Page 16 of Under Arthur’s Protection

“Perfect,” Sam said. “Antonio’s prepping the oven, so take your time.”

I hung up and handed the phone back, as someone knocked on the door.

“Brenton PD,” came a man’s voice from outside.

Arthur headed to let them in.

Lance sat next to me and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “We’ve got you, babe.”

Babe. I’d always hated it when he’d called me that. “Thanks.”

Chapter 6

Arthur

My morning schedule looked the same as it did most workdays: coffee with the guys at The Velvet Bean, touch base on our plans for the day, and get to work. Today, I had the exposé on the agenda, and then Lance and I would head to Caine-Ferraro’s with our recommendations. All they needed was a new camera for the rear of the building and fresh security codes for everyone on staff.

As I walked through the front door of the café, the owner finished wiping down a table and greeted me. Grace Laurent was everything her dour boyfriend wasn’t—friendly, chatty, and always smiling. “Hi, Arthur. You want the usual?”

I nodded to her and headed up the few steps to the table near the back corner where Tristan and Galahad were halfway through their breakfast sandwiches. Galahad had his back to the wall, and Tristan was talking with his hands about something Galahad was ignoring.

“Morning,” I said, pulling out a chair.

“You look like shit,” Tristan said.

“Thanks.”

“Did you sleep?”

“Enough.” I hadn’t. I’d gone home after dropping Gwen at Sam’s and Lance at his apartment, then I’d spent the next two hours staring at my bedroom ceiling, thinking about driving back to Sam’s condo. My half-baked plan went no further than sitting in the parking lot. Just in case.

I’d talked myself out of it three times. The building had a doorman, a security desk, and required key-card access to Sam and Antonio’s penthouse level. Gwen was fine. She was inside a safe building with a woman who’d been in the FBI.

But I’d lain there arguing with myself regardless.

Grace brought my coffee over. “Breakfast?”

“Coffee only, please.”

She set my mug down and left without comment, which meant I really did look like shit. Galahad’s girlfriend loved talking to anyone and everyone. The near-silence didn’t suit her the way it suited him.

My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out.

Morganna: White Spring has me on a thing today. Journalist ID will have to wait.

Shit.

Arthur: Thanks for the heads up

“When do we get to start meeting at the office?” Tristan asked, too casually.

“Don’t start.”

“I’m just asking.”

“The architect sent me the new design for Morganna’s server room yesterday afternoon.”

Galahad’s mouth twitched. On anyone else it would have been invisible, but on Galahad it may as well have been a belly laugh.