2. Galahad
Galahad
Something about the café had my shoulder blades itching.
The exposed brick walls showcased abstract artworks that no doubt cost at least five times what they should.
There were plants everywhere: tall ones in the corners, more hanging at the front windows, and a couple nestled into colorful pots on the counter.
Mismatched vintage chairs. Ancient wooden tables.
The scent of freshly ground beans invaded every corner.
All of it created a strangely cohesive vibe.
It was too comfortable, too inviting.
It was like the whole room was trying to hug me.
I hated hugs.
“You’re acting like you’re in a hot zone,” Tristan muttered. “Relax. The most dangerous thing here is Mr. Kendrick when he wants help with the crossword.”
Exits: main door, emergency exit by the restrooms, probable kitchen route. “Old habits.”
“More like old paranoia.”
The crowd included business types tapping on their laptops, a few couples sharing quiet conversations over steaming mugs, and an older man erasing something from his newspaper.
The barista moved deftly from machine to machine, doing the prep work.
The woman who’d taken our order was loading items onto a serving tray, a quiet smile on her face, as though she loved her job.
Tristan swiveled in his seat to look at her, then back at me. He inclined his head toward the fern beside us. “How many combat applications for this potted plant?”
“Three,” I replied automatically, but caught his grin. “Shut up.”
“So,” he started, settling deeper into his chair, “ready to hear me out?”
I’d been waiting for this since his cryptic message two days ago, but I already knew what it was about. I’d heard enough gossip through our mutual networks. “You dragged me to small-town Michigan, to a coffee shop at seven in the morning, to pitch me on joining your security firm.”
“Our security firm.” He leaned forward, elbows on the wooden table. “Arthur, Lancelot, and me. We need someone with your specific skill set.”
“Which would be?”
“Your chronic suspicion of everything that breathes.” The corner of his stupid mouth twitched. “And your language skills would be an asset.”
“Merlin speaks more languages than I do. Talk to him if you need a linguist.”
He waved my comment aside. “Plus, our history together doesn’t hurt.”
“Plenty of guys with that resume, including Merlin.”
“Plenty of guys aren’t as good as you are.” He tapped a finger on the table. “We have office space down the street, all the permits are filed, and the equipment is on its way. Arthur’s handling the business end, and Lance is tapping his network for clients.”
“I’m in talks with White Spring Security,” I countered, watching a new customer approach from the sidewalk.
The bell above the door chimed as she came in, making a beeline for the front counter.
Confident woman in a sweatshirt and tights.
“They’ve got all the official connections, a formal HR structure, and premium benefits.
If you intend to compete with them, you’d better have a strong pitch. ”
“We can match all of it.” Tristan’s expression turned serious. “Whatever number they threw at you, we can beat it. Arthur’s got the backing.”
“Let me guess. Arthur’s father is the backing?”
Arthur’s father owned Pendragon Security, the defense contractor we’d all worked for after leaving the SEALs.
We’d been a tight group, which I hadn’t expected to find so quickly after the Navy.
I didn’t like tight groups, but our years in Afghanistan had produced solid results, so I’d stayed with Pendragon until the US withdrawal.
Since then, I’d been moving from one private contract to another and was on the hunt for more reliability.
White Spring Security was another large contractor, and they offered stability, an excellent salary, and the one thing Pendragon didn’t have: no pre-existing ties.
His jaw tightened momentarily. “The money’s solid, regardless of its source. And you won’t be chained to a desk writing reports until your soul dies.”
The server approached our table with our orders on a tray.
She had high cheekbones, bright green eyes, and a hell of a body hidden behind her apron.
Not to mention a smile wide enough to make my own teeth ache.
She set Tristan’s drink down with theatrical flair.
“One ridiculously complicated latte for you. And for you—” She turned to me, playfulness dancing in her eyes.
“One ridiculously no-frills black coffee.”
I tried not to frown at her, but the proximity of the caffeine hit was messing with my senses, so I probably did. “Coffee doesn’t have to be complicated.”
