Breathe.Valerie stared unseeing at her computer.
Duncan had used her. Betrayed her. Was he trying to scare companies into hiring Aggressor, or something more sinister? The top-secret files he could get from a company like Westgate… Holy shit.
And she was the perfect patsy.
What could she do? Who could she talk to? Did one just walk into an FBI building and ask to see an agent? Imagining it made her throat turn dry.
Somehow, she had to protect herself.
Any downloads made from the system would show up in the daily log. Carmen would check it before shift change, which meant Duncan would haul Valerie into his office first thing in the morning.
She walked down the hall on unsteady legs, the shell of her body encasing a hot writhing mess. Several coworkers passed her in the corridor and she nodded absently, trying not to act out of the ordinary, but everything around her was too bright, too loud.
All of her acting abilities failed her.
In the storeroom, she held her badge up to a reader on a heavy-duty steel cabinet. An electronic lock buzzed quietly. She opened the reinforced door and removed a small thumb drive from the shelf. Only a handful of employees had access to flash drives since they were a common way to spread viruses. But the hackers often used them—with approval, of course—as part of their testing process, asking secretaries or guards to print something on their behalf, or leaving one behind in the bathroom so an employee would plug it in to see whose it was.
Back at her desk, she copied her mail files—which included Duncan’s assignments—and client reports to the flash drive, keeping her head down. Unfortunately, the drives had built-in RFID tags. She’d never get one past the guards now that she didn’t have the excuse of an active client. The mail room presented the same problem.
Normally, she approved of all of Aggressor’s security measures. Today, they worked against her.
Sweat formed on her brow and trickled down her back. Through the glass, the operator stared at her and pressed her intercom button.
“You all right?” she asked.
“Fine,” she laughed self-consciously. “Not nearly enough sleep is all. I’m going to head out in a minute.”
Slipping the small drive and a Scotch tape dispenser into her coat pocket, she signed out of her computer, waving to Carmen as she grabbed her bag and exited the Fish Bowl. Outside, six-foot cloth cubicle walls formed a ring that hid her from view.
She strode purposefully around the circle until she was almost behind Carmen and stopped next to an empty workstation. Her heartthrummedin her ears like a bass drum as she surreptitiously glanced around, placed her shoe on the corner of the desk, and pretended to retie her laces.
The camera was to her back and pointed more toward Carmen, but she tried to keep her body between the all-seeing eye and what she was doing.
Moving swiftly, she removed the drive and tape dispenser from her pocket. She tore off a piece of tape and stuck it to the side of the flash drive, and then popped the cap from the top of the cubicle’s metal support, pretending to use the flimsy wall to catch her balance. She taped the flash drive inside the square tube and returned the cap with asnap.
If the security guard downstairs was paying close attention, she was screwed.
Down the elevator, across the tiled lobby, her limbs were stiff, muscles jerky as if her body’s timing was off.
What she needed was sleep. And food. She’d had a quick bowl of cereal before leaving home earlier, but now her stomach protested. But she was wired, as if she’d been taking on coffee straight from an IV all morning.
The security guard nodded as she passed through the turnstile. No shouts, no weapons. Her back tingled in anticipation until she made it safely through the glass doors.
An icy wind blasted through her jacket, chilling her to the core the instant she stepped into the sunshine. Maybe she had a few more hours before everything blew up in her face. Enough time to make some calls.
A few rows down from her car, Scott’s Jeep still sat in the parking lot. He’d been surprised by her late night, but she’d been equally surprised by his early morning.
She knew nothing about him except that he had been a Marine—no secret given the round sticker on his car’s rear window that glinted in the sun—and he was training for field ops. And that a guy like him could have any woman he set his amazing blue eyes on. She highly doubted he’d ever want her.
Especially now that she was poised to blow the whistle on Duncan and possibly topple Aggressor.Holy shit.She sat in her car for a minute until she stopped hyperventilating.
Preoccupied by the morning’s revelations, she made it home on autopilot and dragged herself up the stairs to her second-floor apartment.
She dropped her huge purse on the kitchen counter—she never went anywhere without her laptop and a change of clothing in case she stayed at work overnight, so a big bag was mandatory—and opened the fridge. No way was she coherent enough to risk cooking something. Opting for a peanut butter and banana sandwich with cinnamon, she collapsed onto a stool and devoured the delicious mash-up that had been Dad’s favorite.
Comfort food was exactly what she needed right now, even if the memories it brought back made her chest hurt.
Five minutes later, she pushed away her plate and stumbled into the bedroom, feeling loopy from fatigue. She needed to call the FBI and make an appointment or whatever, but if she talked to someone now, they’d write her off as drunk or on drugs.
