Page 85 of Hush

But, Tom grabbed a pen and a piece of paper and started listing out what he needed. Suits, ties, undershirts. Shoes. His toiletries. Dog food, and Etta Mae’s pillow. He blinked staring at the paper, and then slid it across to Mike.

“I’ll be back in an hour.”

As promised, Mike was back almost on the dot to an hour. He took his own marshal’s car and came back with three duffels loaded up with Tom’s clothes and supplies, Etta Mae’s dog accouterments, and Etta Mae herself, riding shotgun and hanging out the front window. Mike had sent a message before he left, asking Tom to meet him in the basement parking garage.

Etta Mae bounded for him as soon as Mike carried her out of the car. She jumped, both paws landing on his thighs, and tried to reach for his face. She danced a bit, wiggling her butt as she wagged her tail and lolled her tongue out. For the first time that day, Mike saw Tom smile.

Mike transferred Tom’s bags to a blacked-out SUV, catching the keys from a deputy marshal standing guard nearby. The courthouse had been flooded with deputy marshals from headquarters, everyone reporting to Villegas and backing up courthouse security. They brought all the toys, too. Bulletproof SUVs, advanced comms, personal protective gear, and an armory’s worth of weapons. In the rear of the SUV, two bulletproof vests were laid out. One in Mike’s size, one in Tom’s.

“Judge Brewer? Can you come here?”

Tom padded over, Etta Mae trailing at his heels.

Mike laid his hand on Tom’s bulletproof vest. Tom paled, and his lips thinned, pressing together. “This is for you. I don’t believe that it’s necessary to wear it while we’re moving at this time. There haven’t been any overt, actionable threats made against you yet.”

“Yet?”

“With a case like this, they’ll be coming. We’ll monitor every channel—internet, telephone, email, your office mail, everything. Most of them will be garbage. But we will check out every single one.”

Tom nodded.

“Let me show you how to put this on.”

Tom was stiff beneath his touch, his muscles vibrating. Mike slipped the vest over his head and showed him how to wrap the cummerbund, secure the vest and how to shift the weight from his shoulders to his back. He kept his touch quick and light and stepped away as soon as he could. “Feel okay?”

“Feels terrifying.”

“You won’t have to wear this now.”

“But you think I will, in the future.”

Mike didn’t answer as he helped Tom back out of the vest. “Let’s get you to the hotel.”

Tom hefted Etta Mae into the back seat and then followed, sitting behind the empty passenger seat. Etta Mae lay down and rested her chin on his thigh. She’d already had an exciting day, and she clearly needed a nap to recover.

“Mike?” Tom waited until Mike shut the door and they were sealed inside. He turned, looking back. “I don’t want to go to the Hyatt.”

Mike stared.

“Take me to your place?”

“Are you sure?”

Tom sighed and stayed quiet.

Mike put the SUV in gear and started to drive.

An hour later, he pulled into the underground garage beneath his building. He’d taken a circuitous route, checking and double-checking and triple-checking for followers and tails. Nothing, and no media, either. For now, at least, they were off the grid. He pulled into his assigned spot and cut the engine.

They didn’t speak as they climbed out. Tom held Etta Mae’s leash and kept her close, even though she wanted to sniff all the new smells of the garage. Mike carried all of Tom’s bags, his duffels and a garment bag stuffed with ten of Tom’s suits. He led them up the internal stairs to the second floor, and then to his unit. No one was in the halls. Mike never saw his neighbors.

Tom unclipped Etta Mae’s leash as the door opened. She trotted inside, her tail wagging, and made a beeline for the living room and the piles of boxes, his kitchen crap still strewn everywhere. His kitchen was bare concrete flooring and stripped walls, a tarp-covered sink and fridge. He had ducked under the tarp to the fridge enough times that there was a permanent cave opening to it. A stack of paper plates and plastic forks sat on his end table.

“Sorry for the mess. The kitchen is still a disaster zone.” Tom smiled weakly. “Let me show you to the bedroom.”

He took Tom back to his bedroom, setting the duffels in a line by the door and hanging Tom’s garment bag next to his own suits in his cramped walk-in closet. His place was smaller than Tom’s, much, much smaller, and older. He’d done what he could with it, adding trim and drapes and painting the walls, but it still looked like a cheap condo next to Tom’s stately Victorian. His bed took up most of the master bedroom. He didn’t have a stylish sitting area and a chaise lounge beneath a window in his bedroom. He had a cheap full-length mirror from Ikea and two cherry nightstands beside his sleigh bed. A simple chest along the wall, with blankets for winter and a few toys tucked deep in the bottom. “It’s not much.”

Tom sat on the edge of his bed and leaned over, scrubbing his face. The garnet bedspread made his pale skin glow against the rich fabric.