Penni was hopelessly lost. Who was she? And, totally off subject, but who actually used the word “assuage”?
Obviously she wasn’t the only one suffering from what-the-huh? Dan was scowling so hard she was surprised his eyebrows didn’t slide right down the center of his nose. “What the hell is going on here?” he demanded.
“Ozzie has agreed to give Samantha Tate a fuckin’ tour of the warehouse,” Boss grumbled.
Dan turned to Ozzie, blinking. The sunlight streaming in through the huge leaded-glass windows caught the blond steaks in his sandy hair and made them shine like spun gold. “That took some balls,” he said.
“Actually”—Ozzie scratched his head—“it was Becky’s idea.”
“So it took some ovaries.” Becky grinned. “A far more hardy reproductive organ.”
“And you chose Ozzie to do the honors because…?” Dan let the sentence dangle.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Becky gestured toward Ozzie’s ridiculously handsome face.
“I feel so objectified,” Ozzie mumbled.
“Just use all your charm and bullshit to distract her from asking any really probing questions,” Boss said.
“You say that like it’s so easy,” Ozzie huffed. “I’ll have you know, I’ve spent years honing my charm and bullshit to—”
“Who’s Samantha Tate?” Penni asked Dan from the corner of her mouth.
“That nosy reporter Boss mentioned,” he told her. “She’s been on our ass like a bad rash since the day we opened our doors, always hanging around trying to get something on us.”
“Like what?” she asked.
“You got me.” He shrugged. “Proof that we’re more than we seem? Something that’ll get her name above the fold in the Chicago Tribune?”
“Yikes.” Penni shuddered, knowing the reason Dan and the Black Knights were so effective was because they were such a clandestine group. Catching the eye of a reporter was seriously bad news.
“You said it,” he agreed.
Boss, who’d stopped listening to Ozzie, added, “So Becky suggested we bring her in and show her around the place. Show her we are building bikes. Show her the CAD software Ozzie and Becky use to do the designs. Show her the painting process and the parts storeroom. And hopefully, once we’ve done all that, we’ll have satisfied her curiosity.” After a breath, he said, “And maybe then she’ll leave us the fuck alone.”
“But on the day we’re housing and interrogating the world’s most notorious traitor?” Zoelner asked incredulously.
“Mmmph,” Winterfield said from behind the duct tape, still glaring in that menacing, slightly insane way that made the hairs all over Penni’s body stand up. To coin a phrase the boys in her old neighborhood had liked to use, I don’t know nothin’ from nothin’. She was no psychologist after all. But she’d bet dollars to donuts that Winterfield had lost every single one of his marbles. Besides the whole World’s Worst Traitor thing, there was just something off about him.
“We didn’t know we’d be doing that until a few hours ago.” Boss said, shaking his head and cursing.
“Fuck-all bad timing,” Dan snorted.
“And then some,” Boss agreed.
“So what else is new?” Dan asked.
“Nothing as far as I can tell,” Boss said. Then his scare-away-small-children expression morphed into another grin. “It’s damn good to have you back.”
Whatever Dan opened his mouth to say was interrupted when Vanessa called down from the second-floor landing, “Geralt is bringing her in! Everybody look alive! Oh, hey!” A wide smile split her face when she saw Dan and Zoelner. “I was in Rock’s office and didn’t hear you guys arrive. Welcome home!”
“No time for that,” Boss groused. “Zoelner, take Winterfield and lock him in the interrogation room.”
“You have an interrogation room?” Penni asked Dan, looking at him askance. She’s been impressed with what little of Black Knights Inc. she’d seen while Becky and Ozzie booked her flight to Cusco. But never in a million years would she have thought the warehouse came equipped with an interrogation room. BKI headquarters were like a CIA black site on crack and raised to the power of ten.
“It’s really just an old storage building that we’ve turned into a gym. But it has soundproofing and heavy things that we can tie our guest to,” Dan said.
Okay, so maybe not on crack. But still raised to the power of ten.
“Chelsea, head on up to the offices,” Boss continued as if neither of them had spoken. “I don’t want Miss Tate to get a look at you and start asking questions about who you are.”
“Done.” Chelsea pushed her glasses up her nose, hoisted her satchel higher on her shoulder, and turned for the stairs. “I need to check in with Morales anyway. See if he’s learned anything new on our mysterious airport shooter.” Dolly Parton’s “9 to 5” started wailing from the bottom of her purse. “After I let my mom know we made it home safe and sound.” She made a face. “I forgot to call her when we landed.”