never been so inextricably bound to his crew before, not even in the military. Maybe it was because he was dealing with people whose entire identity was about avoiding violence, but somehow, being their protector meant more to him now.
“Big pot,” Hunter said now on a yawn. “And Josh, if you can wait until I shower, I’d be much obliged.”
“Yeah, no problem,” he said. “Grace, you go first.”
Grace—who looked at least as tired as Hunter—smiled benignly and wandered off toward the shower, grabbing the discarded sweats on his way.
“Those yours?” Josh asked, sprawling into one of Hunter’s kitchen chairs. Josh himself was slightly built and maybe as tall as Grace. Whomever his biological father had been, he’d given Josh his coloring, but Josh had kept his mother’s build. That didn’t keep him from taking as much space as Chuck when he wanted to.
And right now, he apparently wanted to.
“Yup,” Hunter said.
Josh looked at him directly. “Good. Don’t expect to get them back.”
Hunter gave a grim smile. “You weren’t joking about the contract, were you?”
“Look,” Josh said on an exhale, “you make him happy right now. He trusts you. We trust you. So I’m just putting it out there that we have expectations, and I know you won’t disappoint us.”
Behind him, Chuck let out a snort that sounded purely involuntary. “Oh my God. He sounds like a daddy! It’s terrifying.”
Hunter grinned at him, knowing that a lot of Chuck’s good-ole-boy attitude was for show. If he hadn’t been wiping spit off his face, Hunter would have suspected he’d been trying to break the tension.
But he had a point.
“Nobody hurts Grace on my watch,” he agreed soberly. “I told you that before.”
Josh smiled happily and pulled his sprawl in to a prim pose behind the table. “Awesome. Sit down and let Chuck do whatever mysterious thing he does to your coffee. It’s delicious.”
Over Josh’s head, Chuck was mouthing, “Cinnamon!” and Hunter had to smile. Chuck was the sort of guy who knew how to prepare sushi, caulk a bathtub, and set a charge of C-4 in the exact place to blow a bank vault open. It all depended on what you needed that day. Josh had met Chuck the same way he’d met Hunter. In the parking garage by U of C. Except Chuck had been about to move a car that didn’t belong to him. Not steal it, just move it. Forcing the douchebag who owned it to search the entire parking garage to find it. For the umpteenth time in two weeks. Hunter could go along with that kind of job—sometimes, just harassing the douchebags was deeply fulfilling.
Now Hunter took a donut and asked them what was on for the day, and Josh grinned, catlike, and said, “Let’s wait until Grace is out of the shower.” Then he reached inside the box, pulled out a devil’s food treat with icing and sprinkles, and took his own bite. “It’s gonna be good,” he said, chewing.
Chuck paused in his act of assembling ingredients for what should have been a simple cup of coffee. “Count on it,” he said, winking at Hunter.
Hunter took a bite of his donut and asked about the weather, because it turned out he had faith that his crew wasn’t going to let him down.
“SEE,” JOSH said, when Hunter and Grace were both showered, “Danny figured that if we started looking at charity shindigs for certain politicians, or artists’ benefits, or even museum displays in Chicago about two or three weeks before the big ripples, we’d see potential auction events. You know, the spoiled rich people gather, and the big players have a special event all to themselves in a secret room. Star-chamber stuff.”
Hunter nodded. “I’ve taken a few jobs to guard people when they come out of those rooms. If they’re the ones leaving with the brass ring, sometimes the trip home can look like ‘Spy vs. Spy,’ you know?”
“That thing from Mad Magazine?” Grace asked, doctoring his coffee. “That’s real?”
“No,” Hunter said. “I was being facetious.”
Grace sighed and wandered over to the table where the rest of them were sitting. “That’s a damned shame. I always keep hoping weird bird people are going to start popping out with cartoon detonators.”
“I wouldn’t,” Josh said, “Because that would be terrifying. But Hunter, you get the idea, right? Those things are always held at galas or dinners or something. It makes a good cover, and lo and behold, muckety-mucks everywhere.”
Hunter nodded. “Yeah, I get it. And it would probably be