Ignoring him, Graham said conversationally, “Ya know what? I’m ninety-eight percent sure ya don’t wanna have this conversation right now. But I’m one-hundred percent sure I don’t care. You’re crazy about Sabrina. But for whatever reason, ya don’t have the sac to face it. Why is that?”
“Doesn’t matter what I feel.” Hew ground his jaw. “Because she doesn’t like me for anything more than a friend.”
“You ever asked her?”
Graham was off in his percentages. Hew one-hundred percent didn’t want to have this conversation.
“I don’t need to. She’s made it clear in a thousand different ways. And the fact that she’s datin’ some chowderhead who could’ve auditioned for a role as a Munchkin back in the day is the clearest indication of all.”
Graham blinked. “Sabrina’s lover has dwarfism? Boss and Becky didn’t mention that. Not that it matters, but it’s just interestin’ and?—”
“Stop usin’ that word.”
“Which word? Dwarfism? I think it’s the correct terminology and?—”
“Lover,” Hew hissed. “It makes me want to blow groceries.”
“Well, how would you describe the guy Sabrina’s screwin’?”
Hew had to shove his hands deep into his front pockets to keep from wrapping them around his teammate’s throat. “Sabrina isn’t screwin’ him.”
Then, he remembered she might very well be screwing the bastard right at that very moment and that he’d come downstairs to see for himself if she was.
“Ah.” Graham rocked back on his heels. “Now I get it.”
Hew was hanging on to his patience by a thread. “Get what?”
“Why you’re headed over to the computers.” Graham hitched the turkey leg toward the bank of monitors and blinking towers that were daisy-chained together to form a supercomputer capable of performing tasks Hew couldn’t begin to understand. “You’re gonna spy on her.”
“It’s. Not. Spyin’.” Each word was uttered through a jaw clamped down like a steel trap.
“No? What would you call it then?”
“Checkin’ to make sure she’s okay.”
Graham snorted, and Hew took that as a period on the conversation.
Turning on his heel, he marched toward the bank of computers. After pulling out a rolling chair and, he was prompted for a password and typed in 60065. It was the numerical representation for boobs.
Ozzie—BKI’s own hacking genius and one of the original Knights—had a sixteen-year-old boy’s sense of humor.
As Hew brought up the tracking program, he glanced over his shoulder to find Graham standing a few feet away.
“Ya goin’ to stand there gawpin’ like a jackass at a clambake, or ya goin’ to come help?” he muttered.
“I’m worried when ya see Sabrina over at her boyfr—” Graham stopped and tried again. “Lov—” He caught himself a second time and finally settled on, “I’m worried when ya see Sabrina over at the Munchkin’s house, your brain will explode. I really don’t wanna wash gray matter out of this shirt. It’s my favorite.”
Hew rolled his eyes at the sight of Graham hooking a thumb back at his bare chest.
A few keystrokes later, a glowing red dot showed on a 2D map. His chin jerked back when he didn’t recognize the road's name. He used the mouse to expand the map until he saw the state line and the distance Sabrina had traveled.
It wasn’t unusual for her to cross over into Wisconsin. The scenery was far more serene there. And the lack of traffic on the winding roads afforded her the ability to concentrate on her thoughts instead of her driving.
What was unusual was that it looked like she was stopped in the middle of nowhere.
“The fuck?” He leaned closer to the monitor.
“What?” Graham strode forward.
