I step back.
He looks between us. His eyes do the thing his sister's eyes do. He clocks the distance in the room, the two glasses next to one glass, the way she's looking at her whiskey instead of at him.
He doesn't say anything about it.
Not yet.
We sit.
"Talk me through it," he says.
I do. I walk him through the text, the threat profile on Tremblay, the team on the ridge, the go-bag in the truck, the arrests rolling up on the other end. I keep it clean and short. Simone adds detail when I miss it. Marcus takes notes on a little pad he pulls from his jacket.
When I'm done he closes the pad. Rubs his face with both hands.
"Okay. I want her in Vancouver. I've got a building. Top floor. Doorman. Cameras. I can put two of our guys on the hall."
"No," Simone says.
"Simone."
"No, Marcus."
"It's four days. Maybe five."
"I said no."
"You don't get a no on this. You get a location."
She stands up. Which means I stand up. Which means Marcus stands up because he's known his sister longer than I have and he knows what's coming.
"I'm staying here, Marcus."
"Here."
"Here."
"In the cabin."
"In the cabin."
"With Gray."
"With Gray."
Marcus turns and looks at me.
He doesn't say anything for about four seconds. The kind of four seconds a man uses to run his whole mental rolodex and land on a conclusion he hates.
"Gray."
"Marcus."
"Outside."
"Okay."
I set my whiskey down.
