Page 124 of Wyatt

The view overlooked Elliot Bay, the shiny lights of the city reflecting off the black waters undulating with streaks of red, orange, blue, and yellow. The massive Ferris wheel glowed, a circle of light against the dark sky.

A plate of cheeses and crackers and an open bottle of red wine sat on the table.

“Celebrating?” Wyatt said as he went to stand by the window.

But before Tate could answer, the double doors to the adjoining room opened, and a woman in her late fifties walked through. She wore her amber red hair up, a loose white silk shirt, and white dress pants. Regal, composed, and as her gaze latched on Wyatt, a smile tweaked up her face. “Wyatt Marshall. Goalie for the Blue Ox. In my suite. I’m having a fan moment.”

He stared at her, not sure. Um, “Senator Jackson.”

“Call me Reba.” She walked over to him and extended her hand. “My husband is a huge Blue Ox fan, so…naturally, I had to start following them too. You had an amazing season—so sorry about the shootout against the Capitals. That was amazing goal tending.”

The room had gone quiet around him. “Thank you, ma’am—”

“Reba.”

“Reba.”

She patted his arm. “By the way, since Tate is going to be my son-in-law, I’m expecting rinkside tickets.”

Wyatt looked at Tate, who lifted his shoulder. He glanced at Glo, who held up her left hand. Yowza.

He needed to up his game if he wanted to propose to Coco. Shoot.

“Congrats, bro,” Wyatt said.

“Oh, I’m sorry—I thought he’d told you,” Reba said.

“It’s fine, ma’am,” Tate said.

She patted Tate’s arm as she walked past him but didn’t correct him, then headed over to RJ. “And this must be Ruby Jane, the international assassin?”

All the air left the room, and Wyatt had the crazy, inexplicable urge to grab his sister and run.

Tate might have been reading his mind because he gave a little shake of his head.

RJ had paled.

Then York spoke up. “Actually, ma’am, that’s incorrect—”

“Oh, I know. I’m not unaware of the situation. The fact that RJ sought out embassy help and her claims of being set up—”

“I was set up!” RJ said, but York pressed a hand to her arm.

“I know that too,” Reba said as she walked over to the table and picked up the wine bottle. “Boris reached out to me through back channels and told me what happened.”

Boris? As in Coco’s father?

Reba poured herself a glass of wine. “But, according to the CIA, you’re still on the hook.”

“Except, we have evidence that she was set up,” Tate said. “Copies of the emails, and proof of tampering with York’s email account—”

Reba held up her hand, taking a sip of wine.

Tate glanced at Wyatt, his mouth a grim line.

“Do you have it with you?” Reba asked.

“I have it,” RJ said and pulled out the jump drive.