Justice of the Supreme War God

CHAPTER 40 PART 2

The evening air outside the 51st Precinct was cool and carried the flat, mineral smell of the city after a warm afternoon. Marcus came through the main entrance with his hands at his sides and the unhurried, ground-covering stride of someone who has been inside for exactly as long as required and not one minute more.

He was four steps down the precinct stairs when he saw her.

Isabella Morrison was coming up the sidewalk with the forward-leaning, slightly breathless energy of a woman who has been anticipating something pleasant and is approaching the moment of its arrival. She was dressed well — the kind of dressed that communicated intention — and she had the specific, bright expression of someone who had spent the drive over constructing what they were going to say to a man in handcuffs.

She saw Marcus walking toward her, unescorted, unjailed, entirely uncuffed, and the bright expression underwent a rapid and comprehensive revision.

She stopped.

"You're—" she started.

"Walking out," Marcus said, and kept walking.

Isabella turned to follow his path. "How are you—" She stepped into his trajectory with the blocking instinct of someone who has decided a conversation is happening. "They were supposed to—"

"Were they," Marcus said. He stopped and looked at her with the contained, direct attention he gave everything. "Isabella."

She had been about to say something else. The quality of his voice stopped it.

"You have spent," Marcus said quietly, "a significant amount of energy since I arrived in your sister's house trying to make things difficult for me. Through your mother. Through Liam Steel, who you've been talking to more regularly than Diana knows." He held her gaze. "I haven't addressed it because it hasn't been worth addressing. Tonight it became worth addressing."

Isabella's chin came up. "I don't know what you think you—"

"Do not involve the police in anything connected to me again," Marcus said. "Do not give information to people who use it the way Liam Steel uses information. Do not walk toward a precinct to enjoy watching a man you've been working to undermine." His voice remained even throughout. Not raised. Not aggressive. The controlled, final quality of a door being locked. "That's all I'm going to say about it."

He walked past her.

Isabella stood on the sidewalk for a moment with the look of a woman who has been addressed in a way she did not anticipate and has not yet identified a response. Then the response arrived, assembled from the same indignant, reflexive machinery that had produced most of her decisions this month.

She turned to the nearest officers — two uniformed cops standing near the precinct entrance having a post-shift conversation — and crossed toward them with the purposeful stride of a woman who has decided to use every tool available.

"Excuse me," she said, inserting herself into their space with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to having attention redirected toward them. "That man who just walked out—" she pointed at Marcus's retreating figure — "he just threatened me. Right there on the steps." She looked between them with the wide, concerned expression she deployed for maximum effect. "I need you to go after him. I need—"

The taller officer looked at Marcus.

Then he looked at Isabella.

His expression changed.

It was not subtle. The professional neutrality he had been maintaining evaporated and was replaced by something considerably less neutral — the specific, controlled fury of a man who has been told something that violates an instruction he received approximately four minutes ago in terms that left no room for interpretation.

"Ma'am," he said.

"He threatened me," Isabella repeated, pressing forward. "I'm a Morrison. My family has supported—"

"Ma'am." The officer's voice had dropped to the low, careful register of someone choosing their words very precisely. He looked at her with an expression that was not remotely sympathetic. "You're lucky you're a woman."

Isabella blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Because if you weren't," the second officer said, "and you came to us with this suggestion after what we just—" He stopped himself. Reorganized. "Do not come to us with anything that has to do with that man." He looked at her with absolute, undisguised directness. "Not a complaint. Not a concern. Not a suggestion. Nothing."

He held her gaze for exactly the right amount of time.

"Are we clear?" the first officer said.

Isabella stood on the precinct steps with her mouth partially open and the complete, sudden absence of all the authority she had brought with her, and watched Marcus Hayes's figure disappear around the corner at the end of the block.