"Locke," Ryle commanded, "Keep going. I don't want to meet anyone."
Locke hesitated. His gaze shifted from his boss's trembling hands to Daisy, who was now dismounting the bike, despite hearing everything.
"Sir, she's—"
"I said move!" Ryle hissed, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the armrests.
Locke's hands tightened on the wheelchair, but before he could push forward, Daisy's voice sliced through the noise, sharper than the helicopter blades.
"Don't."
It wasn't a plea. Daisy covered the distance between them in seconds. She didn't look at Locke, but the bodyguard instinctively stepped back, his hands falling away from the chair.
Without a word, Daisy took hold of the handles. She spun the wheelchair around and pushed him toward the large, manicured grassy area at the sides.
When they reached the center of the green, she stopped.
For a long time, neither of them spoke.
"Daisy..." Ryle finally whispered, his voice cracking.
