Warrior’s Cross

Chapter Eight

Miri stood quietly at the counter, organizing the early evening’s tickets. It kept her mind busy on the slow nights, especially when she didn’t want to get stuck with bathroom duty. She turned up her nose slightly as she punched numbers into the register.

Movement caught her eye, and she glanced up to idly watch Blake as the man walked slowly across the floor to the bar area, where a stranger in a black pea-coat sat hunched over on the end stool. Blake walked up to him and actually sat down beside him. They sat side by side for several minutes, neither man moving or speaking. Finally, Blake said something to him, stood back up, and gestured to the door.

Miri frowned. She’d never seen Blake tell someone to leave the restaurant before, and she wondered what in the world the man could have done or said. The man turned on his stool, staring at Blake for a long moment before he stood, picked up his heavy glass with a smirk, and walked out with it. Blake didn’t even try to stop him from taking the glass with him.

Miri’s brow furrowed as she caught sight of the man moving, almost prowling, out the door. It was a little creepy, truth be told, and after seeing that, she was happy Blake had asked the man to leave.

After a moment of watching the man in the pea-coat walk away, Blake moved and disappeared into the back. Concerned, Miri set her checks aside and followed Blake, intending to ask him if everything was okay. She followed him to his office; he hadn’t even bothered to close the door entirely before he picked up the phone and dialed.

Miri stopped short at the half-open door when she caught some of his words.

“Julian,” Blake greeted in a low voice. “I thought you might like to know I had a visitor tonight.”

Miri glanced around and took a slight step closer to the office door, straining her hearing.

After a moment Blake said, “Lancaster’s in town. No, he was just here... I don’t fucking know, but you need to watch your back, friend.”

Miri looked blankly at the door for a split second before backing away slowly, hoping he wouldn’t hear her. She needed to find Cameron.

He was in the service area, showing a new waitress how to properly prepare a full coffee service. He sent her off with instructions to keep smiling just as Miri entered the area. He glanced at her and raised an eyebrow at the look on her face.

“You know that Julian and Blake are friends, right?” she asked him without preamble.

Cameron’s shoulders stiffened, but his hands kept moving. “Yes,” he said, turning away from her.

“Blake’s on the phone with him,” Miri told him, an odd chill bothering her. “He told him to watch his back; that someone named Lancaster was in town. Watch his back, Cameron! That’s not something you say to an antiques dealer!”

Cameron showed an unusual fit of temper, throwing down his towel in frustration. “What’s your point, Miri?” he asked, refusing to look up at her.

“What do you mean?” Miri asked in confusion.

“Julian is no longer any of my business,” Cameron told her in a harsh whisper, turning back to wiping down the counters. His shoulders hunched, and he’d dropped his head.

Miri took another slight step back and watched Cameron, sadness written across her face. “I’m sorry, Cam,” she offered lamely, wanting to ask what had happened but knowing not to push. “But... aren’t you just a little... worried, though?”

“I was always worried, Miri,” Cameron said quietly. “That was the problem.” He left the counter, pushed past her, and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Are you sure it was him?” Julian demanded as he gripped the phone tight in his hand.

“I’m getting old, Jules, but I’m not senile,” Blake snapped in return.

“He came to the restaurant,” Julian murmured as his mind raced.

Blake hummed in affirmation, and Julian closed his eyes and shook his head. “That means he’s identified you as my handler,” he said with a wince. Unless Lancaster was there looking for someone else. Julian pushed that thought away.

“Or at least thinks he has,” Blake agreed.

“We have to move you,” Julian told him with a hint of shock in his voice. They’d planned for this contingency, but he’d never actually expected to need to use it. He’d always assumed that he would be the one found first.

“And just how do you propose we do that?” Blake asked with a disbelieving laugh.

“Very quickly,” Julian answered grimly.

“Fuck, Julian,” Blake muttered in disgust.

“We’ll start tomorrow.”

“Us and what army?” Blake asked incredulously. “Emily won’t let me leave all her shit behind, you know. We can’t hire a moving company; he’ll be able to trace it.”

“Be creative, Blake,” Julian told him impatiently. “Send Emily off to wherever, and tonight I’ll find somewhere to move you. I’ll be at your house at five in the morning to start. Don’t be sleeping, and make damn sure you have help, because Preston and I aren’t lifting your goddamned furniture alone,” he snapped before ending the call and stalking out onto the landing of the massive staircase. “Preston!” he bellowed into the darkened house. “We have problems!” he shouted as he started down the steps two at a time.

