Evidence. My work reduced to evidence in an investigation because some asshole decided I don't have the right to be here.
"Who has access to your office?" Devlin asks, pulling out a small notebook. I recognize the tactic—keep me talking, keep me focused on facts instead of spiraling into anger or fear.
"Anyone with base access and the right clearance. My door locks, but facilities, security, and IT all have master keys. Most of the operations personnel could get in if they needed to."
"Who knew your schedule yesterday? That you'd be at the diner last night?"
"Everyone. I work there most evenings. It's not a secret." I try to think of who might have been watching, who knew I wouldn't be here to notice someone accessing my files. "Sergeant Ellis knew. He mentioned something about the inspection team coming this week. Master Sergeant Hutchins from logistics stopped by yesterday afternoon to complain about the habitat barriers interfering with his supply deliveries."
Devlin writes down both names, though I can't imagine Sergeant Ellis doing this. He's always been respectful, supportive even. Hutchins, though. Hutchins has made it clear he thinks civilians have no business telling military personnel how to do their jobs.
"Anyone else?"
"Half the base probably knew I'd be at work and then the diner. My routine isn't exactly classified information." The frustration bleeds through, and I make myself take a breath. Getting angry won't fix the corrupted files or catch whoever did this.
Duke whines softly and moves closer to me, pressing his head against my leg again. The contact grounds me, reminds me I'm not handling this completely alone anymore. I scratch behind his ears absently, and he leans harder into the touch.
"Good boy," I murmur, and Duke's tail wags.
Devlin watches this with an expression I still can't quite read. "He doesn't usually do that with anyone except me. You've definitely been claimed."
"Is that a good thing?"
"Duke has excellent instincts about people. If he trusts you, that tells me everything I need to know." There's weight behind those words, something more than professional assessment. But before I can figure out what to say to that, Captain Nelson arrives with an IT specialist in tow.
The next hour passes in questions and technical analysis. The IT specialist confirms someone deliberately corrupted my files. Security footage shows someone entering my office during the timeframe, but the angle doesn't capture their face.
By the time everyone clears out, I'm exhausted and angry. My work has been sabotaged. Someone wants me to fail.
"We'll catch them," Devlin says quietly after everyone leaves. "Whoever did this made mistakes. They always do."
"You sound certain."
"I am. People who escalate like this think they're too smart to get caught. That arrogance is what brings them down." He stands, Duke rising with him. "Come on. You need to eat."
The food court is busy, and walking in with Devlin and Duke draws immediate attention. We get food and find a corner tablewhere he can watch the room. Duke settles under the table, warm against my leg.
"You've been noticing me," Devlin says suddenly, and I nearly choke on my water.
"Excuse me?"
"The morning runs. The K9 yard. You've been watching." It's not accusatory, just matter-of-fact. "I've been watching you too."
Heat creeps up my neck, and I force myself to meet his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You're a terrible liar." The corner of his mouth twitches, almost a smile. "It's okay. I'm not judging. Just acknowledging that this situation is complicated in ways neither of us expected."
Complicated. That's one word for it. The man I've been trying not to notice for months is now shadowing my every move, and his dog has apparently decided I'm part of their pack. Complicated doesn't begin to cover it.
"This is professional," I say, needing to establish that boundary even if it's already blurring. "You're doing your job, I'm doing mine."
"Agreed." But the way he's looking at me suggests he knows that line is going to be harder to maintain than either of us wants to admit.
The rest of lunch passes with conversation about my work and his K9 unit. He asks intelligent questions, actually listening to my answers. By the time we finish, my anger has settled into determination. Whoever did this won't win.
Devlin walks me back to my office. "I need to do fieldwork this afternoon. Survey the wetlands."
"I'll come with you."
