She glared at him for a full minute before pulling the door back open for Sean.
“Thanks,” he muttered, ducking through. Inside was an office that looked, well, like a typical officeat a garage. Scuffed floors, old battered desk piled with papers, landline phone, even a crooked cheap calendar on the wall. A pot of old coffee sat slowly burning its flavor away on top of a gray, dinged-up filing cabinet, and the way Dane wrinkled his nose spoke to how offensive he found the beverage.
The woman locked the door, crossed to the pot, and poured herself a coffee into a business mug with the Lynne’s logo on it.
“You drink coffee?” she asked, and Sean mumbled a no thanks and looked for a seat.
“That shit?” asked Dane. “No fucking way. Are you Lynne?”
Sean winced, but she laughed.
“Only to the muggles,” she said. “Decrypters call me Javalynne.”
Sean groaned. Dane shot him a look.
“What?”