It wasn’t unusual for Blake to call his wait staff into the back rooms of the restaurant and have meetings every now and then, but tonight it was obvious that this meeting was totally unplanned. The floor full of diners was completely unstaffed, and prepared dishes waited to be taken out. It was unprecedented.

Blake stood in front of the group of gathered servers and didn’t wait for the chatter to die. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he started, his commanding voice immediately silencing the room. “The restaurant will be closed tomorrow. You’ll all be paid overtime for the inconvenience. Those of you wishing to take the day off, I hope the weather is nice for you,” he said with a smile, but there was no humor in his voice or in his eyes as he spoke. “But anyone wanting to make a little extra cash in exchange for some heavy lifting, please come talk to me in my office at some point before you take off tonight. That’s all,” he finished, not even attempting to end his announcement with something clever like he usually did.

He turned and left the prep area, head down as he made his way back to his office.

Standing with a gaggle of waitresses who immediately began talking excitedly about the unexpected day off, Cameron frowned, wondering what was going on. Heavy lifting? He shooed the others back to work and corralled the hostesses to help deliver waiting meals as he pushed his curiosity aside.

But hours later, once most of the staff was gone, Cameron set his jacket aside on the bar and ventured down the hallway to Blake’s office, where he rapped lightly on the door.

“Enter,” Blake’s distracted voice called through the closed door.

Cameron pushed the door open and stepped part-way inside.

“Blake?”

Blake’s eyes were wide, reflecting surprise at seeing Cameron. He reached over to the phone on the corner of his desk and said, “I’ll call you back,” before hitting a button on the speakerphone to end the call.

“Are you here for heavy lifting or is there something else?” he asked Cameron curiously.

“Both, I guess. To offer help and ask if everything’s okay,” Cameron said, studying the older man.

“Everything is not, in fact, okay,” Blake answered with a hint of humor. He gave Cameron a small smile. “I have to move, you see. Very sudden thing. And I need help with all that damn antique furniture,” he grumbled.

Cameron raised an eyebrow. “Thus the need for heavy lifting,” he commented. Then he shrugged. “I’m happy to help.”

Blake looked at him dubiously. “Do you need the extra money?” he asked.

“Not hardly,” Cameron answered. Then he frowned. “Have you got enough help already?”

“Not hardly,” Blake answered wryly. “We’re starting at six a.m., but you’re welcome to get there any time you like. I can send a driver for you so you don’t have to catch a cab,” he offered.

“Yeah, getting a cab at six a.m. would be a pain in the ass,” Cameron agreed. “So a ride would be great.” He studied Blake. The other man looked worn out and worried. “Are you okay?”

Blake ran his hand through his hair and gave Cameron a small smile. “Not at the moment,” he answered truthfully. “But I will be, as soon as Julian gets this shit straightened out.”

Cameron stiffened, unable to return that smile. He settled on a jerky nod.

Blake didn’t seem to notice his sudden discomfort, and he picked up a piece of paper and turned it around and around on the desk, fiddling with it to dispel some nervous energy. It was the first time Cameron had ever seen him fidget. “So,” he said as he folded the paper in half and tapped it on the desk. “You call me when you’re ready for the car to get you. I’m providing breakfast, lunch, and dinner, if needed. There will be copious amounts of alcohol if we finish by nightfall,” he rambled.

“In a hurry, huh?” Cameron said quietly. “I’ll call,” he said.

“In a very big hurry,” Blake muttered with a nod of his head.

“Thank you, Cameron,” he added as he reached over and picked up the phone again. “You have a good night.”

Uneasy, Cameron nodded and stepped out, pulling the door shut behind him. He should have known he wouldn’t completely get away from reminders of Julian. Shaking his head, he headed back to the bar for his jacket. It would be a quiet walk home with his memories.

“What the hell, Blake?” Julian muttered as he sat on one of the counter stools in Blake’s gourmet kitchen. Preston sat beside him, sipping from a mug of coffee.

“What?” Blake asked defensively. “I have Irish crème,” he offered with a grin as he held up the coffee-pot.

