For a long moment, he considered shutting down the conversation. But something about her honesty, her admission that she needed this, made him start talking.
"He loved to cook. Weird thing for a demolitions expert, but he said it was all chemistry anyway." The memory came easier than expected. "He'd take over whatever kitchen we were near, didn't matter if it was a base in Afghanistan or a safe house in Detroit. Always trying some new recipe he'd found online."
"Was he any good?"
"Terrible. Absolutely terrible. But he never gave up. Kept experimenting." Griff found himself almost smiling. "One time he tried to make Thai food in Kabul. Set off the smoke alarms, evacuated half the building. The Afghan guards thought we were under chemical attack."
Sarah laughed—a real laugh this time, not forced or brittle. "I think I would have liked him."
"He would have liked you. Had a thing for smart women who could put him in his place."
"Did he have someone? Family?"
"Parents in Iowa. Sister in Seattle. No wife, no kids. Said he wanted to wait until he was done with the dangerous stuff." Griff's voice went quiet. "Guess he waited too long."
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah. Me too."
They drove through the evening, trading stories. Sarah told him about her father, the Army Intelligence officer who'dtaught her to see patterns in chaos. Her voice only shook a little when she talked about losing him to cancer. The cross at her throat was his last gift to her.
Griff found himself sharing more than he'd intended, stories about his team, the close calls, the victories nobody knew about.
"Why Knight Tactical?" she asked as the sun started to sink toward the horizon. "After the military, why private security?"
"We work best together. Choosing our missions, protecting people who need it. Being the good guys."
"You weren't the good guys in the military?"
"We followed orders. Sometimes those orders were good. Sometimes..." He shrugged. "Knight Tactical missions are cleaner."
"But?"
"The shadows follow you no matter what uniform you wear."
Sarah was quiet for a moment, fidgeting with the hem of her new flannel. "Maybe the shadows aren't following you. Maybe you're carrying them."
Before he could respond, she pointed to a sign ahead, clearly needing to change the subject. "We need to stop soon. Unless you're planning to drive straight through without sleeping."
"I can go another few hours."
"When did you last sleep? Really sleep?"
He couldn't remember. Three days ago? Four?
"There's a motel about fifty miles ahead," she said, pulling up something on her laptop. "Small place, takes cash, according to the reviews."
"You researched motels?"
"I research everything. It's what I do. Control what you can control, right?"
Fifty miles later, they pulled into the parking lot of the Wagon Wheel Motel, a line of rooms that had seen better decades. The security camera outside the office dangled uselessly from its mount. Perfect for staying invisible.
"Two rooms," Griff said to the clerk, paying cash.
"Only got one left," the old man replied without looking up from his newspaper. "Tomorrow's the rodeo. Everything's booked."
Griff looked at Sarah. She'd gone very still, processing this complication.
