by J. T. Bishop
Ramsey tensed. “His name was Y?”
Sarah spoke evenly in order to keep Ramsey calm, but she felt her heart pick up in speed. “No, not Y. The man who sat with me called himself Yates. I remember because he said something about not being named after the poet.”
“Yates?” Ramsey eyes reflected his fears. “Damn it. How come you didn’t tell me this?” He stood up and grabbed his phone off the counter.
Sarah struggled to explain. “How was I supposed to know who he was? Besides, he may not be a bad guy. He may have been just as harmless as the two at the bar tonight.”
Ramsey lowered his phone just before hitting send. “Is that what you think?”
Sarah looked back up at him, unsure.
Ramsey stared back. “Declan said your human sensitivities were acute. What did you pick up from this Yates? Be honest.”
Sarah could only watch as he held his phone and waited for her to answer. Thinking back on the encounter, a shiver ran through her, and she was left with only one possible answer.
“Make the call,” she said.
