Page 15 of At Their Mercy: Part I

“Write this down,” Reese told me. “Don’t be a Joyce.”

I quirked a grin. I had so many questions. But no, I wasn’t gonna write this down. That was his latest thing. He’d entered some phase where he wanted to pass on life lessons and wisdom, and things had gotten out of control.

“Operator Rose speaking,” a man stated, all business.

I sat up straighter automatically.

Reese set the phone down on my leg. “Do you miss us?”

It was quiet for a couple of beats before the man spoke again.

“Are either of you dying?”

Reese’s forehead wrinkled. “Uh, no?”

“And it ain’t Christmas, so I don’t know why the fuck you’re calling,” Danny responded coolly. “What’s up?”

“What the fuck?” Reese mouthed to River, who shrugged, at a loss too. Then Reese answered. “Well, like I told Em on Christmas, River and I met someone. We want y’all to meet.”

Silence again, for at least four seconds. Reese was gearing up to say something when Danny replied.

“You called me through dispatch to set up a meet-and-greet with your boyfriend?”

That was me. Hi. I was the boyfriend.

“You didn’t answer any of your other phones,” Reese defended. “Em’s not pickin’ up either.”

“Because it’s the middle of the workday,” Danny said slowly, like it was obvious. In retrospect, it was. We were the ones who were weird for not running regular hours. “It’s also May. You know what that month is like here.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek and glanced at River and Reese.

Reese furrowed his brow. “You can’t take a break from planning the next Ecuador excursion for an hour or two?”

“I can,” Danny said. “The question is if I want to. Take this up with Em instead—he can decide. I’m late for a briefing.” With that, he ended the call.

Uh-oh.

“What the fresh fuck was that?” Reese was confused.

So was River. “Beats me. Maybe the recruits are givin’ him more hell than usual this year.”

Reese hummed and ran a hand through his hair, and he glanced my way. “That didn’t go as planned. He’s usually happy to hear from us.”

I cocked my head. Considering they seemed so baffled, maybe I was missing something.

“How old is Danny?” I wondered. Like, what kind of dynamic did they have? Sort of like boss and employee? Downright friends? Because I’d gotten the impression they’d been more like pseudo family, at least with that Emerson fella. I knew he was significantly older than the twins.

“Around fifty?” Reese checked with River.

“Exactly fifty,” River confirmed. “He was born in ’70. In March, I think.”

“And Emerson?” I asked.

River squinted and scratched his forehead. “I think he was born in ’58.”

So, quick math there. Emerson was sixty-two, depending on when his birthday was.

“You last spoke to them on Christmas?” I pressed.