She wrinkled her nose. “But now that I think about it, the name isn’t gender specific. I mean, depending on the denomination, women can be bishops, right?” She frowned. “Or maybe Bishop refers to a chess piece?”
The name dropped like a two-ton anchor through the hull of the War Room.
Silence. Followed by a collective intake of breath. Then Sam uttered a curse not fit for mixed company.
“What?” Sabrina’s startled gaze swept around the table. “Who’s Bishop? Someone y’all know?”
“Someone we know of,” Hew told her gruffly.
And just like that, her eyes landed on his and held for the first time since she’d returned downstairs.
He wasn’t sure if finally having her full attention made him feel steadier…or like someone had yanked the floor out from under him. Was it possible to feel both?
“Who is he?” she asked warily.
“That’s the million-dollar question.” This from Fish.
“And we know just who to ask for the answer.” Boss angled his gaze out over the second-story railing toward the shop’s unremarkable brick wall.
Nothing special about it. Just a chunk of old factory façade…unless you knew about the button behind the rolling Craftsman toolbox. The one that activated the hidden door that pulled back to reveal the yawning black mouth of the Bat Cave and the evil bitch being kept on ice inside it.
“Graham and I have some work to do,” Boss said.
“You need our help?” Sam asked, a muscle ticking under his eye.
Boss shook his head. “We have it covered. The rest of you go about your day. We got code names to trace, bikes to build, and at some point, we’ll have to apprise the lady sitting in the Oval Office of our situation.”
Hew didn’t envy Graham or Boss. Not for one millisecond.
It took a special breed of man to stand before a prisoner and strip away their lies without losing sight of the line between justice and vengeance. Without losing a little piece of his soul to the hellish work that was enhanced interrogation.
As the group started disbanding, chairs scraping across the floor and boots thudding toward the stairs, Hew rose. His feet carried him around the table toward Sabrina like they had minds of their own.
“Hey.” He caught her wrist gently.
She turned expectantly. Despite her seven hours of shut-eye, weariness left dark smudges beneath her eyes.
He wanted to rewind time and return to the moment she announced she was going for a drive. He’d insist on going with her. Chain himself to her back bumper if that’s what it took.
“Either I’m suffering a severe case of déjà vu,” she cut into his thoughts, “or we just did this song and dance over there.” She tilted her head toward the staircase.
Right.
He cleared his throat. “We need to talk about?—”
“Hew?”
Boss’s voice. Again.
Damnit it all to hell!
Hew clenched his jaw so hard his back teeth ached before turning toward the head of Black Knights Inc. He made sure to temper his tone when he said, “Ayuh?”
“You got a minute?” Boss jerked his thumb toward his office door.
No, Hew wanted to snarl. I don’t have a minute. I don’t have a friggin’ second to spare until I talk to Sabrina about what she said upstairs.
Instead, he reminded himself that the Black Knights had bigger fish to fry than his will they/won’t they/does she even still want to relationship with their social media maven.
