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“Yeah, we have a good rapport with them professionally.”

Later, Talon finds me near the service corridor. He’s got two coffees and offers me one.

“Tex says that throw saved the prosecutor’s life.” He watches me over the rim of his cup.

“I did my job. We all did,” I say, taking a sip of the coffee. Talon knows me well enough to let it lie.

Chapter 5

Linsey

It’s the day after the banquet and my phone will not stop ringing. The restaurant owner calls to make sure I’m okay. She also tells me they’re taking some down time, and the restaurant won’t reopen again until Thursday. A detective from the Las Salinas PD calls to schedule my formal statement, just like Sabre said he would. My contact person at the civic center calls, crying a little. She reports the police still haven’t released the room. Their lab guys are there. The detective told her this is a high-profile case, and they can’t take any chance of the perp getting off on a technicality. Members of my crew check in and it’s a lot to deal with in one morning.

Aunt Carol has been fussing over us this morning. She made coffee and carried it to me for the first time ever. Then she made Noah’s favorite breakfast. She keeps finding reasons to anxiously walk past whatever room Noah is in.

Noah stayed home from school. He’s handling the whole thing the way he handles everything, which is to ask a million questions.

“Mom,” he calls, finding me folding towels. “Do you think Sabre was scared last night when he threw that knife at the bad guy?”

I swallow thickly, remembering him standing there in his suit with the knife poised over his head. He didn’t look scared to me. He looked determined. I don’t tell Noah that, though. Instead, I say, “I think anybody would be scared in a situation like that, bug.”

He considers my reply for half a second then asks, “Do soldiers really use knives? Like in real life, not in movies?”

“Sometimes, I think they might. You’d know better than me with all the military books you read.”

“Knives are mostly used as tools,” he states confidently. “Soldiers use them to cut rope and open rations. Sergeant Rock says every good soldier has a knife and keeps it close. Sabre saved our lives, right? I mean everyone who was there last night, right?”

I force myself to keep folding, although this conversation is making me uncomfortable. “Sabre and his team stopped the shooter. That’s what they were hired to do, keep everyone safe. That’s exactly what they did.”

“He said he’d teach me throwing techniques but not with real knives. What does that mean?”

I respond lightly, “Maybe it means you throw bananas or boomerangs. I don’t know.”

“This isn’t a joking matter. He said he’d teach me but only if you said it was okay.” After a short pause, he asks, “It’s okay with you, right?”

“We’ll have to see,” I respond diplomatically.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s been one day, Noah. Let me get the towels folded before we talk about scheduling knife throwing classes for you, alright?”

He accepts my response, but he doesn’t like it. I can tell by the little frown on his face. Once he heads for his room, I sit down on the edge of my bed with a towel in my lap and wring my hands for a bit. Sometimes I feel so overwhelmed that I don’t know which way to turn.

Noah’s not wrong to be curious. Fear and anxiety turn into questions for him. It’s always been that way. And I’d rather my son ask a hundred questions than have one nightmare. But he’s becoming interested in Sabre way too fast. I know he craves a father figure more than anything but that’s not what Sabre signed up for when he agreed to teach him.

By ten, Noah and Aunt Carol are fast asleep. I’m restless and can’t even think about crawling into bed. I end up on the front porch wrapped in my favorite spread with a mug of chamomile tea warm in my hands.

Then I hear the sound of a motorcycle engine turn onto our street. My heart rate picks up, and I feel a tiny surge of excitement to think it might be Sabre. I grip my mug tighter, as I wait to see who it is.

The motorcycle coasts the last stretch and a big familiar shape swings off and walks up my sidewalk.

“Sabre, you’re out late.”

“I wanted to drive by and check on you.” He stops at the bottom of the steps with his helmet tucked under one arm. Even in the yellow porch light I can see the dark circles under his tired blue eyes. He’s also carrying a lot of tension in his broad shoulders. “I saw the light on. Figured if you were still up, I’d rather knock than send a text at this hour.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“It’s been a long day for me too. I didn’t want to let it slip by without checkin’ on you.”