Page 38 of Under Arthur’s Protection

He frowned and closed the laptop. “True. But when this wraps up, I want us to go all out. Photos, client testimonial, the works.”

“Deal.” I took the stool next to him, put the phone on the island, and tapped the speaker button. “Go ahead, Merlin.”

“Right. So, separate issue. Oscar Buchanan called the office this afternoon.”

We’d updated the security for his family estate in Connecticut. It wasn’t our biggest contract, but it was our most profitable one. His name carried weight in the circles where RTS needed to grow, if we were going to continue doing those kinds of installation configurations.

“He’s read the article,” Merlin said. “His exact words were ‘just making sure everything’s solid.’ He asked if there were any personnel changes he should be aware of.”

“Personnel changes?” What did that mean? “Does he think we’re actively hiring the mercenaries the article talked about?”

“I don’t know, but it’s the second inquiry in two days,” Merlin said. “It’s not a crisis, and it’s not a pattern yet, but it’s fast.”

Lance’s jaw tightened. “What about Morganna’s journalist lead?”

“Making progress, but she doesn’t have a name. Whoever wrote it went through multiple layers of anonymization. She’s peeling them back, but it’s slow.”

“She’s normally faster than this,” Lance said.

“She’s also splitting her time and focus with White Spring.” Merlin delivered the news as though it were a minor inconvenience, but we all knew this was important. “We’re not getting her best hours.”

He was right. Morganna was brilliant, and she’d been doing us favors for months, but favors weren’t a staffing model. If she wasn’t going to commit to Round Table, I needed to find an intelligence specialist who would—someone whose top priority was us, not whatever White Spring had them running during business hours. The exposé lead mattered too much to be someone’s side project.

But pushing Morganna meant risking losing her entirely. She’d come when she was ready, or she wouldn’t. And right now, she was the best we had.

“Tell her to keep at it,” I said. “I’ll call Buchanan back tonight.”

“That’s all I’ve got.”

“Thanks, Merlin.”

The call ended, and I fiddled with my phone on the island.

“What about Hopkins? Did Merlin have anything on him?”

“He’s the kind of academic Gwen said. I’m glad, considering how excited she was about his expertise.”

“Me, too.” He stood, but paused instead of leaving. Opened his mouth, then closed it, as though he were debating what to say next.

“I’m fine,” I said, simultaneously starting the conversation and ending it.

“I didn’t ask.”

“You were about to.”

He held the look for another second, and collected his laptop. “I’m going back to the press release you won’t let me publish. For the record, the in-progress content would help. People see us working, and they stop asking questions about where the money came from or who we’re being hired to eliminate.”

“Noted.”

“But ignored.”

“For now.”

He left, and I called Buchanan. It rang four times and went to voicemail. “Oscar, it’s Arthur Penn. I understand you contacted our office. I appreciate you reaching out, and I wanted to assure you personally that the team and the operation are exactly where they should be. If you have any specific concerns, I’d welcome the conversation. Please call me back at your convenience.”

I hung up. Why the fuck was I doing this?

Buchanan had hired us because his attorney knew a guy who knew my father. He hadn’t vetted my company and been impressed. No, the recommendation had come through Pendragon channels. And now the article was turning every client relationship into the same question that had run my life: Is Arthur there because he’s qualified, or because Gerald Penn’s name opened the door?