“And nothing else is missing, correct?” she asked.

“No, nothing else was taken.”

Erika nodded. “While we were at the other scene, we found some security cameras. Their footage shows your husband’s watches being delivered by a man, and I’d like to see if you recognize him? May I play you a clip?”

Mrs. Cambourg dragged a hand through her silken hair. “Of course.”

“Here.” Erika pulled the laptop to herself and loaded the next file. “Look at this.”

As she hit play and angled things back to the other woman, she felt her lungs tighten up. And then, even though she’d watched the footage a dozen times, and had been the one to crop the file, she got lost once again . . . as the man in black walked on-screen.

He was tall, and given his muscular contours, he looked like he worked out often and intensely—and he sure as hell moved like he was in total control of his body. Up top over those big shoulders, his hair was dark and cut short, but it was his affect that really got her attention. There was such a cold, calculating calmness to his stunningly attractive face. Even as he stopped and looked at the corpse with its brains blown out on the wall behind the couch.

It was like he’d seen a lot of dead bodies.

But of course, the image of the deceased had been redacted from this cut. Mrs. Cambourg had had enough shock. Speaking of which—

Erika frowned at her expression. “Do you know who that is?”

It was a while before the other woman answered. And when she did, it was in a soft, confused voice.

“That’s the man in my dream.” She pointed at the screen. “That’s the man I dreamed of.”

• • •

“Blue shirt . . . red shirt.”

Nate held one in front of himself. Then the other. Both were flannel. Both had a black-based plaid. Both—

No, the red. The red was definitely better.

Tossing the blue aside on his bathroom counter, he leaned over the sink to make sure where he’d nicked himself shaving was healed. Looked good. He took the piece of toilet paper off the blood spot.

Well . . . shit. The red shirt was a good idea until he tucked it into his blue jeans. Then he looked like the Brawny paper towel man.

“Damn it.” He checked his phone. “New shirt.”

As he removed the offending flannel, he took a minute to study his chest. His arms. His shoulders. They were okay—by a human standard. Against someone like his father? He was the skinny kid at the beach who got sand kicked in his face.

If Elyn really needed me, could I make sure she was safe? he asked his reflection.

“Fuck.”

And he wished he had some cologne.

Out in his bedroom, he went over and pulled open the closet door. Sweatshirts. More flannels. Polos that would have worked if it were May. June. July.

Unless he was Shuli, of course. And he wasn’t on so many levels.

In the end, he went with a plain white Hanes t-shirt that was brand-new and a let’s-be-casual Mark Rober sweatshirt. Just as he was pulling the latter over his head, there was a knock on the door.

“Yeah?” he said.

Things opened as he was back at the mirror in the bathroom, and his father walked in, dressed for war. All of Murhder’s weapons were on his body, his black daggers strapped, handles down, on his chest, a holster of guns on his hips, a knife on one thigh. His red-and-black hair was hidden under a skullcap, and was that . . . yes, a Kevlar vest.

Nate swallowed. “What’s happening. What’s wrong?”

“I’m leaving for the night.” There was a pause. “Look, I know things have been . . . weird between us. And I just didn’t want to go before I told you that I love you. Nate, I couldn’t love you more than if you were from my own blood. You’re a good kid, and you’re going to be a great male, and—”

“Dad?” Nate said in a small voice. “What’s going on. Why are you wearing that vest?”

“It’s just another night in the field.”

No, it wasn’t, but it was clear he was going to get no information on the why’s.

As he grappled with a sudden terror, Murhder kept talking. “I don’t even know what exactly went wrong for you here. I mean, you were happy, for a time. I’m not sure what changed, but whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. There are all kinds of resources for you, and if it really comes down to it . . . we don’t want you to leave, but we just—well, I said it before. We love you as our son, no qualifiers. And I couldn’t leave without telling you that. Some nights, you just better say your piece because you don’t know how things are going to go.”

Nate’s brain bubbled with so many kinds of super-scaries, he literally lost his voice.

And in the silence, after a moment, Murhder nodded and turned away.

“Wait, Dad.”

Nate launched himself out of his bathroom and grabbed on to the Brother just as Murhder pivoted back around. “I love you, too, Dad. I love you.”

Murhder made a choked sound, and then those huge arms were holding Nate. “I’m glad, son. That makes . . . it makes all the difference for me.”

Nate stepped back. “Are you going to die tonight?”

Murhder shook his head. “Not if I have anything to say about it. And no, I can’t talk about it. But you and your mom are safe here—”

“WhataboutLuchasHouse?” Nate asked in a rush.

“The—oh, yeah, no, you should be fine out there. But you know, this does make me think. Do you want to have some training—”

“Yes.” He thought of Elyn. “I want to learn how to fight.”

Murhder got very, very still.

“What?” Nate said. “Do you not think . . . don’t you think I can?”

“I think you’ll be good at it. I just didn’t want this life for you, son. I’m not going to stop you, though. I’ll talk to the brothers and set something up.”

“Okay. Thank you. Is Mom home tonight?”

“She’ll be at the training center. Are you—”

“I’m going to Luchas House.”

“You be careful out there. Call me if you need me. No matter what’s going down, I will always answer, I will always come find you.”

After a long moment, Murhder nodded and left the bedroom, heading for the carpeted stairs that led up to the kitchen.

Some nights, you just better say your piece.

“I met someone,” Nate blurted.

As he heard his own voice, he was surprised he’d spoken up. But it was something he wanted his father to know, especially if he didn’t get the chance to say it to the male again.

His dad slowly turned around, and the expression on his face would have been funny. On another night. About another thing.

He looked like somebody had just told him that the Tooth Fairy was real: Wonder.

“You have?” Murhder said.

“Yeah, and I think I really like her, Dad.”

No, cereal’s fine. Really.”

As Mae sat at the table in her kitchen, her bowl filled with store-brand Cheerios, the skim milk somehow passing the nose test even though it was one day after its expiration date, she was trying to hold it together. And no, not because she was about to go into a crying jag or something.