As Childe recoiled, Isaac grabbed the man’s arm and held him in place. “Don’t worry, he’s with us.” More loudly, he said, “What’s up.”

Shit, he needed to get back in the house here, boys.

“Thought you might like some help.”

With that, the man stared at Childe like his eyes were a phone jack and he was plugging into a wall. Abruptly, Grier’s father started to blink, his lids working Morse code, flip-flip, fliiiiiip, flip, flip. . . .

And then Childe said goodnight, calmly got in his car . . . and drove away.

Isaac watched the taillights turn the corner. “You want to tell me what you just did to that man?”

“Nope. But I’ve bought you some time.”

“To do what?”

“Up to you. At least her father no longer believes he just saw you in that house—which means right now daddy-o isn’t hopping on his cell phone and calling your old boss with where you are.”

Isaac glanced around and wondered how many eyes were on him. “They already know I’m here. I’m about as undercover as the Vegas Strip at this point.”

A large palm landed on his shoulder, heavy and strong, and Isaac froze as a flush went through him. The sense that the guy was powerful was not a surprise—like Jim would hang with anybody else? But there was something freaky about him, and it was not the dark gray metal hoops in his lower lip and his eyebrow and his ears.

His smile was positively ancient, and his voice suggested there were secrets all over his syllables as he spoke: “Why don’t you go inside?”

“Why don’t you tell me what the hell’s going on?”

The guy didn’t look thrilled with the hit back, but Isaac was so NMP’ing that one. He didn’t give a shit if Jim’s buddy gave birth to kittens from the upset—he needed some intel so things made sense.

Some sense.

Any sense.

Christ, this must be how Grier felt.

“I’ve bought you a night—that’s all I can say. I strongly suggest you get in there and stay put until Jim comes back, but obviously I can’t make you grow a brain.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

Pierced leaned in. “We’re the good guys.”

With that, he jogged his hooped brow and Cary Granted it with a grin—

Then just like that, he was gone. Sure as if he was a light turned out. Except, come on, he must have walked off?

Isaac wasted a split second looking around, because, hello, most bastards—even the high-level spooks and assassins he’d been in the service with—couldn’t disappear into thin air.

Whatever. He was a sitting duck out on this front stoop.

Isaac flashed back into the house, locked the door, and went into the kitchen. When he didn’t find Grier, he leaned up the rear stairwell.