“One of our Seekers was killed last year. Mason’s just now looking for a replacement. But let’s not dwell on that. Like I said, there are basically twelve of us, plus the boss.”
“The knights of the round table. And King Arthur?”
He smiled. “Yes. But if you call Mason King Arthur he’ll never forgive you. That’s the one part of his little game he hasn’t adopted. He thinks it’s pretentious.” He motioned toward the right side of the table where a man just as broad-shouldered and tall as Bryson was pulling up a chair. “That’s Bishop over there. When we sit down, you’ll see that everyone has an assigned seat with their name and their moniker engraved on the stone table in front of them.”
“Moniker? Like, what, Hot Guy?”
He laughed. “Don’t say that too loudly or I’ll never hear the end of it. The monikers are based on their former occupations. Bishop is The Bodyguard.”
“I thought you didn’t know what he did before he became a Justice Seeker?”
“We know he protected people, but we don’t know who he worked for. A good guess is one of the alphabet agencies—FBI, CIA, NCIS. But only Mason knows for sure. That extremely extroverted lady on the left who’s waving at you is The Cop, Brielle Walker. She used to be a Gatlinburg police officer.”
She smiled and returned Brielle’s wave. “And the guy beside her?”
“Han Li, The Special Agent.”
“You both have the same moniker? Special Agent?”
“No. He was a special agent with Homeland Security. And he started here first, so he got to choose The Special Agent for his title.”
“Then what are you?”
His mouth tightened. “The Profiler. Not my choosing. Mason stuck me with that title.”
She splayed her fingers against his chest. “You’re an amazing profiler, Bryson. If I have to tell you that a hundred times until you believe it, I will.”
He arched a brow. “A hundred times, huh? That implies you’re planning on sticking around for a while.”
“If you want me to stay, I’m sure I’d enjoy you trying to convince me.” She gave him an outrageous wink.
He was about to say something but the door to the hidden passageway opened and another man, wearing a Stetson, stepped into the room. Bryson’s grin faded and his answering nod in response to the other man’s friendly “hello” was decidedly cool.
“Who’s that?” she kept her voice low.
“The Cowboy, Dalton Lynch.”
“Why don’t you like him?”
He gave her a surprised look. “What makes you think I don’t like him?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because it felt like a polar vortex descended on the room when you barely returned his greeting.”
His jaw tightened. “I have no problem with Dalton. But I don’t go out of my way to inflict my presence on him. His wife is Hayley, the woman who almost died because of me.”
She blinked in surprise. At the table, Dalton’s expression as he eyed Bryson seemed to be more of regret, maybe even frustration. But there was absolutely no animosity or reproach. When he caught her looking at him, he nodded, then turned toward the others.
“Bryson, I don’t think he blames you for what happened to his wife any more than you should blame yourself.”
He put his hand on her back. “You’re sweet to worry about me. But the only thing that matters right now is figuring out the identity of the man who almost killed you. And putting him away for a very long time. Come on, they’re waiting.”
He introduced her to the others. Then they all got really serious, really fast. She sat in the chair beside him, in the seat for Zack Foster, The Tracker. He’d whispered that Zack was the one who’d died, which had her feeling like an interloper. But he insisted no one minded her sitting there and it seemed to be true. They were all very respectful and nice to her.
Each of them had a computer tablet in front of them, and what they brought up was displayed on one of the huge screens at the front of the room so they could see everything at the same time. As efficiency went, it was amazing. They shared reports, pictures, investigative notes, all at the touch of a button or the swipe of a finger across their tablets that were each-hardwired into the computer for security.
She was a bit overwhelmed hearing what they’d been doing. Every one of them was working her case now. It was humbling that they were all so vested in helping her. But then again, they were doing it for Bryson too. He was their brother-in-arms. The man they were after had almost killed him. And it was obvious that none of them were going to let a stone go unturned in their quest to bring the killer to justice and avenge their friend and fellow Seeker.
The hours ticked by, with short breaks here and there so everyone could use the restroom or make phone calls.