“I told you to be ready at five a.m., not wandering aimlessly in your boxers and a robe,” Julian said.

“You know, I read a study that said wandering aimlessly for an hour fulfilled a percentage of your daily exercise regimen,” Blake told them as he poured his own mug of coffee and sat opposite them. “You should wander aimlessly more often,” he advised seriously before taking a small sip of the steaming liquid.

“If I had the fucking time to wander anywhere, I would,” Julian snapped, his impatience growing as he thought about the large house full of large furniture they would need to move before nightfall.

“Technically, sir, you have quite a lot of time. You just can’t wander,” Preston pointed out quietly, hiding his smirk behind his coffee mug.

Julian turned his chin slightly to glare at the man. “You jump from a fucking twenty-foot brick wall and see how daintily you land,” he challenged. “And stop calling me sir, goddamn it,” he added crankily.

He tried to stand from the counter stool, but the unwieldy walking boot on his newly broken left foot got caught in the bottom rung, and he had to kick at the stool and curse before he was free.

Neither Preston nor Blake laughed as he struggled. They knew better.

“When is your fucking help getting here?” Julian demanded as he thumped away from the center island and looked out the large bay window of the breakfast room.

“He’s cranky, is he?” Blake asked Preston in a low voice.

Julian turned in time to see Preston merely raise one eyebrow and take another conveniently timed sip of coffee.

Blake’s smile faded as he glanced at Julian and met his eyes.

Julian knew the man well enough to know that he wasn’t as cheerful or as cheeky as he seemed this morning. They were preparing to uproot his entire life. It was a heavy day in more ways than one.

Julian sighed softly and reminded himself to go easy on his friend.

It wasn’t going to be fun.

“I have a list of addresses,” Blake told them as he pushed a piece of paper across the counter and slid it in front of Preston. “You can take my Escalade. Less trips,” he added as he placed the keys next to the paper.

“Yes, sir,” Preston acknowledged with a nod as he glanced over the list and then folded it into his pocket. He looked over to Julian as he stood, then back at Blake before turning and heading toward the foyer.

Julian frowned, wondering what the odd look had been for. He shrugged it off, though. “Where are we starting?” he asked Blake softly.

“Bottom floor, I guess,” Blake answered with a sigh. “We need to find creative places to hide shit. Just in case.”

Julian nodded and cleared his throat. “You may want to get dressed first,” he reminded as he turned back around and looked out at the misty morning.

The buzzer rang at almost exactly the time Blake warned Cameron it would. He shoved his wallet into his jeans and grabbed his keys, and then he was out the door, leaving behind forlorn yips and yaps as he hurried down the stairs.

He stopped still at the glass door when he saw Preston outside, surprised and confused to see the man. He pushed through the door.

“Preston?”

“Good morning, sir,” Preston greeted as he stepped slightly to the side and waved his hand at the huge black SUV parked at the curb.

Cameron glanced to the truck and saw Charles wave at him from the back. He shot another look at Preston. If Julian’s driver was going to be at Blake’s, that meant—

“We have several more stops to make, sir,” Preston said to him pointedly. He walked swiftly to the back door of the Escalade and opened it for him.

Swallowing hard, Cameron shoved his hands in his pockets and followed, climbing into the truck with no comment, instead nodding to the others Preston had already picked up, all of whom were in various stages of wakefulness. When Preston closed the door, it echoed in Cameron’s ears. He closed his eyes.

He had a sudden feeling that today was going to very uncomfortable.

The rest of the ride to pick up the other volunteers and take them to Blake’s house was a quiet, unsettling one, but Blake was waiting on the great stone steps of his home to greet them when the car pulled up in his driveway.

“Good morning!” he called cheerfully. “I have coffee and breakfast of sorts in the kitchen,” he offered as he shook each of their hands in turn. “Morning, Cam,” he said with a smile as he took Cameron’s hand. “Thank you for coming.”

Cameron nodded slowly and studied Blake. It occurred to him that Blake might not know he and Julian had broken it off. Surely if he’d known, and if Julian really was here, Blake wouldn’t have put Cameron in this situation. Right? He offered half a smile and followed the rest inside. His stomach was already churning.

As they walked through the house, it became obvious that a little work had already been done. There were bare spots on the walls where paintings had hung, shelves where knickknacks might once have sat.

