Chapter 25
All things considered, Sabrina decided it was a good day.
She was fed and watered—maybe overwatered, since she’d peed twice more following that initial time.
She’d apologized to Martin for missing their date, and he’d been heart-wrenchingly kind about it, saying he was just glad she was okay before asking her to meet later for a drink.
And she’d cleared the air with Hew after that whole neck-kissing debacle.
So, yeah, a good day.
Four men are dead, the voice in her head chided. Black Widow is tied up in the Bat Cave. And some dude the Knights don’t know wants them all six feet under and pushing up daisies.
A good day?
Okay. Fair enough. Maybe good was pushing it.
But those four men were fully prepared to kill me and everyone I care about, she reminded the voice. Black Widow is evil and deserves whatever she gets. And, if we’re lucky, Graham and Boss will soon know Bishop’s true identity and—
The Bat Cave door ground slowly open, halting her thoughts and her feet at the base of the stairs leading to the second floor.
That was fast, she thought. And she wondered if fast was a good thing or a bad thing when it came to interrogation.
She braced herself for the sight of Graham and Boss. She had a hard time envisioning either man raising a hand to a woman. But apparently, they’d been trained to do just that.
To her relief, though, they both appeared in the yawning mouth of the tunnel looking none the worse for wear. No bruised knuckles. No hints of horror in their eyes.
Her relief was short-lived, however, when she saw the grim cant of Boss’s jaw and the hard fists Graham kept curled at his sides.
Something Black Widow said has them spooked.
She craned her head, trying to catch a glimpse of the assassin before the brick wall slid shut on its tracks. The tunnel looked empty. No platinum head in sight. Which meant Black Widow was being held farther down, probably past that first steep bend.
Sabrina shuddered at the thought.
Before last night, she’d only been in the Bat Cave once before. And once was enough.
The place put the eep in creepy.
Boss waited for the brick wall to seal shut with a solid-sounding thunk before circling his finger in the air. “Back upstairs, everyone. We need to talk.”
Sabrina’s stomach balled into a fist as she quickly made her way to the War Room. She was the first to grab a seat at the conference table, and she placed her second cup of coffee in front of her, watching it cool because her stomach was suddenly too jittery to take a sip.
Hew slid into the chair beside her, his expression unreadable. But his arm touched hers atop the table.
She almost pulled away. After what happened earlier, it felt odd to touch him.
Then again, she’d been the one to ask him to forget about it, to go back to the way things were. So it’d be the height of hypocrisy if she couldn’t do the same.
To keep from concentrating too much on how good he smelled, on how warmly his body heat wrapped around her, on the stark contrast between the pale skin on her forearm and the tan skin on his, she offered him a wan smile and grabbed her mug.
Yes, it was an excuse to stop touching him.
Yes, she was a coward who couldn’t even play by her own rules.
Yes, she had to steel her stomach for what was about to enter it when she tipped the mug to her lips.
Just as she’d suspected, her belly revolted by twisting and threatening to bring up what she’d just sent down to it. But she refrained from gagging and instead chanced a glance over at Hew to see if he’d picked up on her discomfort.
God, she loved his profile.
Loved how his jawline was highlighted by his close-cropped beard. Loved how dark and thick his lashes were. Loved him.
It hit her now as suddenly as it’d hit her upstairs. And the urge to blurt out her feelings was nearly overwhelming.
But she couldn’t burden him with the truth. It wasn’t fair after all he’d done for her. After all she owed him.
So she’d concentrate on what they did have.
Affection. Understanding. Friendship.
It was enough. She’d make it enough.
And besides, Martin deserved better than to have her pining for another. He was thoughtful and sweet. He planned dates and never missed a chance to tell her she was smart and funny. He was clear about what he wanted from her and what he wanted to give her.
In short, he was perfect. He just wasn’t…Hew.
But, god willing, if there’s a way to take all the love Hew doesn’t want from me and transfer it to Martin, I’ll find it.
“Black Widow couldn’t give us a name.” Boss’s booming voice cut across the conference table and into her thoughts.
A disgruntled groan rolled through the room.
Boss lifted a calloused hand, palm out. “Because she doesn’t know the name,” he clarified. “But she knows enough.”
Every head was suddenly pinned in his direction, every eye glued to his face.
“She’s certain Bishop is someone high up in government. Near the top. And if just half of what she told us is true about the things he said to her, the things he knows, I believe her.”
“High up in government.” Fish scratched his chin. “So, who are we talking about? The VP? Speaker of the House?”
“Maybe the head of the Joint Chiefs?” Ozzie offered. “The former head knew about the OG operation here, so maybe…” He made a rolling motion with his hand.
“Could be anyone close to the president,” Boss agreed. “Anyone she trusts enough to tell about us.”
Eliza leaned forward, her dark eyes worried. “I thought the whole point was that Madam President didn’t tell anyone about us. I thought the whole point was the secret was kept between her and my father.”
Sabrina winced.
Leonard Meadows was the first person to come to mind when Boss said the words high up in government.
Something about the man had never set right with her. He always sounded so cold. So…transactional. Like his daughter was just another one of his employees. Like BKI was nothing but a tool to be used and tossed aside if it ever stopped serving him.
Fisher squeezed Eliza’s hand atop the table. “His assistant found out about us. Which means there could be others who know.”
