Page 145 of Under Arthur’s Protection

“Obviously.” I scrolled through my draft, highlighting section after section I’d need to gut. “And I’m assuming we don’t mention the creepy caretaker.”

Arthur breathed out through his nose. “No.”

“What did your father say?”

Arthur adjusted his arm around Gwen, more careful of her injuries than his. He shook his head slowly, conveying the truth I’d suspected—Ethan Fowley would not be an issue for the Penn family again.

I barely remembered my own parents, but I knew Arthur’s well. In fact, I probably knew more about Gerald Penn in his role as the owner of Pendragon Security than Arthur’s mother did. He was cold and calculating, and that was on his better days.

“So nothing about the Custodians, the cave, the sword’s deeper history, or Ethan.” I leaned back in my chair. “What am I allowed to say? The weather was nice?”

“It rained a lot,” Gwen said.

“Right. Shitty weather.” I typed for a while, reworking the opening paragraphs to say absolutely nothing in the most professional way possible. Across the cabin, Arthur whispered into Gwen’s ear. She turned her face up toward his, and he brushed his thumb across her cheek. She smiled. Small, private, aimed at him alone.

They’d had eyes for each other since we’d first walked into the storage room at Ferraro’s. Some kind of magic had been at work between them, though it took me a few days to accept it.

Good for them.

“All right,” I said, pulling up a new section. “I need an academic, but accessible, summary of the item we were protecting.”

“The authentication confirmed the blade was seventh-century Anglo-Saxon craftsmanship.” She straightened and turned to face me. Her jaw set stubbornly, despite the bruises that made me want to punch Rick Younge’s injured leg. “The earliest verified owner was an eighteenth-century collector named Sir Edmund Hargrove of Hertfordshire, who was inspired by local traditions to have the pommel recast based on an inscription at a church near his home.”

Arthur kissed the side of her head. Giving the falsified conclusion had cost her so much, but it had bought her freedom. What if we’d had a few more hours to breach the safe room? Could we have gotten her out with the sword, so she could have told the whole story?

“I’ll take that,” I said. “Arthur, a quote from you?”

“Round Table Security was honored to support the authentication process. Our team’s priority was ensuring the safety of both the specialist and the artifact.”

“Boring, but usable.”

“That’s the idea.”

I typed it up. The press piece was thin, but it was all I had. The real story would have been the kind of PR that put a company on the map. Instead, I had a few bland lines and an awful weather report. But the agreement was the agreement. And the woman curling up on the divan with my best friend was more important than any headline.

It was possible I’d originally wanted to take the job because I wasn’t over her. Possible, but no way it was true, because that wasn’t how I rolled. Relationships weren’t worth the risk.

My phone buzzed on the table. I glanced at it and put it on speaker. “Hey, Morganna. You’re on with me, Arthur, and Gwen. What have you got for us?”

Arthur shifted on the divan, wincing as his ribs caught up with the movement. He started to stand.

“Sit down.” I brought my phone to the forward cabin and turned one of the empty chairs around so it faced the injured couple. “There. Now nobody has to move.”

Arthur settled back, equal parts grateful and annoyed. The man had no idea how to let people take care of him.

“How’s the flight?” Morganna asked.

“Smooth. Arthur looks like he lost a bar fight, Gwen looks like she won one, and I look incredible as always.”

“I’m sure you do,” our favorite intelligence analyst drawled. “Listen, I was going to run some more queries on Hopkins, but your cryptic message last night made me reconsider. Want me to stay on him?”

“We agreed to drop it.” Arthur gave Gwen a rueful smile. “Which means you have to, as well, Morganna.”

“I can wipe his hard drive? Set a virus to crawl their digital networks?”

“I appreciate the offer,” he chuckled. “But no, we’re closing the door on Theo Hopkins.”

“Too bad. But on the upside, I’ve found the journalist.”