The formal rooms near the front of the home looked as if a herd of elephants had tried to play chess with the furniture, but nothing appeared to have been moved out of any of them yet.

As they neared the kitchen, a repetitive banging echoed in an adjoining room. As Blake passed by he began to snicker, and he stood at the doorway to the kitchen and ushered everyone by while looking past them toward the noise.

“Come eat breakfast, Jules. Those things can wait,” he called out.

Cameron stopped so suddenly in the doorway to the kitchen that Keri ran into him and squeaked. He turned to the side, apologizing as the others laughed and paused in the hallway, teasing him about still being asleep.

“It’s not breakfast when you’ve been up all fucking night, Blake,” Julian’s voice answered as soon as the banging stopped. “Did you find the painter’s tape?” he asked in an annoyed voice as he leaned out of the doorway, just ten feet away from Cameron. His eyes were on Blake as he spoke, but when he saw Cameron he seemed to jerk slightly, blinking at him in stunned silence before recovering and moving his eyes back to Blake without any other reaction to Cameron’s presence.

All discussion died off as Julian appeared, drawing everyone’s eyes.

Blake grunted at him and nodded, reaching into his back pocket to extract a roll of blue tape. He tossed it at Julian, muttering about breakfast as he turned and walked into the kitchen, obviously expecting to be followed.

Keri cleared her throat first, being the most accustomed to seeing Julian—besides Cameron, of course. “Good morning,” she greeted him.

The other staff members raggedly joined in with a variety of comments along the same line. All except Cameron, who was looking at anything except Julian.

Julian merely nodded to return their greetings and then disappeared back into the room.

“C’mon, Cam,” Charles said, pulling at his arm. “Let’s get something to eat before Blake works us like dogs.”

“Like usual,” Keri added playfully.

Cameron let them pull him along, making himself look toward the kitchen and not back at Julian. Just that one look at him had set his heart pounding hard enough to make him breathless, and he could feel the pendant under his shirt heavy and warm against his skin.

Blake stood at the end of the large center island, eating a doughnut and scowling at them. “I wouldn’t work my dogs like I work you people,” he told them with a small smile.

Dragging his attention to the bar, Cameron picked through the pastries. “Do you actually have dogs?” he asked distractedly, looking around at the fancy kitchen.

“Only if you count Julian and Preston,” Blake joked with a wink as he poured himself more coffee.

Cameron cleared his throat and reached for the juice as the other restaurant staff started talking and wandering around the house to gawk while they had the chance. He stayed right there. Cameron hadn’t seen Julian even once since that very painful night—not once in three weeks. He squeezed his eyes shut for a short moment. He didn’t want to dwell on how much he was hurting.

“Cameron?” Blake asked softly as soon as the others had begun to wander. “Are you okay?”

“I... I didn’t know he’d be here,” Cameron said softly, not looking up from his juice.

“Who?” Blake asked in confusion.

“Julian.”

Blake glanced at the kitchen door with a frown. Just beyond, the banging started again, perhaps a little louder now than it had been. “I don’t understand,” Blake admitted as he looked back at Cameron.

Cameron swallowed. Obviously Julian hadn’t said anything to Blake. “We’re not... together anymore,” he murmured, poking at the half doughnut in front of him.

Blake inclined his chin and gave a small, “Oh.” He was silent for a moment before shaking his head. “I’m sorry. He hadn’t said anything to me,” he offered. “I wouldn’t have accepted your offer to help if I’d known.” He hesitated for a moment, something Blake wasn’t apt to do.

“Would you like Preston to take you home?” he asked uncertainly.

Tilting his head toward the continued banging, Cameron sighed and shook his head. “No. He knows I’m here. I expect we’ll do fine avoiding each other.” He picked up his juice. “Especially if he keeps banging on the wall like that.”

“That’s not the wall,” Blake responded with a wince. “That’s my ten-thousand-dollar billiards table,” he explained.

Cameron’s head jerked up and his eyes widened. “Uh.” He glanced in that direction. He’d seen Julian lose his temper only once, and even then the man had regained it with remarkable speed. What in God’s name was he doing in there? “Would you like Preston to take me home?” he asked awkwardly.

Blake smiled and shook his head. “I need all the help I can get. Besides,” he sighed regretfully, “he’s not abusing the furniture because of you.” He gave Cameron a sad shake of his head. “He’s just trying to take the damn thing apart.”

