Anson stood and followed him. “You had good reason to put Richard to watching your back before. Now it’s okay that he isn’t?”

“We don’t have enough people,” he said tiredly. “So I’m watching my own back.”

“What’s going on?” the older man asked. “You’ve always been the sharpest barracuda in our stream, and you’ve always been on everybody about every little detail. You trained the rest of us to be patient and methodical—in fact, I’m sure that’s how we’ve gone undetected for so long.”

He skewered the other man with a hard look. “I’m still the sharpest barracuda in the stream.”

“Okay,” Anson said grimly. “Look, I can’t fault your logic—logic isn’t the problem. And no, we don’t have enough people, but there’s something different about you. That’s why I’m here. It’s been different ever since you got tangled up in that mess involving the Sullivan woman.”

“What do you want me to say?” He yanked his tie off and threw it on the counter.

“I want you to tell me what’s going on, because I know something is! We’ve known each other a long damn time, Josiah.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, abruptly sick of answering to that name and holding everything back. “Molly’s pregnant. It’s my baby. I went to meet her in New Orleans for the holiday weekend. And I want to meet her again as soon as possible. I just have to find a way to talk her into it.”

Anson’s eyes widened. “You’re the last person I would have expected that from. Out of all of us, I thought maybe Maria or Steven would be vulnerable to the lure of a new life.”

“They would have been my guess as well. They’re more balanced and open.” Josiah went for the scotch bottle, poured a few fingers into a glass, and held the bottle up in silent question to Anson, who nodded. He poured a second glass and thrust it across the counter.

Anson swallowed down a hefty gulp. “We’ve all lost something precious to that bastard. My wife, Maria’s daughter, Steven’s parents, Richard’s platoon, Henry’s fiancée. But you—you lost years. Nobody’s hate has burned hotter than yours, and none of us have been more driven.”

“Oh, I still hate him.” Josiah knocked back his drink and poured another. “And I still want him dead. But what if I’m starting to need something else more than I want that?”

This baby and I deserve someone who will always put us first.

And I’m not waiting for you.

“You’re tired,” Anson said quietly, his gaze keen.