cups, felt croissants, and a star made from wooden coffee stirrers.
Mac followed my gaze. "Seattle takes Christmas seriously."
"Apparently."
He chose a table near the windows but not directly in front of them. It was a compromise without me having to ask. He gave me the seat that faced the stairs.
Mac was learning my patterns.
"See?" He sat, wrapped both hands around his cup. "Not so bad."
"Jury's still out."
"You say that, but you're sitting down. That's progress."
He was right. I'd followed him upstairs into a position where I couldn't see all three exits simultaneously. I'd done it because he'd asked.
It was the kind of mistake that got people killed.
The copper light caught his hair, glistening off the dark strands.
Mac's phone buzzed against the table.
I heard it before he did—conditioned reflex. The caller ID was visible for half a second before Mac flipped it face down.
Agent.
He didn't pick up.
"You're not going to answer?"
"Not today." He wrapped both hands around his cup. "I want one morning where I'm not Mac McCabe, MVP. I want to be that guy buying overpriced coffee so he can see the Christmas decorations."
"That's not in the threat assessment," I said.
"What isn't?"
"You want to be someone other than who you are."
"I'm not trying to be someone else. I'm trying to remember who I was before I became public property." His thumb traced the rim of his cup. "There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"You tell me. You've been watching me for days." He tilted his head. "When I'm not performing—right now—am I different? Or is the performance all there is?"
"You're different."
"How?"
"Your smile changes. Voice drops into a lower register. Your movements are less calculated."