Cameron bit his tongue to keep from asking the most obvious question; why did taking it apart require quite such vehemence? But Julian’s state of mind wasn’t his business anymore. “What will we start with?” he asked instead, gesturing around.

“We cleared the front rooms earlier; we start there,” Blake answered in a slightly more businesslike tone as he gestured for Cameron to follow him out of the kitchen toward the front of the house again. “We’re three rooms behind you, Cross,” he called into the game room as he passed. “Double time it!”

“I’m going to find creative things to do with this boot if you don’t shut up,” Julian responded calmly from where he sat under the pool table. He was taking it apart, piece by piece, and there were envelopes full of documents scattered around he seemed to be placing inside the table itself before patching it back up.

Cameron tried to ignore what looked like a very suspicious scene and instead glanced to Blake, mouthing a questioning, “Boot?”

Blake pointed to his own foot and shook his head. “Broke his foot,” he explained almost silently.

Raising one brow, Cameron almost looked back into the room before he stopped himself. Shaking his head slightly, he started walking again. Not his business. How Julian might have broken his foot was not his business, nor was the fact that he seemed to be hiding Blake’s important documents inside a piece of furniture. None of it was his business.

And that was his own fault.

“Mr. Cross is cataloguing my artwork and antiques in case anything gets damaged in the move,” Blake explained to Cameron and several of the others who had rejoined them. “If he tells you to do something, you do it, and you do it fast. Otherwise, just stay out of his way,” he advised. “If you have a question, ask Preston or myself. Stay out of Mr. Cross’ way,” he reiterated slowly.

The staff members buzzed quietly over “Mr. Cross” and all the gossip he represented as Cameron drew in a long, slow breath, trying to settle the nerves that still plagued him. He followed Blake to the front, where his boss began collecting the volunteers and telling them just exactly what they would be doing. Heavy lifting, mostly. And a lot of it.

What surprised Cameron was that apparently Julian really was there to take care of the antiques and artwork, because as it turned out, he seemed to know what he was talking about. More than once Cameron heard his ex-lover’s voice rattling off the details of the provenance of some random bit of artwork or an antique piece for whoever was writing it down. Why had Cameron never known that about him? Frowning, Cameron told himself to stop thinking about it and just do what he was told.

They worked in groups of three and four to move the solid furniture. There was a lot of moaning and groaning, but the morning was uneventful except for Charles smashing his thumb in a cabinet door that hadn’t been secured.

By the time noon came around, Cameron had almost convinced himself that Julian wasn’t there. Almost. It was about that time when Preston came through with a pad of paper, taking lunch orders.

“Where are you going?” Blake asked the quiet driver as he stretched his back.

“Mr. Cross said to tell you that you could have Wendy’s,” Preston answered evenly.

Cameron and those within hearing distance paused and turned to stare. Blake Nichols owned a four-star restaurant. He didn’t frequent fast food drive-thrus. Blake muttered, but to everyone’s surprise, he gave Preston his order and returned to work without a word of argument.

Cameron listened as the others made their requests, and when Preston approached he just shook his head. “No, thank you,” he murmured. His stomach was still churning, and he didn’t want to risk actually being ill.

“Are you certain, sir?” Preston asked with raised eyebrows. “I’m afraid there won’t be more food until nightfall,” he warned.

Wrinkling his nose, Cameron sighed. “Get me one of those salad bowls, please,” he requested. He would just stick it into a cooler with the drinks in case he wanted it later.

“Very well, sir,” Preston responded as he wrote down the order and turned away. He stopped at Blake’s side as he left and turned to him, lowering his voice as he spoke. Cameron wasn’t able to hear what he said.

“Where’s he taking it?” Blake asked, loud enough for Cameron to hear.

“He hasn’t said, sir,” Preston answered in a low voice that just barely carried to Cameron.

“You don’t know?” Blake asked incredulously.

“You know how he is, sir. He insisted on going alone,” Preston answered with a shrug. He slid his pad of paper into a pocket. “And he wants to make the first trip himself to make certain it’s safe before anyone else accompanies him to help.”

“You’re not going with him?”

“He insisted.”

Blake sighed heavily but nodded in agreement, and Preston left without looking back.

