Page 113 of Gave Proof Through the Night

“I’ll tell you.” I squeeze his hand once. “I’ll sit down with you and tell you everything. Tomorrow. I promise.”

He studies me a long moment, then nods, like he’s banking it. “Tomorrow.”

I peel off a few minutes later to get some champagne because his coach decided to stop him to talk hockey numbers and my brain completely checked out. And also to meet up with Rue in the back of the room.

She’s already holding two flutes on a tray like she knew I’d need one.

“Talk to me,” I murmur into my glass.

"Looping the hallway cameras for the next forty minutes. Mainframe's asleep," Zoe says briskly in my ear.

“En route to the corridor.” Suri’s voice is brisk and slightly echo-y.

“Ivy’s got Hobbs cornered,” Rue adds, low, watching the room behind her tray.

“Tanya. Turndown service time,” I say. “Go.”

“On my way,” Tanya replies over the comms.

Jeremiah finds me before I’ve finished the champagne, and escorts me to our table. We have some appetizers and Jeremiah jokes with his teammates sitting with us while I keep my eyes on everything in the room. How Hobbs is standing like a sentinel beside the Friendship Jewel display, even though there are two museum guards flanking the case. How Ivy offloaded some politician on him. Rue, circling the ballroom with a tray in one hand while warming up the other for the switch.

And across the room, the Argentinians hold court four tables over. A tall man, silver at the temples, and a woman with severe blonde hair. They’re visibly snubbing a man who has no clue he’s being ignored. He just keeps talking.

“That’s General Fairfax,” Ivy says behind a napkin so no one sees her lips move. “He’s retired but still does some shady business with South American diplomats. Next to him is Congressman Ashcombe, his golfing buddy who also happened to be photographed at a luxury brothel. I’m holding onto that tidbit for another day.”

Good ol’ Ivy.

“You keep looking over your shoulder,” Jeremiah says, somewhere between the Beef Wellington bites and caprese skewers.

“Hoping a server comes back with more rolls,” I say.

“Rolls.”

“And the butter. Did you try the butter? Unreal.” I smile at him like bread is the most fascinating subject in Washington, and he laughs, and lets it go, and I go right back to watching the blonde woman over my shoulder.

“Suri’s in position,” Zoe murmurs, so quiet I almost miss it under the clatter of silverware.

“I made the drop. Waiting for the load,” Tanya says a minute later. “Geeze, this uniform is itchy.”

“Remember, you’re keeping that,” Dale chirps in my ear.

“It’s not a cute French maid costume, Dale.”

“I don’t care, honey bunches of oats.”

I can hear Zoe throwing something at Dale in the van.

“Ouch.”

“Keep the comms clear, lover boy.”

Meanwhile, Ginger is somewhere in the hotel running through a set of lip trills, then mutters under her breath, “The lips, the teeth, the tip of the tongue. Red leather, yellow leather.”

“Does Ginger need a microphone?” Rue asks dryly.

“Yes!” I say, too loud, and catch myself half a second too late.

Jeremiah blinks at me. “Yes to what?”