Halo (K19 Security Solutions 8)

“How are you, Knox?” he asked, thumping my back when we hugged.

“Feelin’ my age. Construction work is a lot harder than I remember it being. How are you? Merrigan? The baby?”

He laughed. “The baby isn’t so much anymore, but thanks for asking.” He pointed to a bottle of wine. “Can I interest you in a glass, or would you prefer something else?”

“Wine’s good.” That it was a Brunello di Montalcino made the ever-present ache in my chest hurt a little bit worse.

“How are you, Knox?”

“Been better. Been worse too.”

Doc studied me. “Come back to the work you do best, Halo.”

“Pretty sure that’s what I’m doing.”

“It isn’t and you know it.”

“Look, I appreciate this very much, but I screwed up seven ways to Sunday with Tara Emsworth.”

“I’d say you’ve got a pretty good record, then.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mine is way worse. I’d say my clean ops versus the ones I’ve screwed up are about fifty-fifty.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

Doc smiled. “I know you didn’t. But, Halo, we want you with us.”

“Maybe this is none of my business, but I gotta ask. Why not Tackle?”

“First things first.”

“Second time you’ve said that. What do you mean?”

Doc went to rub the back of his neck, but stopped short. “Tackle has some things in his life that he needs to deal with. He knows the offer we made him remains on the table.”

Tackle had things in his life he had to deal with? Things I knew nothing about? I hated to admit it, but maybe our friendship would never be what it once was.

The waiter approached the table with a platter. I glanced in his direction and then did a double-take.

“I took the liberty of ordering antipasti,” said Doc.

“White bean and prosciutto bruschetta,” the man said, setting it between us.

When I looked up at Doc, he shrugged. “It sounded good. We can order something else if you don’t like it.”

“It isn’t that,” I mumbled, taking a piece after Doc had.

“Before we get back to the subject you don’t want to talk about and I do, I want to give you an update.”

I took a bite, marveling at how much it tasted exactly like what Nonna Bella had made for us the first night I met Tara. “On?”

“Brand Ripa was sentenced last week, and the charges against Richard Emsworth were dropped.”

“Glad to hear it.”

The waiter came back by and filled our wineglasses. “Are you ready to order?”