Page 24 of Protecting the Nerd

“I’ll take good care of him,” Quillon replied.

Fir studied him, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think you will.”

8

QUILLON

Ihad never wanted to slap someone more than York’s parents, especially his mother. Contrary to what people seemed to think of those choosing a career in the military, I was not a violent man. Yes, I was a trained Marine who had killed in the line of duty and wouldn’t hesitate to do it again to protect others or myself, but that didn’t mean I liked it. I much preferred to de-escalate conflicts and prevent weapons from being needed.

But the day after that whole debacle, I was still stewing over the way York’s parents treated him. As if he was and always would be less than his brother. As if he didn’t matter. As if he was invisible.

I understood grief probably better than most people. Not only had I lost several brothers in arms, but my baby sister, Charlotte, had died when she was only seven years old. She’d had a brain tumor and had only lived six months past the diagnosis. I’d been fifteen, old enough to understand, and when she passed away, the entire family had been devastated. She’d been our Miss Sunshine, this darting happy little bee, and her death had left a huge void.

My parents had grieved deeply, and it had taken a few months before my mom had smiled again. But she had, and over time, a sense of normalcy had returned. They would always miss Charlotte, as would I, but losing her hadn’t consumed them like it had York’s parents losing their oldest son. What had caused that difference? What had made them so stuck in their grief, unable to move on?

And, most importantly, was that the reason York disliked his brother? Because Essex had always been their parents’ favorite? It seemed like a plausible explanation, yet I felt like I was missing something. I had so many questions, but I didn’t ask them. York had made it clear the subject wasn’t up for discussion, and I respected that.

At least he had a wonderful friend in Fir Everett, who was warm and understanding. I’d made myself scarce for a bit in case York wanted to talk to his friend about what had happened. I wasn’t sure if he had, but when we left, he’d seemed a little less sad, so spending time with Fir had helped.

Our meeting with Sheriff Frant had been productive. After talking to him, I’d been in awe of his competence and had asked if he could figure out a way to get two FBI agents into town to help me protect York. He’d suggested letting them pose as federal employees doing a research project on the effectiveness of a local sheriff. That way, they could stay for a few weeks, and it wouldn’t raise suspicion to see them around town or tagging along with Auden. I liked that suggestion, and when I told Coulson, he’d also been on board.

Auden had found them a place to stay with an older man who lived alone in a big house, and considering the FBI would pay him rent, it was a win-win for everyone. The house was two blocks from us, so it was all working out. We kept in touch through cell phones and had agreed that in public, we’d pretend we didn’t know each other.

I watched York as he ran a test on the security system he had installed. He’d set up sensors on every door and window, downstairs and upstairs, that would alert us if they were opened. We had cameras at the front and back of the house, plus two aimed at the driveway, one of which he’d hidden in a tree. The house was now a fortress.

York was muttering as he punched in codes. He was in the zone again, not noticing my presence. It was becoming clear that he wouldn’t spot danger until it was too late, too lost in his head, too absorbed in whatever he was doing. So it would have to be up to me and the two FBI agents to be vigilant. Good thing I excelled at my job, although I would’ve preferred a bigger team.

“Done.” York lowered his phone. “I still think it’s inferior to what I designed, but it’ll do the job.”

I grinned. “Of course it’s inferior. While top of the line, this is a commercial, mass-produced product, not a custom design like yours.”

“True. Oh well, it’ll have to do. I don’t have the time to adapt the one I designed to this house.”

“Thanks for installing it.”

“I’m surprised you couldn’t do it yourself, considering you work for a security company.”

“I never said I couldn’t. You offered to do it.”

“Because you implied you weren’t able to, saying Julius would have to do it.”

I shrugged. “It’s not my job, and besides, would you rather have a system installed by an amateur or a pro?”

“Good point. Either way, it’s up and running, and all tests indicate it’s functioning as it should.”

“Awesome. Thank you.”

“You already thanked me.”

“I can’t do it twice?”

“It wasn’t that big a deal.”

“I think if someone says thank you, you say ‘you’re welcome.’ Unless they’re not welcome, in which case you come up with a neutral alternative.”

He cocked his head as if seriously considering my words. “You’re welcome,” he said, and funnily enough, it felt like a victory.

“What were you planning for dinner for tonight?” I asked. “Takeout?”

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