Page 21 of Knox

Damián’s eyes light up with excitement. “¡Sí! I’ll have some chilaquiles with cream and extra queso fresco.”

Alexios pulls out a chair at the main table. “Just black coffee for me, please.”

The Mortician notes it down and then shifts his gaze to me. “For you, sir?”

“I’ll have six eggs, a side of bacon, and sourdough toast,” I tell him.

“I’ll have the same as him,” Logan adds, pulling up a chair next to Law, who is still nursing his tea.

The Mortician nods and leaves the room, closing the doors behind him.

Damián drops his jacket over the back of a couch and leans against the bar, looking between Logan and me. “So? How was the first night in the palace?”

“Uneventful,” Logan replies, checking the contract that Law passed him.

“Pfff…” An involuntary scoff breaks from my throat before I can stop it, and the entire team stares at me.

Damián raises an eyebrow and grins. “Oh, please do tell, Knoxy.”

There’s no point in telling them, but if I don’t, they won’t shut up until I do…

Especially Damián.

I lean against the back of an armchair, crossing my arms over my chest, and sigh. “My balcony is right next to Cillian’s. The asshole jumped onto mine in the middle of the night and told me to quit.”

“Language, Knox. Cillian is our client,” Law says without looking away from the contract in his hands.

“Technically, he’s not our client yet,” I grumble.

“Yet,” Law counters, finally lifting his gaze. “But he will be.”

Logan sets the contract on the table and takes a cup of coffee. “He asked you to quit?”

“More like ordered me to, but yeah. He’s surprisingly more against this contract than I am.”

“Still, we can’t leave him unprotected,” Damián says. “I am telling you, man, those letters were burning with hatred. Whoever wrote them really wants Cillian dead.”

Alexios opens his laptop and starts typing. “I’ve looked everywhere on the net, deep web, forums, social circles… but I haven’t found anyone who would hate Cillian to this extreme. Is there any possibility that the letters are just bullying? Or maybe an attempt at a payout?”

“Maybe they just want to be friends,” I tease.

“Sure, sure.” Damián glares at me. “You know what most people say when they don’t believe profilers are a real thing?”

“‘I’m sorry, your department isn’t a real science?’‌”

“Ha. Ha. No, Knox,” Damián says, pointing a finger at me. “They always say… ‘You were right—Arggghh’ …dead.”

“So drastic,” Alexios laughs, spinning his laptop around so the rest of us can see the screen.

The live video feed shows Björn lying down, shirtless, on a sunny beach. His ashy-blond hair falls over his shoulders, and his tattooed body is covered in sand.

Then Leif walks into the frame holding two coconuts, passes one to his twin, and then waves at the camera. “Hej, guys!”

“¡Ah, hermano! I want a coconut!”

“Those bloody palm trees are—” Law checks the paperwork, “—thirty feet tall… Please tell me you did not chop down our client’s private property.”

“Relax, Law-law. We didn’t bring machetes. Leif climbed the palm tree to get them,” Björn explains with a smile.