“I can think of maybe a half-dozen folks who might fit the bill. Who the president might’ve felt obliged to enlighten,” Hew added, because he was just so…Hew.
For a kid who’d grown up fending for himself, his ability to empathize with others amazed her.
“Yes.” Eliza nodded, her expression still stricken. “And one of those folks is my father.” She glanced around the table. “But why? Why would he want to kill all of you or expose any of this?” She held her hands wide. “What would that gain him?”
Boss shook his head. “We won’t know the why until we figure out the who.”
Ozzie nodded, his unkempt hair waving in the breeze of the overhead vents. “So that’s step one. Figure out the who. It’s a short list. It shouldn’t be too hard.”
“And maybe this will help.” Boss pulled a black burner phone from his hip pocket and shoved it into the middle of the table. Sabrina recognized it. The last time she’d seen it, it had been in Black Widow’s hand.
“It’s the phone she used to contact us and to contact him,” Boss told the group.
Ozzie reached for the device. Thumbed it open. Glanced at the screen. “The number is probably encrypted.” He hastily typed something on his laptop. Squinted. Typed again. “Definitely encrypted.”
“We could call it,” Sam suggested. “At the very least, we’d have his voice on record when he answers. We could run it through Ozzie’s voice recognition software.”
“Black Widow says he always uses a voice modulator,” Graham said. “And if we call him, he’ll know we’re onto him.”
“Exactly.” Ozzie frowned. “I’ll do some more work on tracing the number, but I—”
He stopped abruptly when Peanut launched his fat, furry body onto the table, landing on the edge with a solid-sounding thump.
“Jesus.” Fish caught his coffee mug just before the old tom could tip it.
The cat sauntered across the table like it was his own personal runway, flicking his tail into Ozzie’s face, sniffing Sabrina’s coffee, and then—with the deliberateness only cats possess—sitting down in front of Hew to lift a leg and thoroughly clean his butthole.
“How are we supposed to have a serious conversation with this goin’ on?” Graham gestured toward the former alley cat.
“You’re just jealous because you can’t lick your butt,” Fisher quipped.
“True.” Graham shrugged. Then, when he saw Boss eyeing him closely, he demanded, “What’s with your face?”
“Ozzie’s right.” Boss nodded, not joining in the joking, keeping squarely attuned to business. “Bishop could only be a handful of folks. He shouldn’t be hard to find if we have a man inside the West Wing.”
“A man inside the West Wing?” Graham blinked uncomprehendingly.
“Maybe I should’ve said a woman inside,” Boss stressed. “You think your friend Lura’s up for the task?”
Sabrina lifted an eyebrow at the muscle that started ticking in Graham’s strong jaw.
Boss had given her the skinny on Lura Dougherty. But Graham’s reaction said maybe there was more to the story than she’d been told.
“She’s not my friend,” Graham insisted. “She’s an acquaintance from back home. And she’s an assistant, not an operator. She doesn’t have the trainin’ for—”
“She doesn’t need training to keep her ear cocked and her nose to the ground,” Boss interrupted.
Graham’s nostril flared and Sabrina lifted an eyebrow. Her curiosity was well and truly piqued.
Boss’s next words came out slow and deliberate. “Graham, my man, how do you feel about a trip to D.C.?”
Sabrina didn’t hear Graham’s response because Hew suddenly slung an arm across the back of her chair. His forearm warmed the back of her neck. His fingers brushed her shoulder.
It was nothing he hadn’t done a hundred times before. It was friendly. Unceremonious.
Ha! Tell that to my nervous system, she thought hysterically.
Every synapse in her head short-circuited. All the oxygen had been sucked from the room, and even though her lungs worked, she couldn’t get enough air.
He squeezed her shoulder. Offering casual comfort just as he’d been doing since the day they met. Except her skin tingled like champagne bubbles ran beneath it.
She knew what it was to taste him now. Knew how warm his skin was against her lips. Knew how his pulse felt as it beat against the tip of her tongue.
She crossed her legs against the ache in her sex. Refused to look down for fear she’d see her nipples pearled against the front of her T-shirt.
She could feel Hew looking at her expectantly. Besides being observant, he was incredibly perceptive to the slightest change in her breathing. Undoubtedly, he’d clocked her subtle gasp and wondered what had caused it.
Ignoring him would be proof that even though she’d asked him to forget what happened upstairs, she was the one who, despite talking the talk, couldn’t walk the walk.
So she risked a glance.
Determination glinted in his gorgeous green eyes, and his expression told her he still wanted to talk. Still had something to say about that kiss.
Shit.
Swallowing jerkily, she desperately looked for a way to avoid the coming catastrophe as the meeting broke up. Chairs scraped. Coffee mugs clunked. Individual conversations sprang up.
Aha! she thought as Fish pulled Hew aside. Just the distraction I need!
After quietly slipping away from the conference table, she took the stairs to the third floor two at a time.
Coward, that little voice chided.
Fine. She was a coward. But she needed a second to breathe. A second to think.
She might just blurt out the truth if he started grilling her, pushing for a more thorough explanation.
And if she thought kissing his neck had changed things between them, that was nothing compared to what admitting that she was in love with him would do.
She’d barely closed her bedroom door, leaning against it in momentary relief, when a sharp knock sounded.
Oh, god.
Remember when she said she was having a good day, all things considered?
She retracted that statement.