“It sounds like a great product.”
“It is—a product we can truly get behind.” He beamed then frowned. “Do you know how many insurance adjusters I’ve already emailed about it today?”
Duke nodded but didn’t comment.
Rupert mistook that for encouragement and continued. “Frankly, I’m considering requiring everyone to wear them for the remainder of the tour. At least during public appearances. It’s just smart risk management.”
Before Duke could respond, Ben stepped in, his timing impeccable.
“That won’t be necessary,” Ben said, tone easy but firm. “We don’t expect endorsement partners to change how they live or work. SafeStride is about choice, not compliance.”
Rupert blinked. “Well, yes, of course—I was just kidding about making it mandatory. They’d be able to choose. That’s what I meant.” He cleared his throat, already backing away. “I’ll . . . circle back. Schedules.”
He gestured vaguely and wandered off, typing something into his phone.
Ben watched him go with mild amusement before turning back to Duke. “He means well. Stress does strange things to people.”
“So does danger.” Duke didn’t bother to hide the dry tone from his voice.
Ben’s mouth twitched. “That too.”
Duke studied him a moment longer. The way Ben stood. The way his gaze moved—not wildly scanning but deliberately surveying. He was a man who noticed details without advertising his skills. He could be a valuable connection, especially given everything that was going on.
Which led to his next thought.
“Listen, I know you’re here as a sponsor,” Duke started. “But there’s this property up in the mountains. It belongs to the family of a man we’re looking into. I want to go check it out myself, but I can’t get away right now.”
Ben’s expression sharpened. “You want eyes on it.”
“Yes. The eyes of someone who knows what to look for and who won’t draw attention.”
Ben considered for half a second before nodding. “I can check it out. Send me the address.”
Duke exhaled slowly, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “I appreciate it.”
“No problem. I offered to help. This just makes it official.”
“But please, be careful. Just check it out. See if anyone’s been there. At the first sign of danger, call the cops. Don’t be a hero.”
“I know the routine, believe me. I’ll let you know what I find.”
The smell of garlic and basil hit Duke the moment they stepped inside the small Italian restaurant—warm, familiar, comforting. It eased some of the edge that had been riding him all day. The brick walls and low lighting created pockets of shadow. The steady clink of silverware and murmur of conversation sounded reassuring in its normalcy.
He did a quick scan out of habit—exits, sightlines, who was already seated and who wasn’t—before following the others toward a long table near the back. Mariella had made reservations, which Duke appreciated more than he let on.
He sat beside Andi and gave her a quick kiss on her forehead.
She smiled up at him. “What took so long?”
“I was just talking to Ben.”
“Seems like the two of you have a lot in common,” Mariella added.
“We do. Makes me like his product even more.”
The menu was barely necessary. Duke ordered lasagna. Andi chose chicken piccata. Ranger went with a rare steak. Simmy ordered pasta primavera. Mariella opted for veal, and Matthew stuck with spaghetti and extra meatballs.
Anastasia wasn’t with them tonight. She and Karen had opted to stay in and get some rest.
