Page 7 of Knox

I look at Law; his fingers are tracing over his copper-red beard, a habit he falls into whenever he’s nervous.

“Jesus, Law… someone really wants this guy dead.”

“We believe so,” he says. “But Cillian insists they’re fakes, or perhaps a con. He doesn’t see the point in adding security when he’s already got his own lot sorted.”

I lean back, staring at the page. “So we have to protect a spoiled brat who doesn’t want us there… from a threat he doesn’t even believe in?”

“Pretty much,” Logan confirms.

Stressed, I tap my fingers against the paper.

The whole thing feels wrong, but I know Logan, and he doesn’t take contracts lightly.

Still, it leaves a bitter taste.

“What security agency do they already have?”

“KingCrown Co.,” Logan answers, and my jaw tightens.

KingCrown Co. is fine for events and corporate galas, but they’re way out of their depth here.

There’s no way they can handle an assassination attempt.

I sigh, tapping the letters on the table for the twentieth time. “And you believe this threat is real?”

Logan nods. “Damián read them and concluded the writer exhibits signs of malignant narcissism coupled with a persecutory delusion.”

“Fuck,” I sigh again.

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

That’s not good.

The only client we ever had who almost died was targeted by a stalker with those exact signs.

It does not matter how much money Cillian has or who he is. If this person is as twisted as Damián says he is, without the right security, Cillian is going to die.

“Okay.” I give up, and Law’s freckled nose crinkles as he smiles. “But just know I will hate every fucking second this shit contract lasts.”

“Wouldn’t expect it any other way, mate.”

“I apologize.” Toby approaches our table, looking nervous. “But… we can’t find the pilot.”

We all look at him, confused.

Did they really lose the pilot?

“...And the only backup pilot we were able to contact is two hours away,” he continues. “Mr. Harrington-Hale says that if it’s okay, he can send a limo instead, or you can change the date.”

Law looks up from his tea and arches a brow. “Does your company require one of your contracted pilots to fly your helicopters, or would any pilot suffice?”

“Any would… Why?” Toby asks, and Law grins.

Fifteen minutes later…

“Gooooood evening, gentlemen, and Knox,” Björn says through the headsets, flipping a row of switches on the overhead panel. “We’re all fueled up, loaded, and looking sexy! The flight plan is locked in, and rejoice! For the weather Gods are smiling upon us today.”

Logan, Law, Toby, and I sit strapped into the back of the helicopter, ready with our headsets. However, Toby looks a little pale as he grips his armrests.