Aaron looked up, that calm, measured tone that screamed command. “Detective Marlow, glad you’re up. We’ve been reviewing logs from the Sheriff department’s internal server. Something came through just after midnight—encrypted, short burst transmission routed through a proxy in D.C.”
I frowned. “From the Sheriff department?”
He nodded, tapping a keyboard. “Origin tag matches the network. The destination was a burner address tied to an offshore account. Whoever’s leaking information just pinged their contact again.”
My stomach dropped. “You have an ID?”
Miles swiveled his laptop around. A list of names filled the screen—every authorized user at the sheriff’s department. One of them was highlighted in red.
Deputy Frank Marlow.
I stared at it. “That’s—he’s my cousin.”
The room went silent. Even Hawk didn’t move.
Aaron’s voice softened. “We ran it twice to be sure. The signature matches his credentials.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Frank’s an idiot, but he’s not corrupt. He’s barely computer literate.”
“That might be why someone used his credentials,” Hawk said gently. “They could’ve cloned his login, or someone inside used his access key.”
I met his eyes, grateful for the lifeline. “You think he’s being framed?”
“I think we can’t rule it out yet,” he said.
Aaron leaned on the table. “We’ll verify. But until we do, assume anyone with access could be compromised. We’ll need your help identifying his movements, friends, and anyone who’s been near his workstation.”
I nodded numbly, still reeling. “Yeah. Whatever you need.”
Miley looked up. “We also picked up chatter on a closed frequency used by cartel logistics teams. They know someone from D.C. is here. They called Delta Five ‘the ghosts from Washington.’”
Hawk smirked. “Nice to be famous.”
“Or hunted,” Jace said quietly.
I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold. “So what now?”
Aaron’s eyes met mine. “Now we bait the leak. Whoever’s feeding them information won’t be able to resist the right temptation.”
“And what would that be?”
He smiled faintly. “False intel. We plant a story about a raid on a storage site that doesn’t exist. Whoever passes it along will expose themselves.”
I nodded. “And in the meantime?”
“In the meantime,” he said, “you stay alive, Detective.”
Later that morning,Hawk found me on the porch, leaning against the railing with a mug of coffee that had gone cold ten minutes ago. The forest stretched out below us, wet and silver in the mist.
He stepped beside me, hands in his pockets. “How are you holding up?”
“I’ve been better.” I tried to smile. “You?”
He tilted his head. “You ever known me to be honest when someone asks that?”
“Fair point.”
We stood there in silence for a while, listening to the wind through the pines. I could feel him watching me, the way he always had—like I was something he didn’t quite know how to protect without breaking.
