room knew what that meant, the effect it had on Lucius Broadstone was immediate.
His broad shoulders relaxed, his hard jaw softened, and the lines on his forehead went from “etched deeply” to “showing character” in less than a breath.
“How did you know—”
“Please,” Stirling murmured, his fingers clicking relentlessly on his laptop. “We’re not amateurs.”
“Who are you people?” Lucius muttered. Then he seemed to remember. “I mean, I know you’re Felix Salinger and Benjamin Morgan—everybody from Chicago knows that.” He frowned. “But what are you doing involved in this?”
Danny gave him an engaging smile, and even through the computer screen, Hunter could feel the tug of the man’s charisma. “Isn’t it wonderful what awesome and powerful paths the tides of life can sweep us toward? So do we have your permission to continue to make the drop and see this little adventure through?”
Lucius blinked slowly, probably trying to decipher whether or not Danny had answered the question, which everybody else in the room recognized he had not.
“Sure,” he breathed after a moment. “Fine. Whatever. Caraway House is safe. What’s a forty-year-old tech legacy anyway?”
“Have a little faith,” Felix said genially. “Your old man sounds like a bastard. Imagine what starting over could do for the old self-esteem.”
Lucius glared at the screen through hooded eyes, and Hunter smirked. He didn’t see Felix and Danny letting Lucius’s firm go under if they could at all help it, but they were right. Interrupting the delivery of whatever it was Artur was transporting wasn’t going to solve their problem—in fact, it would only make it worse.
“I assume you’re being ironic,” he said after a deep breath.
“You are so very generous!” Danny clapped his hands, delighted. “Artur, why don’t you fetch that package now. You’re going to have to deliver it soon, and we want everything to go smoothly.”
Artur nodded and exited the room with heavy steps, leaving the rest of them to talk about him while he was gone.
On Delicate Toebeans
“GRACE,” JULIA asked, “is he up to this?”
Grace blew out a breath. “I think he’s tired,” he admitted. His feet ached, and he wished mightily for some—
“Here,” Hunter murmured, thrusting some ibuprofen into his hand with a bottle of water. “Should have made sure you had this earlier.”
Grace stared at him, knowing his eyes were wide and limpid but unable to help himself. “Thank you,” he rasped, before downing the pills. He gave Hunter one last glance before pulling himself back into the game. Inscrutable man. “He’s tired,” Grace said again to the suddenly quiet room. “He’s been doing this for months, Tabby said—and like I told him, we’ve seen it. I thought he was just… getting older, but the travel’s been wearing on him, and he… he needs to not have this on his shoulders.”
Everyone in the room nodded, and then Josh said, “How are your feet, by the way?” He glared at Lucius. “You ran the fuck out of everyone here in this room. Besides Hunter.”
Grace scowled. “Do you know he has Kevlar in those super slick leather coats? They weigh as much as you!”
Josh blinked. “I sincerely doubt it.” But Josh was looking wafer thin these days, so Grace was pretty sure.
“I don’t,” Hunter rumbled, barely loud enough for Grace to hear, and Grace flashed him a grin, because apparently there was a Team Hunter and Grace now, and Grace was sort of all for that shit.
“Back to the matter at hand,” Julia steered gently. “Although, Josh, you do need to eat. So, our plan now is what? We drop the item off again, see what it is and who picks it up, and formulate a course of action then?”
“Yes,” Danny said. “Except, Stirling, do you have a little wrinkle to add?”
“Sure do, Uncle Danny,” Stirling said, lighting up when Danny gave him attention. They all did that. Felix was a good dad—steadfast, kind, firm if you needed it—and Grace had always adored him. But Danny was the fun uncle, and his attention was like a sunshiny blessing. Stirling, who was so much happier in his own head until he looked up and realized he was missing human contact, seemed to gravitate toward that sunshine unconsciously, like a shy, brilliant cephalopod who only sought out company if it made his skin happy.
In this case, Stirling didn’t just light up, he inked like an octopus, producing a little baggie with something in it so tiny and clear that Grace—who had amazing vision—couldn’t see it from across the dimmed hotel room.
“Why are there no