Cameron frowned. Something was odd, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Blake was the one moving, and he and Julian both had repeatedly alluded to the fact that Blake was somehow in charge of things, but today Julian sure seemed to be calling the shots. Cameron had never known Blake to give in so quietly to anyone under any circumstance. Perhaps Julian and Blake were closer friends than he knew.

Shaking his head, he turned from the almost-empty room and walked out into the hallway, heading for the downstairs powder room.

When he looked up from his feet, Julian stood with a large parcel in his hands directly in front of him at the other end of the hall. The package was obviously a painting or something similar; it was wrapped in brown paper and secured with blue tape. Julian knelt down, the action awkward and difficult with the unwieldy boot on his foot, and he leaned the package against the wall to join several others. When he heard Cameron approaching, he turned his head slightly and then looked quickly away, down at the wrapped painting once more.

He shook his head as he reached into his breast pocket for a large permanent marker. “Hello, Cameron,” he greeted softly without looking up.

Cameron stopped in place, eyes settling on the man who had been his lover. “Hello, Julian,” he answered faintly. He licked his bottom lip nervously. He’d have to move past Julian on his way to the bathroom.

He didn’t know if he could physically do it. He scrambled for something else to say. “Ah. Blake said you broke your foot?”

“Several times,” Julian answered in the soft, formal voice Cameron knew so well as he wrote on the brown paper, labeling the painting. He didn’t look over at Cameron, and he seemed to be concentrating very hard on not doing so.

Cameron nodded, feeling the awkward tension crank up. He wanted to stand and look at Julian, to look his fill and listen to that gentle, barely there voice say anything at all, but he couldn’t stand it. It caused too much pain for him to stand still. “Excuse me,” he whispered as he brushed past to flee toward the bathroom.

Julian didn’t respond. He didn’t even stand until Cameron had moved well past him. As soon as Cameron reached the bathroom door, though, Julian stood and turned away, calling out, “Preston! Get it in gear!”

Cameron closed himself inside the powder room and leaned back against the door, wrapping his arms around his middle and hanging his head. God. He missed the man so, so badly. He hadn’t realized how much until just now.

“Are you coming with me, sir?” Preston’s voice responded from somewhere close. “Well, shake a leg, sir. We’re running behind schedule and it won’t do to be sitting down on the job,” he drawled.

“I swear to God, Preston...” Julian sounded supremely annoyed.

“Oh, I have more, sir,” Preston assured him. “I know how you appreciate variety.” Cameron could hear their footsteps moving away.

“I appreciate silence more,” Julian responded irritably before they were out of earshot.

After they were gone, Cameron could still hear Julian’s voice echoing in his head, this time speaking tender words he’d once spoken; could still smell him, even if it was just his imagination. And all his reasons for driving Julian away seemed all of a sudden so useless and silly. Closing his eyes, Cameron sighed shakily, trying to convince himself that he hadn’t made a mistake.

Blake watched through the windows as Julian stepped down from the moving van and made certain his booted foot was on the ground before he put any weight on it. He’d tripped and fallen so many times in the past week that Blake had lost count. He almost felt sorry for his friend, but he knew Julian had dealt with worse, and it was funny watching him struggle with the heavy walking boot. Blake could really use the amusement right now.

Over the course of the day, they’d made several trips to the safehouse Julian had found for Blake, but because they were trying to keep the amount of exposure to a minimum, none of the volunteers accompanied them to the new house, and Julian and Preston unloaded the majority of the heavy furniture by themselves.

All of the hard labor made both of the men slightly cranky.

Actually, it had made them both downright bitchy, and Blake was careful not to laugh at them every time they returned from a trip, bickering with each other in the most polite of ways. It was hard to respond to an insult that had “sir” tacked onto the end, which he knew frustrated Julian to no end.

They were back from their last run, accompanied by another order of food to hand out to the volunteers before they were taken home. The volunteers scattered on the front lawn with their meals, enjoying the mellow weather and in some cases dozing off.

Blake watched Julian and Preston as they approached the house, bypassing the others. He winced as he saw Cameron glance at Julian but just as quickly look away. Julian didn’t return the glance, keeping his head down as he made sure of his fatigued steps.

Preston walked ahead of Julian, carrying three McDonald’s bags as Julian limped behind him. He appeared to be muttering to himself, but then Preston would mutter back to him. Blake lifted the window to hear what they were saying.