Lura cleared her throat just as both men stepped out of the hallway. When they spotted her standing by the front door, Sam had the good grace to look guilty. But Graham?
He was as stony-eyed as ever.
Even as a teen, he’d had a poker face to impress Lady Gaga. But after his mother died, he might as well have been carved from granite for all the emotion he’d shown.
In the years since, he’d clearly perfected that mercilessly blank mask.
“Did you…uh…” Sam scratched his head. “Any chance you’ve gone temporarily deaf?”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, the gravity of the entire day, and the solemnity of what would happen next, Lura felt a laugh bubble in the back of her throat.
“I’ve come to two conclusions today,” she told him. “One, you’re some of the most impressive people I’ve met. And that’s saying something since I work at the White House. And two,” she finished with a tongue stuck in her cheek, “you like nothing better than to cast aspersions on the size of each other’s dicks.”
Again, Sam looked properly chagrined. “My sense of humor stalled out at age fourteen. What can I say?”
Before she could respond, he walked over and shook her hand. “Headed out?”
“Waiting on my Uber to pull up.”
“Thanks for everything. We couldn’t’ve done it without you.”
“Something tells me you’d have found a way.”
His grin said she wasn’t wrong. “You did say we were some of the most impressive people you’ve ever met.”
“And you think he’s got a big head?” She hitched her chin toward Graham, who still hadn’t moved from the mouth of the hallway.
“Don’t judge me too harshly.” Sam shook his head in mock sorrow. “A swollen ego’s an occupational hazard.”
She laughed as they said their goodbyes. Then, after Sam ambled away, she turned toward Graham.
He crossed the shop’s floor with steps both confident and efficient. He’d changed into black tactical pants, which he’d tucked into a giant pair of scuffed combat boots. A snug, long-sleeve Henley accentuated a frame that hardly needed the help. And a sidearm was strapped to his thigh.
The man radiated casual menace.
Graham Coleburn, she thought. He’s gone and grown all the way up.
When he stopped before her, his shadow spilled over her face.
At five feet eleven, she was used to meeting a man’s eyes. But she had to tilt her chin back to meet Graham’s implacable gaze.
Way back.
“Sorry we didn’t get more time to catch up, Lura.” His warm drawl hit her ear like a song she’d heard a million times and would never tire of.
“You’ve been busy.” Her voice was softer than she meant it to be. “All of you have.”
He ran a hand through his hair. It was still that same sun-streaked brown that she’d stared at longingly across the cafeteria.
“Understatement of the century.” He grimaced. “But also, just another day at the office ’round these parts.”
Since the Knights had returned with the money, and since Kerberos had delivered their cryptic message, Ozzie had cleaned up the recording of the ransom call. He’d focused on Sabrina’s scream—how it had echoed, how it had rung—and had decided she was being held somewhere big, hollow, and empty.
A warehouse? A parking garage? A storage depot?
Then he’d picked up the distant sound of a train whistle, which had been enough to give the Black Knights something to chase.
Combining the midnight drop deadline with the promise of a phone call at eleven P.M., they’d determined Sabrina had to be within an hour’s drive of the BKI compound.
