She planted her combat boots flat on the ground and pushed up, walking over to Josh. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?” “No.” But his voice...was a little off. She smiled. He took another sip of beer, eying her. A little over an inch of liquid remained in the bottle, sloshing and foaming as he pulled it back from his lips. Daphne reached toward him and captured the bottle from his hand. Condensation dripped over her fingers as she lifted the lip to her mouth and drained the remainder down her. Wilkins entered. Alan gestured for them to sit, and they did. Karick figured his job would be primarily concerned with security, he was, after all, a former intelligence agent. Swindon-Smythe was less sure. The last month had been rough on him, mostly imprisoned in the secure office two doors down from Wilkins’s own space. The new office was just a few floors down from his former jail, in the same building in midtown Manhattan, almost all the way east, near the United Nations. Three or four. More

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