Gold and artifacts meant money. Money meant weapons. And weapons meant more dead bodies.
As trivial as the job had seemed during our initial briefing, we’d kept a lot of people alive.
But then the CIA sent us John.
When he heard he had a Tristan, an Arthur, and a Lance on what he liked to callhisteam, he declared himself the wizard in charge, and we were unofficially on Task Force Grail. He dubbed himself Merlin, of course, and the rest of the call signs followed.
We were his knights in shining fucking armor.
I checked my watch. It was almost four o’clock.
Tristan did the same. “The Velvet Bean closes soon.”
I considered growling at him, rather than swearing again, since it hadn’t produced the results I’d wanted.
Grace was fine. The Russian was rude, but not a threat. I’d probably overreacted earlier, but there’d been something about him… and something about her.
“Lance and I are grabbing drinks before dinner,” Arthur said, bringing me back. “You in,Galahad?”
One more reason not to work with these guys. They knew which buttons to press and exactly how hard. I turned an intentional glower on him. “Jackass.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Arthur pulled out his phone and began typing. “I’ll send you the address. You coming, Tris?”
“I’d love to, but Izzy’s had a pot of sauce in the slow cooker all day, and there are meatballs this big”—he held up a clenched fist—“calling my name.”
“The way to a man’s heart, as they say.” Arthur stuffed his phone back into his pocket. To Tristan, he said, “Check in withthe contractor in the morning, would you? I need a revised timeline. I’m heading to Monaco with Merlin in two days, and I don’t want to be worrying about progress while I’m gone.”
“Will do.”
“And you.” Arthur looked at me. “Send me whatever White Spring is offering you. We’ll discuss how our unnamed security company can beat everything they’ve put on the table.”
“Round TableSecurity,” said Tristan, as he headed for the door. “I’m telling you. It’s got a ring to it.”
“Suffer-ring,” I muttered, which just made him laugh. Son of a bitch.
Chapter 5
Grace
It was five o’clock,and the bell above the door jingled its usual bright tune as Kirk pushed it open, ushering in a breath of late afternoon air. The sound always made me think of Didi—her voice, full of certainty, declaring a coffee shop needed‘personality, sweetie, not just caffeine.’She’d chosen the bell herself, and it was one more piece of her woven into the fabric of this place. She’d also chosen the little metal tables and chairs I kept outside during the day.
Kirk stepped onto the sidewalk, holding the door with his body as I approached. “You’ve got that look again.”
I blinked. “What look?”
“The one where you’re somewhere else.And don’t try to say you’re spiraling about closing procedures.”
I sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “Maybe Iwasthinking about closing procedures.”
“Liar.” He worked part-time for me when his schedule at Michigan State allowed. Just my luck, I’d hired a psych major who liked to practice on his coworkers. He tapped his temple knowingly. “Your brain’s doing the thing where it spins itself in circles. Let me guess. London?”
If only London were the thing on my mind. “Speaking of which, you’re sure about taking on the extra shifts while I’m gone? It won’t interfere with classes?”
“I’m only in two for summer. They’re a little rough, but I’m good.”
“I appreciate it.”
“And it gives me more time to practice my latte art. Vanessa’s gottenseriousabout it.”
