Masters's voice comes through clear and businesslike, discussing shipping schedules with someone I don't recognize. I document the call, run voice analysis to identify the other speaker, cross-reference phone numbers against known Committee contacts.
Still nothing conclusive. Just normal logistics coordination that could be completely innocent.
But my analysis software flags something. I find a timing pattern in his communications that correlates with Committee operational decisions over recent months. Not perfect correlation, but close enough to suggest possible intelligence sharing.
Victoria's financial records overlay with his communication patterns and Committee activity timelines. The data starts building a picture. I see small payments to Masters that align with his calls to specific numbers. The calls happen days before Committee operations that demonstrated knowledge of Echo Ridge tempo and mission parameters.
It's not proof, not yet, but it's evidence worth pursuing.
"I've got something." I bring the correlation analysis up on the main screen. "Masters's communication patterns align with Committee operational decisions. Timing suggests possible intelligence sharing through routine logistics calls."
Micah comes over to my workstation, studies the data with analytical focus. He doesn't crowd me, maintains careful distance while examining the timelines I've built.
"Financial payments correspond with communication spikes." He points to clusters on the timeline. "Webb's people are paying for intelligence through what looks like legitimate logistics fees."
"Possible. But we need more data to confirm." I load his email metadata, start building another query. "If he's feeding intelligence to the Committee, there should be patterns in his digital communications. Encrypted messages, suspicious contacts, file transfers that don't align with legitimate business."
Micah brings up surveillance footage showing his vehicle movements, correlates them with communication patterns. I layer signals intelligence over financial records, looking for connections that prove intelligence sharing beyond reasonable doubt.
I notice the way we think in parallel, anticipate each other's analytical leaps, build cases with methodical precision. My anger is still there, sharp and protective, but it's harder to maintain when we're falling into patterns that feel like muscle memory.
"There." Micah highlights a section of surveillance footage. "Masters left the warehouse at 1400 hours on this date. He drove to a coffee shop in Kalispell, sat alone for a while, then drove back."
I load communication records for that timeframe. "No phone calls during that window. But his phone pinged a cell tower near the coffee shop." I run the location data through mapping software. "That coffee shop has public WiFi. He could have used it to send encrypted messages without creating traceable phone records."
I'm querying his location history before Micah can ask. "Regular pattern—every couple of weeks, always to the same coffee shop, always during business hours when he should be at the warehouse." I'm cross-referencing the dates with Committee operational tempo. "Every instance corresponds with Committee activity that demonstrated knowledge of Echo Ridge movements."
We have the pattern. We just need to catch him in the act.
The empty mug sits beside my laptop, a reminder of the thoughtfulness I told him to stop showing.
"Stop being so goddamn thoughtful. It makes hating you harder."
He doesn't respond immediately. When he does, his voice carries something that might be regret or resignation. "I'm not trying to make you hate me less. I'm just trying to do the job without making things worse."
"You remembered my coffee order. You're making this cabin livable instead of just functional. You're being considerate and kind and all the things that made me fall for you in the first place." The words come out raw and unfiltered. "I need you to be cold and distant so I can stay angry. Anger is easier than remembering what we were before everything went to hell."
"I can't be cold and distant with you," he says, voice steady but weighted. "I tried that already. It doesn't work. You're too important, even when you hate me."
My receiver beeps. The tone is urgent, indicating priority traffic.
I grab my headphones. Masters's voice comes through, but this time he's not discussing logistics. His tone is tense, careful, speaking in vague references that suggest coded communication.
"Someone just sent him an encrypted message. Not through his regular channels. This is different."
Micah moves to his surveillance cameras. "A vehicle just pulled up to the warehouse. Not on today's delivery schedule."
I run the encrypted message through decryption protocols while monitoring his response. The encryption is sophisticated, military-grade, nothing a legitimate logistics contractor should be using.
"Message content is shielded." My fingers fly over the keyboard. "But the routing suggests Committee origin. They're communicating with Masters directly."
"He's coming out of the warehouse." Micah zooms the camera. "He's meeting the vehicle driver outside. They're not going inside, keeping the conversation away from security cameras."
Masters sends a response through the same encrypted channel. It's a short message, acknowledgment of receipt. Then silence.
"They know. The Committee knows we're investigating. That encrypted message was a warning or a query about security. His response confirms he's been contacted."
"Counter-surveillance." Micah pulls up contingency protocols on his tablet. "They're checking their intelligence sources, making sure the network is still secure."
