“That’s the sort of thing I’m talking about,” Tristan continued. “We tucked the archaeological team behind the bulldozer, but you hopped into the driver’s seat and provided us with mobile cover.”
The memory flitted through my mind. It had been a damn near miracle their shots had missed me when I was out in the open. The echo of bullets ricocheting off metal was so vivid it could have been happening inside the café. I covered it by taking another sip of coffee, letting the deep flavor pull me back to the room.
“That’s what we need.” Tristan wrapped his hands around his mug. “Somebody who doesn’t simply follow the standard playbook. You see solutions no one else does, and you’re not afraid to act on them.”
“Gawain would have done it if he weren’t already injured.”
Tristan ignored the comment and kept going. “Big firms bury you under red tape and SOPs. We all went through shit with Pendragon Security, but our new company won’t do that, because it’sus. Plus, you operate like we do.”
“White Spring has resources?—”
“We’ve got different ones. Better ones.” He flipped up his fingers as he spoke, punctuating each point. “No corporate nonsense, no chain-of-command tangle, and no middle managers who don’t understand what an operator needs. It’ll just be us, doing a job we’re good at, answering to each other.”
The coffee shop hummed around us, with customers chatting, machines whirring, and music playing softly overhead. Grace moved between tables, stopping to chat with the older man, who pointed at what must have been a crossword puzzle clue he needed help with. Her laugh carried across the room, genuine and unguarded.
Her laugh was like a hug, too.
You need to get out of this place.
“Think about it,” Tristan said, finally leaning back. “We’re looking for more team members who excel in close protection. And working with people you trust makes work a thousand times easier.”
I drank more coffee, irritated by how much I enjoyed it. Almost as irritated as I was at myself for noticing the way Grace somehow smiled with her whole body when she talked to her customers. Maybe it was more than an act to weasel better tips out of them.
“I’ll think about it,” I said, mostly to make him stop nagging. “But I’m due in DC next week to continue the process with White Spring.”
“Thinking is all I’m asking for now.” Tristan glanced at Grace, telegraphing that he thought I was considering the woman instead of the job. “Though I should mention, if you join us, this would be our regular meeting spot.”
I shot him a scowl. “Subtle.”
“Hey, I’m just saying.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Good coffee, good company... could be worse ways to start the day, right?”
Chapter 3
Grace
As I tucked a recently vacatedchair in under its table, a prickling sensation crept up my neck, urging me to look around.
A man stood too still in front of the photo wall, his gaze fixed on my grandmother’s portrait. He was shy of six feet tall with thick, wavy black hair that was gray at his sideburns and curled at his jacket collar. A day’s worth of stubble covered his jaw, and his cheeks were so hollow I had a sudden desire to feed him.
“Hey, Grace, you about done with those tables?” Vanessa called from the counter.
“Almost,” I replied, keeping my eyes on the stranger. “I’m just finishing up.”
I approached him with my best customer-service smile, which was, honestly, my everyday smile. “Have you had a chance to place your order?”
“Not yet.” His accent was maybe Russian, each word precise and measured. He turned slowly, pursing his lips, and undoing the top button of his dark gray shirt. He gestured to Didi’s photo. “This woman. She is quite beautiful.”
“Thank you. She was my grandmother.”
“Ah.” Why wasn’t he smiling? The people who stopped at the photo wall always smiled. “Where was this taken? Paris?”
I shifted my weight, keeping my tone deliberately light while every instinct screamed danger. “Actually, London. Early fifties.”
“Such a vibrant time,” he mused, returning to the photo. “Did she travel to France often? During the war, perhaps?”
“It’s possible.” Where my grandmother traveled certainly wasn’t any of his business. I inclined my head toward the counter. “Would you care to place an order now? We have a fresh batch of bagels coming out soon.”
He ignored my attempted redirection. “Did your grandmother live in London long? You’re certain she wasn’t in France?”
