So far, there have been twenty reports of system shutdowns, including Gabriel’s. One is an accident, two is a coincidence, and three is a pattern.
But twenty?
That’s a strategy.
I heard Rory leave hours ago, which isn’t out of the norm. But usually about this time, Luke is in the kitchen with me, searching for his own source of caffeine, and Rory has already wandered home with company.
Swiping my cell phone from the counter, I dial the person I know will pick up.
Luke answers on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Where the hell are you?” I pinch the bridge of my nose, warding off a headache.
“We’re—Ya see—Well—,” he stammers, which is unlike him. Luke is like a quiet force. Sure and precise.
“We? Who’s we?” I interject.
“Rory and I.”
This can’t be good. “You and Rory, what?”
“It’s a funny story, actually,” Luke begins to explain.
Leaning back against the counter, I sigh. “Why do I have the feeling that I won’t find this story the least bit humorous?”
“I think you’ll get a kick out of this one. Turns out, Rory and I have both been seeing Savannah.”
“I’m not laughing,” I respond in a dead tone. “And you two aren’t the only ones.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised,” I hear Rory retort.
Luke continues, not even acknowledging my comment. “She got a little freaked tonight, and we went after her.”
“Dear God, please don’t tell me you have her tied up somewhere.”
Rory scoffs. “No, of course not. We’re not animals. If she wants to be tied up, we’d get her consent first.”
I groan in frustration. “Do I need to call our lawyers? Is there going to be a sexual harassment scandal?”
“Well…” Luke replies.
Pushing myself away from the counter, I stalk toward my room. “Send me your location. I’m on my way.”
Not bothering to put on a suit, I slide a sweater over my head and slip my feet into a pair of tennis shoes.
Once I’m ready, I’m in the parking garage in less than five minutes, selecting the Audi S8 out of the lineup of vehicles.
Yes, I have Sterling, but in situations like this, I prefer to drive myself. Plus, I love the feel of a V8 engine at my command.
Rory texts me an address that makes me do a double-take.
Please, God, tell me they didn’t.
I push down on the gas pedal and speed toward my destination, taking side streets when needed. After I cross the bridge into Brooklyn, it doesn’t take me long to get to Rory and Luke. I find them on a bench with a man feeding pigeons across the street from Taki Yuki, and neither of them has a coat on. Rolling down my window, I get a snippet of their conversation.
“That one right there is Cynthia.” The strange man points to a pigeon. “She’s best friends with Beth. They’re both mad at Trevor.”
Luke tosses feed on the ground to a few birds at his feet, while Rory nods his head along like he’s following the explanation, but I’m already confused at the whole scene in front of me.
