“My family.”
“Anybody armed?”
“No.”
“How do I know?”
“You don’t.”
Grant’s eyebrows rose.
Marcus continued.
“That’s why you investigate.”
Grant’s grin returned.
“Big man thinks he knows police work.”
Marcus looked at the body camera.
“I know enough.”
That was when Grant kicked the chair over.
By the time Morris pushed the barbecue tray onto the ground, Marcus had reached a conclusion.
The safest thing was to wait.
Not because Grant had authority to do whatever he wanted.
Because the gun changed the mathematics.
Marcus could overpower him physically.
Probably.
He would never try.
Morris could panic.
Grant could fire.
Children were ten feet away.
So Marcus stood still.
Hands visible.
Voice controlled.
“You have a body camera.”
Grant glanced at it.
“So?”
“Good.”
“Think it’ll save you?”
Marcus almost smiled.
“No.”
Grant moved closer.
“You got attitude for somebody with a gun pointed at him.”
Marcus’s eyes hardened.
“That sentence should bother you.”
Grant’s face changed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Say it.”
Marcus remained quiet.
Grant leaned forward.
“That’s what I thought.”
Marcus could hear engines outside.
He knew the SUVs.
His team.
And suddenly he hated the timing.
Because he knew exactly what everyone would think after.
That the cavalry had arrived.
That Marcus had some hidden card to play.
That a powerful federal agent had been saved by more powerful federal agents.
He already knew the real story was uglier.
If Adrian Cross had arrived five minutes later, Grant would have still been wrong.
If Marcus had been an accountant, Grant would still have been wrong.
If no federal badge existed anywhere in the house, the gun would still have been wrong.
Then the gate opened.
Adrian saw the weapon.
“GUN DOWN!”
Grant turned halfway.
His gun remained aimed toward Marcus.
Cross drew.
Two other agents moved laterally.
“Sergeant,” Cross shouted. “Lower the weapon!”
Grant’s eyes flicked between them.
“Who the hell are you?”
Cross held his credential high with his support hand.
“FBI.”
Morris’s face changed.
Cross pointed toward Marcus.
“That’s Special Agent Hale.”
Grant looked at Marcus.
Then back at Cross.
The gun lowered by three inches.
Marcus spoke immediately.
“Tyler.”
Grant looked at him.
It was the first time Marcus used his first name.
“Holster it.”
Grant stared.
Marcus kept his voice calm.
“You've got three agents looking at you, children behind me, and no confirmed weapon.”
Grant swallowed.
“Holster it.”
Finally, the pistol went down.
Then into the holster.
Cross lowered his own weapon.
Everyone breathed.
Marcus did not.
Not yet.
Grant looked suddenly furious rather than embarrassed.
“You're federal?”
Marcus lowered his hands.
“Yes.”
“You could have said that.”
Marcus stared at him.
“I told you my name.”
“That doesn't mean anything to me.”
“It was supposed to.”
Grant frowned.
Marcus pointed toward the patio.