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His body knew this place.
It knew how to sit inside a threat and let everything nonessential fall away until the only things left were the other person’s eyes and the calculation of what they needed. The calculation was already running in Ryder’s mind.
Heath wanted composure. He wanted proof that the man sitting in front of him wouldn’t crumble under pressure. Ryder could give him that without trying, but the not-trying was the thing that sat in his stomach like a stone.
This was supposed to be hard. A gun to his head was supposed to cost something. His pulse should have been hammering. His hands should have been fighting a twitch. Instead, there was only the quiet and the focus and the old, steady machinery doing exactly what it had always done.
Kept him isolated from the monster he was.
Heath held the gun for five seconds. Ten. Watching Ryder’s eyes. Looking for the flinch, the flutter, the involuntary tell that said the man sitting in front of him wasn’t who he claimed to be.
He wouldn’t find it. Whatever else Ryder was lying about tonight, the monster was real. Just inches below the surface.
“You done?”
Heath didn’t move.
“Because if you’re going to pull the trigger, pull it, asshole. And if you’re not, take the gun out of my face so we can have an actual conversation.”
Something shifted behind Heath’s eyes. Recognition, maybe. One professional acknowledging another. He pulled the gun back and set it on the table between them. He didn’t holster it.
“He’s fine.” Heath was looking at Arlo, not at Ryder.
The room exhaled. The man on the couch went back to cleaning his gun. Arlo’s shoulders dropped, and he picked up his drink like the last thirty seconds hadn’t happened.
“Told you,” Arlo said.
“I don’t take your word for things like this. You know that.”
“And I don’t tell you how to do your job. Which is why I sat here and kept my mouth shut.” Arlo looked at Ryder. “Heath does that. Has to see how things are for himself using his own methods. Don’t take it personally.”
Ryder reached for his whiskey and took a drink. His hand was steady. Of course it was. “One free pass since this is your place.”
“Good, that’s settled. Come on.” Arlo stood. “Let me show you where you’re sleeping.”
The hallway off the common area was narrow, five doors on each side. Arlo walked him past three of them, two closed, one open with a duffel bag visible on an unmade bed, and stopped at the fourth.
“Bathroom’s at the end. Towels are in the closet. Kitchen’s open whenever, just clean up after yourself.”
The room was small. A full-size bed, a nightstand, a wooden chair in the corner. One window with curtains that had faded from whatever color they’d started as. A lamp on the nightstand that looked older than Ryder.
“This is fine.”
“I know it’s not the Ritz. But it’s temporary.” Arlo leaned against the doorframe. “We’re in a holding pattern right now. Waiting on some logistics to come together for a few things we’ve got moving. Once that’s sorted, we’ll be relocating.”
“What kinds of things are you moving?” Tell me all about the kids, fuckface.
“The usual. Some new, some ongoing.” Arlo’s face didn’t change, but his voice dropped, the way it did when a man wanted you to understand you were being let inside something. “We’ve expanded since you were around. Diversified. Got into some new endeavors that have been very, very good to us.”
Ryder didn’t push. The instinct was to press, to dig, to get Arlo to admit what he meant by new endeavors. But a man who’d been doing corporate security for five years wouldn’t know, and that man wouldn’t push for details on his first night.
“Sounds like you’ve been busy.”
“We have. And we could use someone with your particular background with logistics.” Arlo tapped the doorframe twice. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
“Arlo.”
He stopped.
