No Quick Fix (Torus Intercession 1)

“Not that far outta town,” he assured me with a squint and a shake of his head.

One down. “Crap,” I muttered, not worried yet but definitely annoyed.

“That’s all kinds of fucked up,” Shaw James chimed in from his desk a few feet away.

“Shaw,” I wailed plaintively, willing my buddy who loved to camp and hike to chime in that it was a joke and he was going. “This is right up your alley, man.”

He swiveled around in his chair and caught me in his dark emerald-green gaze. “Not on a bet, Brann.”

“Why not?” I sort of whined and pleaded at the same time.

“Kids,” he said, shivering like that was the worst thing he could think of. “Read it all, Brann. You’re babysitting a parent, so there’s no way in hell you don’t have to deal with the children. That’s a big no for me.”

I scanned the document quickly. “It says they’re six and eight. You could teach them to fish—you love to fish.”

“Not with kids I don’t,” Shaw assured me, clearly revolted as evidenced by the second shudder as he turned back around.

“You love the outdoors,” I pointed out, grasping for anything to get me out of going to Montana at all, but definitely not now, in September. If it wasn’t cold there already, it soon would be, and then I’d be there through October and November, and God knew what the temperature would plunge to, plus… Montana, for fuck’s sake! “You’re always saying how—”

“It’s a three-month-long job,” he said over his shoulder, “in a one-horse town named after a fuckin’ bear, Brann. I would lose my goddamn mind.”

Like I wouldn’t?

“And you won’t have any privacy. Seriously, the job is to live there with the family,” he continued. There was no mistaking the horror in his voice when he said with. “I honestly can’t think of anything worse than that.”

“No, c’mon, it’ll be fun.”

Nothing.

“Please?”

He said nothing, just rubbed his hand over his ginger buzz cut and ignored me completely.

Fucker.

Turning, I focused my attention on Croy Esca, who looked sympathetic even as he shook his head. Pretty boy, looked way younger that twenty-eight, came from a rich family who cut all ties to him when he came out as gay as a senior in high school. He was lucky because he’d gotten a full ride to some college in California, and moved there from Boston. Somehow, he’d ended up in Chicago. I didn’t know the whole story, and I’d never asked. I didn’t like people prying into my life, I figured I’d extend the guys I worked with the same courtesy.

“Montana?” I said hopefully, smiling for good measure.

Croy arched a white-blond eyebrow and replied with that silky tone of his, “Whatever would I do there, Brann?”

“You could paint,” I said, pouring on all the cheerful enthusiasm I could muster. He was an artist, that much I knew.

Croy’s grimace gave me his answer—clearly I was deluded and no way in hell was he driving his ass northwest.

Spinning slowly in my office chair, the concern becoming real, I caught Cooper with my stare. “Let’s really think about this now,” I said seriously.

“I’m givin’ that a hard pass. Way too much nature,” he informed me. “And it’s gonna get really cold there by November.”

But it was only the second week in September now. “It gets a bit cold here too,” I reminded him. It was Chicago, after all.

“Yeah, but here I have pizza and the Blackhawks and my bed,” he shot back, grinning. He was being nice about it, not snide like Shaw, but still, he wasn’t going. And he was right. There was a lot to be said for being in your own bed.

I tried to look pitiful.

“I think the puppy dog thing only works on guys who wanna fuck you.”

I was thinking that was accurate.

“Do you even know what’s in Montana?” he asked, pinning me with a look.

“No,” I answered miserably.

“Well then, just think, maybe it’ll be an adventure.”

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath.

“Again,” he said, sounding tired but gentle. “This is why we never, ever, sleep in, especially toward the end of the week. You have no idea what kind of bullshit job Jare got talked into taking on Monday or Tuesday that he’ll dump on you and then start his weekend early.”

At Torus, we specialized in what Jared Colter called, intercession and alignment. It was a fancy way to say fixer. Basically, we were intermediaries. We interceded on a client’s behalf, and by the time we left, their life would be, or should be, in order. It was what my boss called syzygy, connected things that lined up just right. When Jared hired me, he gave me a whole speech about positive energy and good karma and crap like that, but for me, it was all about helping people out. I was happy to do that and, bonus, I got paid—a win-win situation and, in theory, it was easy.