“A purist.” She placed our sandwiches in front of us, and my stomach nearly growled in appreciation. The food smelled amazing. “I can respect that.”
Tristan’s grin widened. “Don’t let his grumpy exterior fool you, Grace. He’s actually?—”
“Professional,” I cut in, more curt than I needed to be. “Thank you for the coffee.”
“Enjoy your breakfast, gentlemen.” She walked away, her ponytail and hips swaying with each step.
“Smooth,” Tristan drawled once she was out of earshot. He drew closer and dropped his volume. “She’s single, you know.”
Sure, her jeans clung to a fine ass, but I was only passing through as a favor to Tristan. I didn’t need to be distracted by a woman who used smiles and hip sways to weasel extra tip money from customers. “Not interested, bud.”
Not moving away from me, he whispered, “And self-sufficient. She’s the owner.”
“Still not interested.” I pulled my plate toward myself. “Now, did you haul me here to discuss my social life, or is there an actual job on the table?”
“Can’t it be both?” His teasing smile made me want to throw the plant at him. “You’ve been watching her since we walked in.”
“I watch everyone. It’s what keeps people alive.”
“Right, because coffee shops are common hotbeds of assassination attempts.” He took an exaggerated sip of his latte. “Remember the day near the old Balkh outer wall when the insurgents attacked after we’d found the coin stash?”
I lifted my coffee to my lips, partly to avoid responding, partly because the aroma was too tempting to resist. The flavor landed harder than I’d expected—rich, slightly chocolatey, with a depth that lingered.
Damn. There was no way it was only coffee.
She must have added a sweetener or something to it.
“That’s the sort of thing I’m talking about,” Tristan continued. “We tucked the archaeological team behind the bulldozer, but you hopped into the driver’s seat and provided us with mobile cover.”
The memory flitted through my mind. It had been a damn near miracle their shots had missed me when I was out in the open.
The echo of bullets ricocheting off metal was so vivid it could have been happening inside the café.
I covered it by taking another sip of coffee, letting the deep flavor pull me back to the room.
“That’s what we need.” Tristan wrapped his hands around his mug. “Somebody who doesn’t simply follow the standard playbook. You see solutions no one else does, and you’re not afraid to act on them.”
“Gawain would have done it if he weren’t already injured.”
Tristan ignored the comment and kept going. “Big firms bury you under red tape and SOPs. We all went through shit with Pendragon Security, but our new company won’t do that, because it’s us. Plus, you operate like we do.”
“White Spring has resources?—”
“We’ve got different ones. Better ones.” He flipped up his fingers as he spoke, punctuating each point. “No corporate nonsense, no chain-of-command tangle, and no middle managers who don’t understand what an operator needs. It’ll just be us, doing a job we’re good at, answering to each other.”
The coffee shop hummed around us, with customers chatting, machines whirring, and music playing softly overhead.
Grace moved between tables, stopping to chat with the older man, who pointed at what must have been a crossword puzzle clue he needed help with.
Her laugh carried across the room, genuine and unguarded.
Her laugh was like a hug, too.
You need to get out of this place.
“Think about it,” Tristan said, finally leaning back. “We’re looking for more team members who excel in close protection. And working with people you trust makes work a thousand times easier.”
I drank more coffee, irritated by how much I enjoyed it. Almost as irritated as I was at myself for noticing the way Grace somehow smiled with her whole body when she talked to her customers. Maybe it was more than an act to weasel better tips out of them.
“I’ll think about it,” I said, mostly to make him stop nagging. “But I’m due in DC next week to continue the process with White Spring.”
“Thinking is all I’m asking for now.” Tristan glanced at Grace, telegraphing that he thought I was considering the woman instead of the job. “Though I should mention, if you join us, this would be our regular meeting spot.”
I shot him a scowl. “Subtle.”
“Hey, I’m just saying.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Good coffee, good company... could be worse ways to start the day, right?”