"Well, if has, we can't do anything about it now," Mike said. "So let's just sit tight. Dad's seeing Weaver with Dru, by the way."
Rob puffed out a long breath. "That's suicidal."
"It's Dad's show now." Mike tapped out a scale on the keyboard. "He'll do the final polish. He'll turn Dru from being someone who can't afford to expose us to someone who actually wants to give evidence if Weaver ever ends up in court over this. She's our weapon now."
Rob shrugged as if he wasn't convinced but was deferring to someone who played this kind of political chess for a living. "I'm glad I'm not one of your dad's opponents." He snapped his fingers at Oatie. "Come on, useless. You haven't had your dinner yet."
The dog trotted out after him, head down. Mike looked at Ian and shrugged.
"I know what you're going to say, but Rob's disturbed by the Tom thing." Mike tried a few more chords. It was starting to sound like proper music. "You know, I haven't played in twenty-five years. I quite like struggling with it, though. It takes up all my concentration. Like meditating. Do you still do that?"
"Yeah. It's a habit now." Ian wanted to clear up the tension for good. He didn't feel he could move on until he had. "I'm sorry. I feel stupid about the Tom thing."
"No need, buddy. You're entitled to get a few things wrong. Nobody wrote the rulebook for this." Mike stood up and closed the keyboard lid. "Okay, until we rule out any accomplices for this guy, I still want to see good security practice."
"Is it safe for me to call Joe?" Ian hadn't spoken to him for ages. That was no way to treat someone who'd stepped in to help with Gran's funeral when Ian didn't know how to handle the outside world. "It can't do any harm now."
Mike ushered him out of the room towards the kitchen. "Go ahead. Pity you can't visit him, though. Unless you remember what you looked like then."
It was bittersweet. The one person Ian could have called a true neighbour couldn't be allowed to see him the way he was now. He wouldn't understand. He wouldn't even
recognise him.
Can I morph back to the way I was?
Ian could just about remember how he looked a day or two before he left the ranch for the last time. Joe might not spot the differences after a long separation.
But this was the Ian Dunlop he was now, and unless he had a real need to use his ability, this was how he would stay.
He'd call Joe after dinner. He went to find Tom and Livvie and stay out of Rob's hair for a while. It was time to be sociable and make up for the disruption to Tom's visit.
In the evening, the mood around the dinner table was more subdued than yesterday, when the shock was still fresh, and Mike had gone back to looking preoccupied.
"Who's the designated worrier tonight?" Rob asked.
Mike looked up. "Warrior?"
"Worry-er. As in he who worries and has to stay sober in case emergency action's required."
"I'll do it. I don't feel like drinking anyway."
Livvie poured a very large peach margarita into a highball glass and put it in front of Rob. He studied the sudden bloom of beaded condensation on the glass for a moment and smiled to himself.
"Right, movie quiz," he said. He ran his finger through the condensation, from rim to base, then downed the drink in one. "Name that film."
"
Ice Cold In Alex
," Ian said. "John Mills."
"Well done." Rob nudged Tom. "Ian's a bit of a movie buff. We've got boxes of his DVDs in the basement. We'll have to watch one later."
Livvie went around the table again with the jug. "Top up, anybody?"
"I'd better get a beer, Mrs Mike. You know what I'm like after a couple of your margaritas."
"Go on, just a splash. It's worth it to see you laughing again. How about a toast?"
Rob allowed her to pour a couple of inches into his glass before he raised it. "To us. There's Us, and there's Them, with capital letters."
It seemed to have some significance for Mike. He gave Rob a funny look and raised his glass of water. "To the tribe of Us, then. Is that traditional?"
"It is now." Rob made a gesture, thumb and forefinger indicating a very small gap. He tipped some of the drink into a saucer and put it down on the floor for Oatie to test it nervously with his tongue. "Remember. Us is just you and me and our nearest and dearest. Everyone else is Them. Wherever They may be."
Mike returned the small gap gesture. "Us."
After dinner, Ian watched Mike while he loaded the dishes in the washer. He reached for the bottle of hand wash next to the sink and turned on the faucet, then touched his wedding band to his lips before taking it off. When he finished washing and drying his hands, he touched the ring to his lips again before sliding it back on his finger. Ian had never seen him do that before.
It didn't surprise him. Mike seemed to find comfort in ritual. It fitted with his insistence on his lucky plastic watch. The things you did when you thought nobody was watching told your whole story, Ian decided.
When everyone was in the den later that evening, watching
The Cruel Sea
and drinking too much beer, he saw Mike slip out. He was gone too long to be taking a leak, so Ian got up to find him. He wasn't in the kitchen or the bathroom. It was just a hunch, but Ian had a good idea where he'd be.
He picked up a pair of NV goggles from the utility room and headed for the woods. It took a while to find the right place, but he'd guessed right.
Mike was squatting among the trees with his back to the house, shoulders hunched against the cold and head bowed, staring down at the spot where the body had been.
Ian felt he had no right to watch, but he couldn't walk away. He waited until Mike finally straightened up, stood to attention, and saluted. It was so private and painful that Ian hated himself for not walking away sooner.
Mike's shoulders relaxed and he turned around. "Goddamn." He almost took a step back. "That's the way to give a guy a heart attack, buddy."
"Sorry." Ian walked back to the house with him. "I thought I knew you well, but now I'm sure."
Mike didn't seem embarrassed or upset at the intrusion. Maybe it was easier for Ian to see it than for Mike to say it.
"He wasn't the enemy," Mike said at last. "Just the guy who got shot. The enemy's the guy who sent him."
So there was Us, and Them, but there was also the tribe in limbo, the people who could end up on either side of a line where hard choices had to be made. Belonging was an imprecise thing, something Ian had longed for without even knowing quite what it was that he'd needed.
