Chapter Twenty-Six
Nick
“What’s going on?” Beck asks, looking up from behind his rarely used desk as I enter. Two large monitors swallow the desktop, leaving anyone sitting in the visitors’ chairs across from him staring at the back of the oversize screens. It’s not exactly what you’d call welcoming, but that’s Beck for you.
Miles leans against the bookshelves behind the desk, legs crossed at the ankles. “This better be good. I had to bail on a team meeting just as Micah was about to sing ‘Wrecking Ball.’”
I pull my cell from my pocket and bring up the picture from the café. The one with Jack and the unnamed Triada employee. I hold the phone out to Beck and he takes it.
“Do either of you know that guy?” I ask as Miles leans in to get a better look, peering over Beck’s shoulder. “He works here, but I don’t know his name or what department.”
Miles smirks up at me. “What’d he do? Steal your parking spot?”
“I wish.” I’d happily give up my parking spot to make this situation go away. “Oreo wanted to stop for a dog bone this morning, and I saw him having breakfast at a café on Rainey Street.”
They exchange one of those looks, and I can’t even blame them because, yeah, the dog is running my life now.
“He was sharing a table with Jack Garrett.”
That gets their attention.
“Fuck.” Miles straightens and plants his hands on his hips. “Are you sure?”
I shoot him a dark look.
He curses again, but there’s less shock in it this time.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Beck says, tapping a series of commands on the phone screen. “There could be a completely innocent explanation for their meeting.”
I snort. “Yeah, and I’m the Tooth Fairy.”
If it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck…
“Can you identify him using the picture?” Miles asks.
“Watch and learn.” Beck slides the phone across the desk and turns his attention to the monitors before him.
He taps away on the keyboard, and though I can’t see what’s happening on-screen, I have every confidence he’ll deliver.
I’m on my third lap around the office when Beck says, “Gotcha.”
Miles and I rush to the desk, taking up positions behind him where we can view the side-by-side screens.
Beck grins and gestures to the monitor on the left. “Fenton Danvers, Associate Marketing Manager.”
“Jesus,” Miles mutters, shaking his head. “He even sounds like a tool.”
“What else have you got?” I ask, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I’d wanted to be wrong. I still do. But it’s not looking good. “Can you check his calendar? Scan his emails?”
Beck nods and resumes pounding away on the keyboard. Miles and I wait with bated breath, watching absently as various codes and programs pop up on-screen. Beck’s in his element, a big-ass grin on his face as his fingers fly over the keyboard, unraveling Fenton Danvers’ digital footprint.
“You don’t really think he’d be stupid enough to set up competitor meetings using his Triada email and devices?” Miles asks, sounding skeptical.
“You’d be surprised at how careless people are with their tech,” Beck says, not missing a beat. “No one ever expects to get caught.” He shrugs. “And most people don’t.”
True enough. If it weren’t for Oreo, we’d be none the wiser.
Beck pulls up Fenton’s calendar and clicks on the eight a.m. meeting flagged as private. The flag prevents anyone looking at his calendar from seeing the details of the meeting—anyone except an administrator.
