Page 24 of A Friend in the Glass

Sam had barely unzipped the suitcase before Rufus called his name.

“Hey, Sam. I might be the savviest shit east of the Hudson.” Rufus was carefully holding up the desk blotter with his thumb and index finger while pointing at a single sheet of paper underneath. When Sam came toward him, Rufus said, “Please agree and call me savvy. Or smart. Actually, there’re a lot of good adjectives starting with ‘S.’”

“Fine. You’re savvy. You’re smart. You’re a snarky, snarly, sexy pile of trouble. What do you have?”

“I don’t know, but it looks very official.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam snagged the paper. He scanned it. Then he read it again.

“This is a PR release. About Stonefish. What the actual fuck?”

Rufus asked, “Why would she have a PR release with her for something that happened a long time ago?”

“‘Conasauga Solutions is pleased to announce the performance and operability ratings of JLTV models M1279.S and M1280.S (Project STONEFISH).’ Jesus Christ, they make it sound like they’re winning J.D. Power awards. Let’s see. Army loves them. Big order coming. Public unveiling of Stonefish models to be attended by—” He stopped. “The rest of it’s missing.”

Rufus raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean, missing?”

Sam displayed the page, where the press release had been photocopied. It cut off abruptly after the mention of the public unveiling.

“Ain’t that a bitch. There’s space on the page… I wonder why it got cut.”

“I don’t think it was an accident.”

Rufus met Sam’s gaze a second time. “So someone sent this to Evangeline? As what… a threat?”

“I don’t know. But it must mean something to her, because she kept it.”

“Sam?” Rufus was staring at the opposite side of the paper. “What’s this on the back?”

Sam turned the page over, glanced at the series of numbers, and displayed it for Rufus. “An account number?”

“Bank account number,” Rufus corrected. “What’s this—oh—SWIFT code, isn’t it?”

“Do we know anybody who wanted to sell information about Stonefish?”

Rufus’s shoulders sagged. “Shareed,” he murmured.

When they left the room, a housekeeping cart was parked two doors down, and from within the lighted room came the sounds of rustling cotton and footsteps. The elevator carried them to the lobby, where the clerk was trying to (somewhat) discreetly snap a dick pic under the front desk before he noticed them, at which point he banged his knee, yanked on something, and made a shrill noise.

“Zipper,” Sam muttered.

The lobby had emptied while they were upstairs, and as Sam headed for the revolving door, he had halfway convinced himself that he’d imagined the colonel spotting them earlier.

Over his shoulder, he said to Rufus, “We have to talk to Lew, obviously, which means back to the convention center. Public is better for now, I think, but how do you want to do it?”

Rufus had stopped following a few feet back, and when Sam stopped and looked at him, Rufus pointed toward the almost empty bar. “What about talking to that Del guy first?”

Chapter Twelve

“Give me that press release.”

With a raised eyebrow, Sam held it out. “What are we going to say?”

Rufus snatched the paper while echoing, “We?Wearen’t saying anything.I’msaying something. You stay here and look pretty.”

“Excuse me?”

“I know you heard me.” Rufus smirked before pivoting on his heel and strolling into the dimly lit bar. Delmer Jolly sat alone, tapping at his phone in one hand, the other holding a tumbler of rich amber liquid. It was probably scotch, Rufus decided. Scotch felt like a rich man’s drink. He pulled out the chair beside Del and made a show of sitting down—just to annoy the guy a little. “How’s it hangin’?” Rufus asked.

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