Page 20 of Beyond Protection
I tried to speak. "That's—"
"True. And it's okay. You think your value is what you do with a ball and a glove. The stalker thinks your value is something that can be preserved in photographs. You're both wrong, but the stalker is the only one trying to cage you."
He'd thrown the perfect curveball.
"You're saying I'm doing this to myself."
"I'm saying you've been performing for so long you've forgotten the difference between being wanted and being used." He leaned forward. "I need you to remember."
Michael set down his coffee. "I'm going to check the perimeter with you," he told Eamon. "Mac, stay inside."
They moved toward the mudroom, pulling on jackets and boots. I watched them as they circled the house—Michael pointing out sight lines, Eamon photographing everything with systematic precision.
I stood at the window, watching Eamon work.
When he crouched to examine something near the back fence, his jeans pulled tight across his thighs. Muscle flexed under denim.
He stood and said something to Michael. They started back toward the house.
"Gray sedan's gone," Eamon said, "but there's a blue Camry two blocks north. Oregon plates."
My stomach clenched. "You think that's them?"
"Could be. I photographed it." He pulled out his phone, thumb moving across the screen. "They're smart enough to rotate vehicles. This could be misdirection, too."
His sweater was damp from morning mist. It clung to his chest and shoulders, outlining every muscle. Raindrops ran downhis face, catching in his beard. Wet, he looked different. Less controlled. More human.
Ma materialized with towels while they dripped on her floor.
"Soaked like drowned cats." She thrust a towel at Eamon. "Can't think clearly when you're cold and wet."
He took it. Started to dry his hair.
Ma snatched it back. "You're doing it wrong." She reached up and scrubbed at his hair with maternal efficiency. "There. Now your neck."
"I'm fine, ma'am."
"You're stubborn. And polite. That's a dangerous combination." She moved the towel to his neck, then stepped back to examine her work. "Better. Now—toast and eggs?"
"Ma," Michael protested. "Leave him alone."
"Toast and eggs," she repeated. "You pick which comes first."
Eamon looked at me.
I shrugged.You might as well surrender now.
"Toast," he said.
"Toast and eggs it is." She was already at the stove.
I refilled my coffee, and Eamon watched me.
"You always this serious?" I asked.
"Only when people are planning to abduct someone I'm supposed to protect."
"Comforting."
