Page 41 of Falcon’s Forever

“What would you suggest?” he asks.

"Women choose when they come and go. If there's an active threat, tell them. Don't lock them in unless they choose lockdown themselves."

He thinks it over. "That raises the risk."

"Yes. I know." I watch him, because I know this goes against his security principles.

He nods slowly, and then, "What if we give them panic devices instead? Something that goes straight to the security channel. Small enough to carry. If somebody wants to go out alone, we don't stop them, but they've got a direct line if anything happens."

I hadn't expected that. "That could work."

Condor would probably build something requiring a retinal scan and satellite access. I make a mental note to supervise whatever they come up with.

Vulture looks between us. "It sounds like you two can sort that out."

"No," Falcon and I say at the same time, and a few people laugh, and he glances at me and smiles, small, but it’s there.

The meeting ends with decisions instead of promises, which means more to this house than anything else that's happened since I arrived. Patrols move. Identification photos get made. The security phone stays. Lockdown zones become optional based on preference. Nobody enters the property for scheduled work without the house being told first, and the transition house gets its own planning group before anything's finalized.

When the men stand to leave, the women don't scatter the way I half expected. Knox stays because Rachel has a medication question. Sterling talks to Sarah about her identification. Vulture ends up cornered by Maya, apparently explaining why emergency chocolate qualifies as medical support, and I hear him say, "I'm not putting that in the budget," and Maya reply, "Then your budget is flawed," and I have to bite my lip to keep from losing it entirely.

Falcon is near the door. For a second I think he's going to come over. He doesn't. He holds it open for Vulture, waits until the others are ready, and leaves with his brothers. There’s no private conversation, and no attempt to turn something that belonged to the whole room into something about the two of us.

It shouldn’t matter, but it does.

Frankie appears beside me as soon as the door closes. “I saw that.”

I glance at her. “Saw what?”

“Nothing,” she replies, far too innocently.

“Don’t start,” I warn her.

“I didn’t.” Frankie’s smile says otherwise.

"That's worse," I tell her, and she laughs and starts gathering mugs, and I help her, and for the next hour the house slowly quietens down. People talk about the meeting, some pleased with how it went, and some still not fully trusting it, which is fair. Trust doesn't show up because Vulture held one decent conversation. It has to be built, over and over, and that applies to every one of us in this house, including me.

By early afternoon I need air. I take the security phone, because I apparently feel naked without it now, and step onto the porch. The compound's busy but not tense. Two prospects are moving the patrol markers farther from the house. Sterling's near the garage showing one of the women something on his phone. A truck pulls out through the gates. There are no raised voices anywhere.

Still, there's tension under all of it, because the SUV hasn't disappeared just because this morning's meeting went well. I walk around to the side of the house where the workers frightened Emily two days ago. The ladder's gone, and the guttering looks the same as always.

A branch snaps behind me.

I spin around and find Falcon standing about fifteen feet away.

He stops immediately and lifts his hands slightly. “Sorry.”

I release the breath caught in my chest. “You’re very quiet for a man your size.”

“Occupational hazard,” Falcon replies.

I raise an eyebrow. “What occupation?”

“Several,” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Falcon doesn’t come any closer, and I notice. I’ve been noticing things like that all week.

“Did you need something?” I ask.