closet. He had a leg in them before he hesitated. Grace had said to wear jeans. Who was he to argue?
He was heartily sick and fucking tired of dressing like a damn geek.
One of the things that made him good at his job was his ability to be a chameleon. From biker bars to boardrooms, survivalist camps to church camps, he fit. He’d dined with heads of state and whacked-out terrorists—and he fit.
But here he was, worrying over his outfit for dinner with the DeMarcos.
In his head, he heard his father’s hearty laughter, the same sound that had egged him on to ever-increasing acts of teenage rebellion. He remembered nights spent on the Italian streets, drinking until he couldn’t see straight with some of the other base kids, then stumbling home with a hangover. His father’s laugh had seared his ears as he handed him some vile-tasting liquid that made him throw up and feel better. Dad might not have known the words to say, but he’d had the answer to every question.
Mal stretched his neck from side to side, trying to ease the tension. God, he missed his dad.
He tossed the khakis back into the closet and grabbed a pair of jeans and a black sweater, flipping his hair out over the rolled collar after he pulled it on.
His father would’ve hated his hair, though he’d been damn proud of Mal when the NSA had tapped him for service after college. Senior Chief Laughlin had bragged about that to anyone who would listen.
Would his dad be proud of him now?
He thought about that the entire cab ride from his center city apartment to the DeMarcos’ home in Society Hill. Their street was quiet, though he still heard the rush of traffic from other areas of the city. Stately three-story brick homes flanked the cobblestone road on both sides. Most of the front windows had blinds or drapes, shutting out the peeping eyes of tourists. But tonight, several spilled light onto the sidewalk. The DeMarcos’ was one of them.
The front window opened onto a living room, where Jimmy and Nic sat on the couch, watching TV. Mal couldn’t see what they were watching, but from their intent expressions, it was probably hockey. He’d heard them dissect games at the office.
Inside, Grace leaned through a doorway and spoke to them. Both grinned over their shoulders and Nic tossed a pillow at her. She caught it, laughing, then threw it back before walking out of the room.
A chill wind bit him through his father’s battered leather flight jacket as something very like fear caught him broadside.
He didn’t have a lot of experience with family situations that didn’t include two guys and a TV. His mother had left when he was young, unable to handle the pressures of a sailor’s constant relocation. He hadn’t seen her much before her death from cancer several years ago, and frankly, he hadn’t missed her.
Son, you’ve never mourned your lack of a mother before. Why the hell are you doing it now in subzero weather?
Good question.
He took the few steps to the front door, then reached for the knocker, but paused when a barely noticeable indentation caught his eye. Leaning closer, he saw a small security camera set into the brass.
A much-needed shot of reality hit him. This was no ordinary family. He had to remember that. It didn’t matter that he’d feel comfortable having Nic watch his back. Or that Jimmy was a certified genius with a heart a mile wide. Or that Grace and Frank had welcomed him into their family like one of their own.
Or that Janey kissed like she was made for him.
Yeah, he probably not a good thing to think about now. It’d only make this night more impossible than it already would be.
Get yourself together, son. You have a job to do.
Yeah, he did. But for the first time in his professional career, focus wasn’t coming easy.
He lifted the brass handle and knocked. Only a few seconds passed before he heard footsteps. When the door opened, he came face-to-face with Janey.
She wore a pair of faded jeans that hugged
He was heartily sick and fucking tired of dressing like a damn geek.
One of the things that made him good at his job was his ability to be a chameleon. From biker bars to boardrooms, survivalist camps to church camps, he fit. He’d dined with heads of state and whacked-out terrorists—and he fit.
But here he was, worrying over his outfit for dinner with the DeMarcos.
In his head, he heard his father’s hearty laughter, the same sound that had egged him on to ever-increasing acts of teenage rebellion. He remembered nights spent on the Italian streets, drinking until he couldn’t see straight with some of the other base kids, then stumbling home with a hangover. His father’s laugh had seared his ears as he handed him some vile-tasting liquid that made him throw up and feel better. Dad might not have known the words to say, but he’d had the answer to every question.
Mal stretched his neck from side to side, trying to ease the tension. God, he missed his dad.
He tossed the khakis back into the closet and grabbed a pair of jeans and a black sweater, flipping his hair out over the rolled collar after he pulled it on.
His father would’ve hated his hair, though he’d been damn proud of Mal when the NSA had tapped him for service after college. Senior Chief Laughlin had bragged about that to anyone who would listen.
Would his dad be proud of him now?
He thought about that the entire cab ride from his center city apartment to the DeMarcos’ home in Society Hill. Their street was quiet, though he still heard the rush of traffic from other areas of the city. Stately three-story brick homes flanked the cobblestone road on both sides. Most of the front windows had blinds or drapes, shutting out the peeping eyes of tourists. But tonight, several spilled light onto the sidewalk. The DeMarcos’ was one of them.
The front window opened onto a living room, where Jimmy and Nic sat on the couch, watching TV. Mal couldn’t see what they were watching, but from their intent expressions, it was probably hockey. He’d heard them dissect games at the office.
Inside, Grace leaned through a doorway and spoke to them. Both grinned over their shoulders and Nic tossed a pillow at her. She caught it, laughing, then threw it back before walking out of the room.
A chill wind bit him through his father’s battered leather flight jacket as something very like fear caught him broadside.
He didn’t have a lot of experience with family situations that didn’t include two guys and a TV. His mother had left when he was young, unable to handle the pressures of a sailor’s constant relocation. He hadn’t seen her much before her death from cancer several years ago, and frankly, he hadn’t missed her.
Son, you’ve never mourned your lack of a mother before. Why the hell are you doing it now in subzero weather?
Good question.
He took the few steps to the front door, then reached for the knocker, but paused when a barely noticeable indentation caught his eye. Leaning closer, he saw a small security camera set into the brass.
A much-needed shot of reality hit him. This was no ordinary family. He had to remember that. It didn’t matter that he’d feel comfortable having Nic watch his back. Or that Jimmy was a certified genius with a heart a mile wide. Or that Grace and Frank had welcomed him into their family like one of their own.
Or that Janey kissed like she was made for him.
Yeah, he probably not a good thing to think about now. It’d only make this night more impossible than it already would be.
Get yourself together, son. You have a job to do.
Yeah, he did. But for the first time in his professional career, focus wasn’t coming easy.
He lifted the brass handle and knocked. Only a few seconds passed before he heard footsteps. When the door opened, he came face-to-face with Janey.
She wore a pair of faded jeans that hugged
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