“Everything makes me nervous.But this feels… good.And wrong.And I want to roll around in it while it lasts.”
He smiled, slow and soft.“Could probably be convinced to roll around with you.In the interest of science.”
I laughed, tension loosening another notch.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand.
We both froze.
He reached for it, thumb swiping across the screen.His expression changed.
“What?”I asked, stomach immediately knotting again.
He exhaled.“Spade,” he said.“Meeting.Now.Everyone.”
“Is it Diaz?”I asked.
“Don’t know yet,” he said.“But my gut says yeah.”
The world slipped back into sharp focus.
“Go,” I said, throwing the covers off.“I’ll grab pants.”
“Please do,” he said.“Prez gets twitchy when you show up to Church in my T-shirt and nothing else.”
“Coward,” I muttered, but I pulled on jeans anyway.
We dressed fast and headed down.
In the common room, guys swarmed around the coffeepot, dragged chairs across the floor, and filtered toward the hallway leading to the meeting room.A silent TV flickered in the corner, some perky host waving her arms over weekend weather graphics nobody cared about.
Spade leaned against the bar, gripping his tablet in both hands.His eyes gleamed with caffeine-fueled intensity.
When he spotted Kane and me, he jerked his head toward the back.“Come on.You’ll want a seat for this.”
I crossed my arms.“Planning to explain before or after my blood pressure explodes?”
“After.”He grinned wide.“Creates more suspense.”
Atilla’s voice boomed down the hall.“Move your asses!Now, people.”
We filed into Church.
Same table.Same chairs.Same skull logo glaring down from the wall.Different energy.Last time I walked in here, dread had sat heavy in my throat.
We took our usual spots, Kane at the table, me in the chair behind his shoulder, close enough my knee brushed his hip.
Spade set his tablet down, hooked it to the monitor, and pulled up what looked like a paused video.
A news clip.Field reporter.Microphone in hand.Blue jacket flapping in the wind in front of a big wrought-iron gate.
“You watching the weather?”one of the guys muttered.
“Nope,” Spade said.“Special interest piece.”
Atilla rapped his knuckles on the table.“Eyes front,” he said.“Spade?”
He hit play.
