Page 45 of Perfect Order
“What?” His penetrating green eyes don’t flicker as they stare at me.
“How did you go on every day after everything that happened to you?” I ask him bluntly. Caleb’s past includes a military background that’s shrouded in darkness, on top of which he’s fought through personal trauma to form a loving family. “Between my own issues and having a front seat to Erzulie’s trauma, I feel like I’m going to be sick.”
He rubs his hand absentmindedly over the back of his neck. “What makes you think I do?” Before I can clarify my question, he goes on. “It took a long time to accept—and remember, not everything we fear is something tangible. As soldiers, too many of the battles we face are in the dark, alone.”
“I’m glad you found your way,” I remark as I stand in front of a man I briefly worked with in my early days on a joint task force overseas right before he left the Army.
His eyes drift to the Manhattan skyline. “So am I, Kane. Anyway, if you notice anything unusual, raise it up. I’m code wording both Beckett’s and the file I’ve started on Erzulie, so you’ll need to come to me or Keene for access.”
I arch my brow but don’t contradict him. Something big must be going on, but since Caleb doesn’t offer more, I don’t ask.
For now.
Hours later, I’m working out in the gym in the building where Beckett bought a condominium for the team for Hudson to crash when we’re not on duty.Benevolent motherfucker, I think ruefully. He drives us insane on a daily basis with his arbitrary requests to bounce from one side of New York to the other but drops millions of dollars to ensure our comfort.
I groan aloud when the heavy metal I’d been listening to changes to the Backstreet Boys. I don’t even bother to hide my irritation. “For real? The Backstreet Boys?” I drop the free weights to the floor with a thud.
And the man known around the world for his lyrics that bring both men and women to their knees pops his head around the corner with an enormous grin. “I’m expanding your musical knowledge, Kane.”
“You’re trying to send me into a diabetic coma.” I snatch up my water bottle and drink while glaring at the tattooed megastar.
“Listen to these lyrics. They’re ridiculous.”
“That’s the truth,” I mutter.
“You have no soul. This is…”
“Crap. If you want to listen to ’90s music with soul, put in Dave Matthews. Hell, slap on Ani DiFranco, but turn this off.”
Beckett’s eyes light up like I’ve just told him Christmas has come months early. I hold up a hand to stave him off. “Not now. Right now, since you’re here, I have a question for you.”
He frowns. “What’s wrong?” He slips the remote from his pocket and turns down the music.
I straddle the weight bench. “Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary with Erzulie recently?”
“Other than her stubborn determination not to listen to a damn word I’ve said?” Beckett’s frustration is palpable.
“Sure.” I’ve learned in interrogations to let people just talk. I’ll eventually get the answers I want.
He runs his hand over his jaw. “It’s since she lost her sister. I…appreciate…what it means to have loved and lost someone you’re soul bound to.”
It’s a good thing I’m trained at this, otherwise I might have choked on air before asking, “Oh?”
His face goes blank. “There are just some mistakes you don’t get a second chance to fix, Kane.”
Don’t I know it. “So, you’re not concerned she’s going to be pulling any stunts like this again?” I ask casually. Beckett shoots me a confused look. “Look, man, it’s my job to walk in the room before you. I need to know if I need to add Erzulie to a proscribed list—at the very least screen her shit before she gets through to you.”
Beckett’s face breaks into a wide grin. “Aw, Kane. You care.”
“Yeah—about not getting shot. I’d like to think you’d appreciate that.”
Beckett acknowledges my statement with a tip of his head. “And I appreciate you thinking this through with a calmer head than I did. I don’t think there’s going to be a problem with Kylie though. I tore into her pretty good after it happened.”
I bite my lip to hold back my initial reaction, which is to defend her. Instead, I remark, “Well, that must have been enjoyable for her if she had a hangover.”
“I’m sure it was.” Beckett’s eyes turn hard. “We’ve all lost people who have meant the world to us. I told her to put it in the one safe place she can—her music.” He pivots and heads for the door.
“Beckett,” I call out. He pauses. “Are you going to change the music back?”
