Page 95 of Pack Baby for the Bratva
"Every week," Maeve said. Her voice was thick in the way that meant tears were being forcibly suppressed by sheer willpower. "You call me every week. And if you need anything. I mean anything, money, a flight home, someone to—"
"Bury a body," Mary supplied. "I know. You've mentioned. Several times."
"I'm serious."
"I'm going to college, Maeve. Not joining a cartel. I think I'll manage the body-burying on my own."
Maeve pulled back and gripped Mary's face in both hands. Her green eyes were blazing. "He won't come for you. I'll make sure of it."
"I know," Mary said. She looked past Maeve, catching my eye, then Artem's. She gave Gregor a small wave, who was by the door with Fergus tucked under his arm, the dog wearing a camouflage waistcoat.
"Thank you," she said. "All of you. For everything."
"Study hard," Artem said. He smiled. "And don't let anyone intimidate you."
"Please." Mary's grin snapped back into place as she turned toward the door. "I survived Callum McCarthy and lived with the Petrov Bratva. A bunch of frat boys in Boston aren't going to know what hit them."
Gregor stepped forward.
Everyone paused, because Gregor stepping forward unexpectedly was the kind of thing that made people check their exits.
He held out a small black case.
Mary eyed it. "If that's a weapon, I'm touched, but I have concerns about getting it through customs."
"Emergency phone. Encrypted." He opened the case. "One button reaches me. One reaches Ivan. One reaches Artem. One reaches Maeve."
Mary took it. Her expression softened as all the sarcasm drained out of her. "Thank you."
"Don’t lose it."
"There it is. Sweet moment cancelled."
Gregor grunted.
Maeve made a sound and hugged Mary again. This one was longer as Mary's arms came up around her sister's back, and for a moment neither of them moved.
"I'll call," Mary whispered.
"You'd better. I know dangerous people now."
"You married dangerous people."
"Exactly. Very efficient."
Mary pulled back. She walked out the front doors, and to the car. We stood in the doorway watching the SUV crunch down the long gravel drive. The morning was gray and damp.
Maeve leaned back against Artem's chest. He wrapped his arms around her. I put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. We waited until Mary’s silhouette in the back window got smaller and smaller and until the taillights flared once at the gates and then vanished.
"Marli Jacobson," Maeve said quietly. "It suits her."
"She picked it herself,” Artem said.
"Of course she did."
We stayed in the doorway for a long moment. The gravel settled. The guards resumed their positions. Fergus squirmed in Gregor's grip and was set down with a small, indignant noise.
Then a cold thought arrived.
