Page 47 of Burden of Proof

“Then it won’t cause an issue.”

“I’m in the elevator,” I said, “so if I lose you, I’ll see you at six.”

“I can’t wai?—”

The annoying trill of the disconnect notification rang sharply in my ear, and with a frown, I shoved my phone into my pocket. Seconds later, I reached the ground floor. The doors slid open into the busy reception lobby, and it was easy for me to pick Marshall’s imposing silhouette out on the street. He paced the length of the building, a tense frown on his face.

Poor bastard. I needed to quickly put him out of his misery.

I closed the space between us with long and sure strides, pushing open the glass door and joining him on the curb as he turned for another length of sidewalk.

“Sorry for the wait,” I apologized.

“It’s fine,” he grumbled, pale eyes searching my face.

“I’m sleeping with Silas’ best friend.” I loosened the knot on my tie and smiled up at my protective—and apparently dominant—older brother. “Just thought you should know.”

“I do know,” he said.

“Has your mind been racing with curiosity over the things I do in the bedroom now?” I inclined my head toward the corner, toward the deli Finn and I frequented. “Because I know quite a bit more about your bedroom habits than I ever wanted to, if we’re being honest.”

Marshall let out a breath, falling into step beside me. “We’re always honest.”

“That’s why I’m telling you now.”

“How long has it been going on for?” he asked.

“It’s new.”

We reached the deli and quickly made our way to two vacant seats at the counter. The place was packed, all the booths and tables taken, the volume almost impossible to have a conversation over, which would only work out in my favor if things got too hairy with Marshall.

“Does this mean that you…” he trailed off.

“I don’t think we need to go into details, Marsh.”

“Right.”

I handed him a menu, picking at the cuticle on my thumb while he perused the sandwich offerings.

I ordered the same thing every time, so did Finn, so I couldn’t even remember the last time I looked to see what other options they had available. I’d always imagined myself to be the kind of man who liked what he liked, but then Lincoln had shown up and neatly tossed that idea into the trash. Or maybe he’d only shined a light on it. I got the same thing because I knew I liked it, but that didn’t mean there weren’t other things out there that I would also like.

A frazzled-looking waitress came by, notepad in hand. “The usual?” she asked me.

I shook my head and jerked my thumb toward Marshall. “I’ll have whatever he’s having.”

From the corner of my eye, I could see Marshall’s raised brow. The waitress looked at him, and he ordered a hot turkey and swiss with bacon, then slipped the menu back into place behind the napkin dispenser.

“You need to be gentle with him,” Marshall said slowly, like the words were as curious to him as they were to me. It was the way I imagined he’d warn someone away from Smith, but the protectiveness toward Lincoln was unexpected.

“I know,” I said.

Maybe—hopefully—I knew better than Marshall did.

“He’s…there’s been a lot of upheaval for him. He’s not steady.”

“He’s steady with me.”

Marshall dragged his tongue across the front of his teeth and let out a long breath that took at least three inches off the height of his shoulders. “He’s adjusting to?—”