Page 76 of Beyond Protection
Then she reached across the table—slow, deliberate—and adjusted the water glass in front of me. Turned it slightly, so the handle faced the right way. Such a small gesture. Japanese precision. Everything in its correct place.
"There," she said softly. "Better."
But she was looking at Mac when she said it.
We both understood: she hadn't corrected the glass. She'd corrected the situation. Had given her approval in the only language she spoke fluently—through small, perfect adjustments that made things right.
She'd just told Mac, in front of everyone and no one, that this—us—was positioned correctly.
That we fit.
Mac's face did something complicated.
Then his phone buzzed.
The sound cut through the noise like a gunshot. Every McCabe at the table registered it—years of emergency calls and bad news delivered via ringtone. Mac pulled his phone out and glanced at the screen.
His face went blank.
"Mac?" Michael's voice sharpened.
"Unknown number." Mac's thumb hovered over the screen. "Could be spam, could be—"
"Don't answer it." My voice came out harder than intended. "Not here. Not now."
But Mac was already standing, moving toward the kitchen. "I need to know."
I followed.
He answered on speaker. "Hello?"
Silence. Then breathing. Deliberate. Controlled.
A woman's voice: "You looked happy tonight. All those people who love you. But they can't keep you safe, Mac. They don't understand what you need. I do. I've been documenting yourdeterioration for eighteen months, and the restoration protocol is nearly complete. The cabin is ready. Everything you need—"
I ended the call. Took the phone from Mac's hand before he could process what he'd heard.
"When did she start calling?" My brain was already running scenarios. Cell number meant escalation. Voice meant confidence. The timing—during family dinner—meant she was watching. Now.
"First call." Mac's voice was steady, but his hands weren't. "She's never—"
"She knows we're here. All of us." I was already moving toward the window, checking sightlines. "Which means she's close."
From the dining room, the noise had stopped. Michael appeared in the doorway.
"What happened?"
"She called." I kept my voice level. "During dinner. She's watching the house."
Michael pulled out his own phone. "I'm calling it in."
"No." Mac's voice cracked. "Not yet. I'm not bringing that into Ma's house. Not tonight. Please." He looked at me. "One more hour. Let them finish dinner. Then we'll figure it out."
Every instinct screamed to lock the house down, call it in, and treat this like the escalation it was.
But Mac was looking at me like I was the only thing standing between his family and the threat he'd been trying to protect them from.
"One hour," I said. "Then we talk strategy. And you don't leave my sight."
