Chapter 21
Black Knights Inc.
“How do you think she’ll explain her absence last night?” Boss asked.
Graham stood just outside Boss’s office, arms crossed, shoulder propped against the wall like it might fall down without him.
The familiar hum of the War Room buzzed behind him. Ozzie clacked on his keyboard. Eighties music blared at a surprisingly reasonable level. From below, the sounds of the shop echoed. The soft shush of a blowtorch. The harsh whine of a metal grinder.
It was business as usual at BKI.
Funny, considering they had an assassin tied up in the tunnel hidden behind the shop wall.
Graham and Boss had been in Boss’s office discussing interrogation techniques when Martin Massey’s call came in.
All the men of Black Knights Inc. had been through SERE training.
It was the military’s standard course for spec-ops soldiers—regardless of their branch—and it was meant to prepare them should they ever find themselves captured by the enemy.
But teaching a guy how to survive, evade, resist, and escape was not the same as teaching him how to get information from someone who didn’t want to talk. Whose very life likely depended on them not talking.
That was the CIA’s purview. Those soulless shitbags had a whole training module covering enhanced interrogation techniques.
A handful of SEALs in each unit spent six weeks at Langley learning the ins and outs of torture from spooks and spies. Boss had been one of the unlucky bastards in his unit. Graham had pulled the short straw in his.
This meant it’d fall to them to devise a game plan for getting the blonde to cough up information. Like who’d hired her. And, more importantly, why.
Of course, they’d taken a break from discussing their plan to let Sabrina have some privacy for her call with the rich hedge fund manager.
And now, instead of throwing around phrases like sleep deprivation and stress positions, they were talking about the love life of their resident social media maven.
Life is weird, Graham thought idly.
Aloud, he said, “Dunno,” in response to Boss’s question. “She’ll need to get creative.”
Sabrina had swung the door shut behind her when she’d raced to take Martin’s call. But it hadn’t latched. Now, they could hear the hum of her voice through the crack in the doorway, although they couldn’t make out her words.
“I don’t know how someone can build a relationship on lies.” Boss frowned, a line digging deep between his bushy eyebrows.
Graham gave a philosophical shrug. “She can’t tell him the truth. So I don’t reckon she’s got another option.”
Boss’s nod was slow, thoughtful. “I guess there was a part of me, at least when she first got here, that hoped she and Hew might start something. You know, once she’d healed enough to want to.”
“You ain’t the only one.”
Boss slid him a quizzical look. “He ever tell you why he never made a move? Sometimes I catch him looking at her like he can’t decide whether he wants to eat her whole or wrap her up in cotton so no one can touch her.”
Graham barked out a laugh. “And sometimes I catch her lookin’ at him like she wants to climb him like a cat climbs a tree.”
“So what’s the problem?” Boss’s frown deepened. “Why’s she in there making plans with another man?”
“I think our resident Nightstalker doesn’t know which end is up when it comes to romance. Poor Sabrina would probably hafta sit on his face before he’d catch a damn clue and—”
The tone of Sabrina’s voice changed. What had sounded low and apologetic suddenly turned businesslike and cautious.
Graham exchanged a look with Boss. Then they both straightened when the door swung open, and Sabrina stood there blinking, surprised to find them waiting outside.
“There’s a Lura Dougherty on the line,” she said, and Graham felt his heart hammer. “She called in right as Martin and I were saying our goodbyes. She says she wants to talk to you.”
“To me?” Boss cocked an eyebrow.
“To you.” Sabrina pointed a finger at Graham’s chest.
Boss slapped a firm hand on his shoulder. “Well, what are you waiting for, son? There’s a tall, smokey-eyed redhead on the horn for you.”
“Right.” Graham firmed his shoulders as he traded places with Sabrina in the doorway.
“Who’s Lura Dougherty?” he heard her ask as he palmed the knob.
“Yesterday was a helluva ride. We have a lot to catch you up on,” Boss said before Graham closed the door and the world outside faded away.
Boss’s office was sparse. Severe. Like the man himself.
The air held the faint tang of blade oil. The walls were lined with practical metal shelves—the kind you could get at any home improvement store. And every item on them was meticulously placed.
Except for the photos of his wife and his two kids that he kept on his desk, there was no clutter. No distractions. Just pure, utilitarian focus.
Graham appreciated that now. Since it was just him and the black handset waiting on the desk. Him and his quiet thoughts that cautioned him not to jump to conclusions.
She’s not callin’ to tell ya she’s missed your face for the last two decades.
She’s not callin’ to say she can’t stop thinkin’ ’bout ya.
She’s not callin’ to ask ya out, dipshit. Get it together.
“Hello?”
Damnit! His voice cracked like a pubescent boy’s.
By contrast, Lura’s voice was soft and smooth. “Graham?”
Despite losing her accent over the years, something about how she made his name into two syllables reminded him of the Appalachian foothills.
For the first time in a long damn time, he ached for the hush of the holler, the creak of a porch swing, and the peace of those thick, slow summer nights that never seemed to end.
He had to clear his throat. “None other.” He hoped it sounded breezy and only faintly curious.
“I know it’s strange, me calling you like this,” she replied quickly. “But I wanted to see if everything…” She trailed off, searching for the right words.
He appreciated the pause. It gave him a second to rein in the stampede of his heart.
“Did everything turn out okay last night?” she finally finished. “Is everyone good over there?”
Right. Unsecured line.
“Everything’s great. Everyone’s fine. And everyone’s home,” he told her, and thought he heard a small sigh of relief.
“Good. That’s really good, Graham.”
There it was again; his name in her mouth making him miss home.
Silence stretched then. He wanted to fill it. Wanted to hear more of her voice. But he couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. And…how’s the weather in your neck of the woods?...would only make him sound like an idiot.
“Okay, then.” She was the one to fill his awkward pause. “I won’t keep you. I know you’re busy.”
A sudden sense of desperation gripped him. He couldn’t let her go. Not like this. Not when it felt like she’d just cracked open a door he hadn’t dared knock on in years. “Lura?”
“Yes?”
“It was…” He had to clear his throat again. “It was really nice seein’ ya again. I’m glad to know ya grew up to be such a badass.”
He could hear the smile in her voice. It wrapped around his ribs like silk. “If we’re handing out trophies for being badasses, I think you take first place.”
“Speaks volumes for Rabun County, huh? Producin’ two of us?”
That made her laugh. “I guess that’s better than being known for being the place they filmed Deliverance.” She thickened her accent, dropped her voice, and quoted, “You got a real purdy mouth, boy.”
“Ya know, I never saw that movie.”
“What? I thought everyone in Clayton had to watch it. It was, like, a requirement or something.”
“My momma told me it wasn’t fit for little ones. And by the time I got old enough, I reckon I wanted to forget where I came from. Too many bad memories.”
Another pause.
Damnit Graham! Way to spoil the moment.
“They say home is where our stories start,” she finally said, her voice soft and low. “Good thing we get to decide how they end.”
For some reason, that made a lump form in his throat. He couldn’t get a word around it.
“Well, okay then.” Again, she was forced to fill the void he left in the conversation. “I'd better get back to it. You take care, Graham.”
“You too, Lura,” he managed. His usually gritty voice sounded like crushed gravel.
The click of the line disconnecting hit him in the chest like buckshot. It was sudden, surprising, and oddly final.
He’d gone nearly twenty years without seeing, talking, or even thinking about her. So why the hell did returning to that status quo make him feel so…unsettled?
Nostalgia, he told himself as he stepped away from the desk. Sentimentality and a touch of homesickness. That’s all it is.
Somewhere in the back of his brain, a little voice whispered…bullshit.