When her eyes started to drift closed, he squeezed her fingers gently. “You should rest.”
“I’m not tired.” But her voice said otherwise.
“You’re exhausted. Your body is still catching up. Still figuring out you’re safe here. Go sleep.”
She looked at him—really looked—and whatever she saw made her nod. “Okay.”
After she’d gone upstairs, Lincoln retreated to his command center.
He’d been neglecting everything—ignoring messages, letting emails pile up, focused entirely on Morgan. Time to catch up.
He opened his secure communication channels. This was much more familiar territory than the interpersonal interaction in the kitchen had been. But also, for the first time in his entire life, not as enjoyable. He would rather be talking with her than in hislair.
He had to smile a little at that. Until he read what was on his screen and his stomach dropped.
Dozens of messages. Treasury. Homeland. His FBI contact and his NSA back channel and three different consultants he’d worked with over the years. All marked urgent. All time-stamped within the past forty-eight hours.
He opened the first one.
Bollinger—we’ve identified the primary actor in the fire sale breach. Sending you the file for verification. Let us know if you can help us locate her.
Her.
Lincoln opened the attachment. The federal wanted bulletin filled his screen.
Morgan Reece. Librarian. Whitefish, Montana. Wanted for questioning in connection with the largest coordinated cyberattack in US history.
The photo was her face. The details were her life.
Lincoln stared at the screen. The fire sale—the breach attempt his federal contacts had been panicking about. The one he’d dismissed as reconnaissance.
They were saying Morgan had done it.
That wasn’t possible. She’d been in a warehouse. In a box. She’d been?—
He opened the next message. Same content. Opened another. Same.
Every federal agency he’d ever worked with, all saying the same thing.
They wanted Morgan Reece.
And every single one of them was asking if Lincoln could help track her down.
Chapter 11
Nine months ago:
Binary: Water weighs 8.34 pounds per gallon.
Mercury: Is that your idea of small talk?
Binary: It’s a fact. Facts are easier than small talk.
Mercury: I read once that secrets have mass too. That carrying them changes your posture.
Binary: That’s not scientifically accurate.
Mercury: No. But it feels true.
