The Syndicate (Timewaves Book 1) by Davis Sophie

Author:Davis, Sophie [Davis, Sophie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dabber & Baehr
Published: 2016-03-01T04:00:00+00:00

GAIGE AND I strolled into the restaurant an hour later.

“Sit wherever you like,” a man behind the bar called.

Thankfully, it wasn’t the same bartender who’d helped us the other day. This made it considerably less awkward when we darted straight for Rosenthal’s favorite booth in the far back corner. The bartender brought us menus and took our drink orders with polite indifference, for which I was immensely grateful. The less interested he was, and the less conversation we made, the less likely he was to remember us later. We definitely didn’t need him and the other bartender comparing notes on the newest Americans in towns.

“Where do we start?” I asked, once Gaige and I had minuscule cups of espresso in front of us.

My partner shrugged sheepishly. “I was sort of hoping you’d have an idea. You are the smart one, after all.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

If I were a secretive, paranoid writer, where would I hide something? Where could you hide something in a public place?

Reaching beneath the tablecloth, I ran my fingers along the sides of the table, looking for some sort of secret compartment that might unlatch. The surfaces were all smooth, without any hint of a concealed opening. I leaned down further and did the same along the bottom of the table, hoping for something similar, or even a hidden ledge. A sticky wad was all I found.

“Gross!” I exclaimed. “Why do people do that?”

“I honestly couldn’t say,” Gaige replied, not even pretending to hide his amusement.

My partner sat back, sipped his coffee and observed with rapt attention as I continued my search of the table. I tried to check under the seat cushion of the chair beside me, but it was attached. Another strike.

“You’re scary good at this,” Gaige commented as he watched. “I would’ve immediately dismissed the table altogether.”

Across from me, Gaige plucked the butter knife from his place setting. He spared a furtive glance at the bartender, who wasn’t paying a bit of attention to us. Wedging the pointed end of the knife beneath the attached cushion, my partner attempted to pry the seat loose from the base of the extra chair beside him.

“Really?” I asked, torn between disbelief and amusement. “You think no one would have notice a guy dismantling the furniture?”

“Really?” he parroted. “You think it’s any less ridiculous than attaching it to the underside of a table where countless people sit every day?”

I glared. “Do you have any better ideas?” I asked sweetly. “Maybe you could go check the men’s room. Maybe it’s hidden in the back of a toilet tank.”

Gaige scrunched up his nose at the thought of searching the public facilities. I didn’t envy him a bit, particularly since we were in a time when personal hygiene was just beginning to be a thing of importance.

“The women’s room is just as likely,” he shot back, managing to keep a straight face despite the absurdity of his comment.

I stared wordlessly at my partner until he let out a dramatic sigh.

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