Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“So they know,” she says quietly.
“They know Jameson is involved,” I confirm. “Which means they know they can’t get to you easily.”
She absorbs that in silence for a moment. “And what exactly does that mean for me?”
“It means you stay here,” I say.
“I can’t be a prisoner, Cole.”
“It’s not forever, Tessa. And besides, I don’t know what else we can get that you don’t already have. I think you need to work toward busting it wide open for the world to see.”
Her hand presses flatter against my chest, feeling my heartbeat. “I just… it would have been great if Kowalski would have been a potential inside source. I know the police are going to need witnesses and I can’t provide that.”
“That’s their job. They have more resources than you when it comes to that.”
“Maybe,” she murmurs, lying her head against my chest. “I’m just so ready for this to be over with.”
Me too.
The danger part.
But I’m in no way ready to give her up.
CHAPTER 16
Tessa
I’ve been here long enough that I’ve stopped noticing how beautiful the Jameson lobby is and that’s probably not a good sign. I’m at the long communal table nearest the windows, Erik’s notebook open in front of me. On my screen is a spreadsheet into which I’m transferring data into columns that Josie can cross-reference with the information already fed into BOB. My coffee went cold twenty minutes ago.
Erik was meticulous in his documentation. The notebook I found in his sister’s shed is dense and methodical, his handwriting small and precise. Every page is dated in the upper left corner, and every entry is structured the same way—date, name or company, amount or action, a brief notation in what looks like a personal shorthand that I’m still decoding.
I turn another page and find a column of dates that align almost perfectly with the fire timeline Josie built from satellite data. My fingers type steadily, transferring the information, my brain already three steps ahead, trying to understand what he knew and when he knew it.
“You’re here early.”
I look up to find Josie crossing the lobby toward me, coffee tumbler in one hand, tablet tucked under her arm. She’s dressed with her usual precise ease—dark wide-leg trousers, a fitted cream blouse, hair down and straight today instead of twisted up.
She pulls out the chair across from me and sits, setting her tumbler down and glancing at the spread of notes between us. “Where’s Cole?”
“Out,” I say, and I hear the edge in my voice before I can smooth it.
Josie hears it too. “Doing what?”
“Another job,” I say. “He and Reid left about an hour ago.” I keep my eyes on the page in front of me. “A client situation in Bellevue. Malik briefed them at seven.”
A beat of silence. “Ah,” Josie says knowingly, her eyes slanted with just a touch of sympathy.
“I’m fine,” I say, which is what you say when you’re not.
“You don’t sound fine.”
“I’m pissy,” I correct, sitting back in my chair and pushing the notebook aside. “I’m pissy because I’m stuck here like a prisoner and I know I’m being unreasonable about it so I’m trying to just put my head down and work through it.”
Josie wraps both hands around her tumbler and regards me with the calm, assessing expression of a woman who has spent her career reading situations accurately. “You’re not being unreasonable,” she says. “You’ve been inside this building for four days.”
“Five,” I correct.
“Five days,” she amends. “And you watched Cole and Reid walk out the door this morning to go do fieldwork while you stayed here.”
“While I’m stuck here,” I clarify. “Like a very comfortable, very well-secured houseplant.”
The corner of Josie’s mouth twitches. “I’ve never heard anyone describe themselves as a houseplant before.”
“First time for everything.”
She studies me for a moment. “It won’t be forever, Tessa.”
“I know,” I say with a frustrated sigh because logically, I do know. “It’s just—” I stop, tapping my fingertip on the open notebook. “I’ve been chasing this story for weeks. I’ve run toward danger, lost a source, witnessed a murder, had men break into my home, and through all of it I kept moving. I kept working.” I look at her, holding out my hands helplessly. “Sitting still feels like losing.”
Josie nods slowly, a soft smile of genuine acknowledgment.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” she says.
I sit back further, crossing my arms. “How do you stand it? Being at a desk all day?” I glance toward her glass-walled office. “I’m always moving. Talking to people. Running down leads in person. The idea of spending most of my working hours in front of a computer would make me absolutely insane.”
Josie laughs, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Oh, dear Tessa… I am not a desk jockey,” she says, with the mild emphasis of someone who has made this clarification before and doesn’t particularly mind doing so again. “I’m a fully operational agent. I go on missions, run field assessments and I’ve done extractions.” She lifts an eyebrow. “I just also happen to be exceptionally good at what I do behind a screen, which means that’s where Malik puts me when there’s a choice.”