Page 24 of The Broken Places

“Hey, squirt.”

Lennon’s cheeks flushed, and she pushed at him when he rubbed his knuckle on her hair. “Are you kidding me?” she hissed. “Peter, this is myworkcolleague, Ambrose Mars, from the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” she said, enunciating the words. She looked at Ambrose and gave him a tight smile and then muttered under her breath, “I knew this was a bad idea.”

Peter, who had just handed his mother a bottle of wine and was now taking a beer from the fridge, stood straight and raised the bottle to Ambrose. “No shit? Man, do you want a—”

“Ambrose doesn’t drink,” Mrs. Gray said, turning from the sink with a colander of vegetables in her hand that she placed on the opposite counter. “Another lemon, dear? I do have plenty of those. And they flush toxins.”

“Why would you assume Ambrose needs to flush toxins?” Peter asked. “He doesn’t even drink.”

“In this world? Everyone needs to flush toxins,” Mrs. Gray said.

“Speak for yourself.” Peter plopped into the chair at the head of the table. “So, the FBI’s really getting a bad rap these days, huh?” Peter took a swig of his beer. “Rightly so, in my opinion. Nothing personal. The rot is at the top.”

“Peter!” Mrs. Gray said. “Stop causing controversy at the dinner table.”

“You love controversy at the dinner table,” he said. “And it’s not a dinner table at the moment. But in any case, you’ve always said mild-mannered conversations never get at the heart of a topic.”

She grinned. “It is true. But Ambrose might need to be broken in slowly.”

“It’s okay,” Ambrose said. “I don’t take it personally. The public should be able to trust institutions. Eventually most of them end up in service to themselves. It’s just the nature of the beast.”

“Damn, I actually might like this guy,” Peter said. “And agreed. So what should be done about that?”

“Outside checks and balances.”

“What if the checks and balances are captured by the institutions they’re supposed to be keeping accountable?”

Ambrose took a sip of his water. “Then you have to burn the whole system down and start again.”

Peter laughed. “Now I definitely know I like this guy.”

Ambrose smiled. “What do you do, Peter?”

“I assess the security posture of companies. Which basically means I monitor network vulnerabilities and gaps in security controls.”

“Whichbasicallymeans he’s a supernerd,” Lennon offered, giving her brother a grin that held far more pride than the mocking Ambrose thought she’d shot for and missed by a country mile.

“Everyone makes fun of us supernerds until they need us,” Peter said. “And trust me, if you’re doing anything worthwhile, that day always comes.”

They heard feet ascending a set of steps somewhere, and then a man walked through a door at the back of the kitchen that Ambrose hadthought might be to a pantry but must be to the steps to the garage. A pug-dog scampered in with him, beelining for Ambrose.

“We’re going to have to take turns with the telescope,” Lennon’s dad was saying. “I can’t get the other one to work. Oh! Lennon, you’re here. Peter. And this must be Ambrose, the FBI agent. Happy Thanksgiving. Thanks for joining us.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, sir. Thank you for having me.”

The dog started barking, trotting under the table, where he latched on to the side of Ambrose’s leg and began humping it with gusto.

“Hi, Dad—”

“Freddie, Jesus,” Peter said, tilting his head as he watched Ambrose trying to unlatch the dog. “Mom, your horny dog is humping the guest’s leg again.”

“Oh dear. Freddie! No!”

Everyone started scrambling around the table, Lennon’s chair grating over the floor as she practically jumped to her feet. Mrs. Gray bent and wrapped her hands around Freddie’s midsection and began pulling, Mr. Gray leaning under her and unwrapping the dog’s front legs. Freddie was barking and humping, and everyone was yelling at it, and Ambrose was trying hard to hold back the hilarity that threatened. Because it felt like just moments ago, he’d been standing in the rain trying unsuccessfully to get an Uber, and now he was in the middle of this unfamiliar kitchen, the entire family shouting and trying to pull their dog off his leg. It was ... surreal.

Mr. Gray finally managed to remove the dog, and he turned with it and headed toward the doors to the deck. “It’s just his instinct,” Mrs. Gray said. “You must smell good.” She leaned forward. “Oh, you do smell good.”

“Mom! Oh my God,” Lennon said, sinking back down into her chair and putting her face in her hands. “I’m so sorry.”

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