Now he knew. It was still hard to define, but it was solid enough to hold and taste, and he knew he belonged to the tribe of Us.
RIDGEWAY DRIVE, LANSING
NEXT MORNING.
"Mom? Aren't you going to work this morning?"
Dru sat at the kitchen counter in sweatpants, with no idea what lay ahead except choices she hadn't had to think about since she was at college. She was so disoriented that she'd entered the wrong banking passcode on her cell and was still trying to get it right when Clare came in to the kitchen.
"Later today, sweetheart." Dru concentrated on the phone, repeating the numbers to herself under her breath. "I'll drop you off, so don't worry."
"Mom, what do you always tell me about being glued to the phone?"
"Sorry. I just need to check my account. I haven't logged in since Friday."
The last few days had been a write-off that she was still struggling to take in, but she couldn't tell Clare about that. She just looked at the balance to make sure it hadn't changed.
"Oh
Christ
," she said.
Dru had never seen that much cash in her checking account in her life. There was an extra thirty grand. It had to be an error. It couldn't be from the Braynes, because she hadn't even had a call from their accountant yet to get her various account numbers. But it was: the details showed a payment from Mike Brayne's personal account. How the hell did he get her bank details?
Rob.
The bastard must have rooted through her purse. Just when she was starting to like the guy for being a devoted father, he scared her again. Her heart rate hiked. She could see the pulse twitching in her wrist. There was no way out of this now, even if she wanted to change her mind. As far as an auditor was concerned – if one were to investigate – she'd taken a big payment from the Braynes. Saying it just popped up there like magic wouldn't convince a jury.
What jury? The phone hacking — that's nothing compared to what I've seen lately. I didn't create Ian or send out the heavies.
Clare helped herself to toast. "Are you going to tell me what's going on? You haven't said much since you got back."
"I really want to, but I can't at the moment."
"Mom, I know you always have confidential stuff, but you're really
weird
now. Who were the guys in the car you were talking to after Dad dropped me off?"
"Security." Dru had to tell Clare that at least, in case she thought the security detail were stalkers or worse. "It's nothing to worry about. You might see them around for a few more days."
"Is this all to do with that ex-employee you were looking for?"
"Something like that."
"You're scaring me now."
Dru had to nip this in the bud. She had enough on her plate today without having to worry about Clare worrying about her and in turn stoking up Larry enough for him to stick his damn nose in. He'd trample all over this. He'd ruin everything.
It's none of his business. I have to make that clear.
"Sweetie, here's my problem," Dru said. "If I tell you, you tell your dad, and he makes my life hell. I'll only tell you if you swear not to tell him. I mean it. You're nearly fifteen. You're not a kid any more. This
is for my safety as well as yours."
Clare just stared at her for a few moments, unblinking. "Okay. I promise. But what do you mean by safety?"
If it meant scaring Clare into being careful, it would have to be done. Dru had to level with her.
"I could have been badly hurt this week," she said. The more she repeated it, the less it shocked her. "Someone saved me. That's all I can tell you, but that's how serious this is. I don't want you getting excited and telling Rebecca anything. And this isn't like 'promise me you'll finish your homework' either."
"This isn't some joke, is it?"
"No. It really isn't."
"Mom, I haven't told Rebecca any secrets since she blabbed to everyone in eighth grade that I thought Brent Mulholland was hot," Clare said, as if Dru should have remembered that crisis. "Have you told the police?"
"That's been done." Detail wasn't necessary. This was just reinforcing the need for silence. "My company's into something I don't like, and I can't carry on working for them. I've got a new job."
"Wow, Mom, I never thought you'd quit that place." Clare was at the age where all rebellion was cool. She looked impressed. "So you're a whistle-blower? That's awesome."
"No, I don't have the guts to be a whistle-blower. I'm just a walker-outer."
"So why go to the office, then? I'd hide."
"I'll have someone with me. Look, we'll be fine, better than fine in fact, but it's only going to work if you say absolutely nothing to your father about it. I'll deal with him." It sounded like the kind of thing that a criminal would tell their kid.
I robbed the bank for you, Pumpkin, but now we need to hide out in Mexico.
"If I told you what I'd seen in the last few days, you'd never believe me anyway. And your dad certainly wouldn't."
Clare nodded gravely. Now she didn't seem excited at all. The prospect of being allowed into the adult world for a while was normally something prized, but not this time.
"Is this like witness protection?"
"In a way. You mustn't talk about it with anyone except me."
"You're scared. I can see it. And you're repeating yourself."
"You bet I'm scared. But we'll be okay. If you want to move away from here, we could have a great new life."
Clare thought it over for a few moments. "Could I still visit Dad?"
"Sure. I'm not asking you to decide right now. We don't have to disappear or anything. But I'll understand if you don't want to leave your friends."
Clare chewed her toast, minus the jelly. Either her tastes had changed overnight or it was distraction activity. It was hard to tell if she was sobered by the news or just too scared to argue.
"You decide, Mom," she said at last. "I love Dad, but he can only cope with me in small doses. You've got me every day."
She didn't even mention her friends. It was hard to remember being that age and what had been important. Some days, some things were a matter of life and death. The next day, they weren't. All Dru could do was guess her way through it.
"Okay, let's go," she said. "I'll be out between two and four this afternoon, but I'll be here when you get home."
Clare said little on the drive to school. Dru could almost see her working out something, staring at the dashboard but not really seeing it. It might have been about who she'd have to give up seeing; it might have been about disruption before exams. No, those were adult concerns. Dru would have to stop guessing and just ask, but not right away. Clare needed time for it to sink in.