Her breath warms my fingertips, her mouth delicate and so close. Long lashes flutter shut as I lean in, against my better judgment, looking for more. Grasping at what I’ve missed for too long.
But panic blooms on her features when the front door bursts open, a swell of angry voices rolling in. “They were supposed to monitor their movement—”
I’m not listening to them. I’m watching the color drain from Jackie’s face. She doesn’t just move away; she recoils. All I can focus on is the sinking disappointment when Jackie scurries away, cheeks flaming. She doesn’t even look at me, not even a glance. Instead, her hands tremble slightly as she smooths her shirt, avoiding looking at me.
It shouldn’t hurt, but it eats at me. Dragging up that old insecurity, rotting in my soul for all these years. It’s the sting of being her best-kept secret, the one she’s clearly still ashamed of.
The stubble on my jaw scruffs under my fingers, and I tilt my head back, eyes closed, trying to claw my way out of this pit I keep falling into.
No one is sitting down in the living room. Jackie’s in the middle, arms crossed, listening to Logan like he can give her something concrete she can grasp.
But it’s worse than we thought. They weren’t out for ransom.
“At this point, we have to assume they’ve got somebody close to you,” Derrick says, his voice somber. “They couldn’t have known you were in Maine just by sniffing around here. They found you on the road because your phone pinged when you made the calls this morning.”
Jackie goes still. Her shoulders tense, fingers curl slightly. “They tracked my phone?”
He shifts from one foot to another, mirroring Jackie’s body language, like he’s bracing for something. “We also found out what they are after.”
Jackie’s brows rise questioningly, her arms falling limp beside her, waiting breathlessly for his next words, but then she spots the wordless discussion between Derick and Carter and her entire demeanor changes.
“I’m waiting,” she says, low and cold, making Derrick cough uncomfortably.
“In their hurry, they got a little sloppy and left us a clue,” Carter says evenly, but his attention is set on Jackie, who’s clenching her fists again.
This can’t be good.
“They’re trying to breach the research on the Neural Interface System.”
Dread morphs her profile, her hand flying to her mouth.
Shit.
“What!? No, no! How do they even know the project exists?”
The name shouldn’t tell me anything, but Pierre from R&D is especially chatty when you compliment her hair.
Logan puts his hand on her shoulder, and I’d very much like to punch him and his whole tactical macho outfit.
“Still not clear how the intel got into their hands,” he says. “We’re monitoring everyone with access to the project. And any people who might have any tangential link to it,” he tells her quietly, in a reassuring voice.
Jackie rakes her manicured fingers through her hair, thinking out loud. “That’s why we were quiet about it. The repercussions…”
Pierre went on and on about how great it will be for medical purposes and safer working environments for dangerous jobs. But in the wrong hands, it could cause a lot of damage. Spying, behavioral manipulation.
“Any chance Pierre let it slip?”
At last, Jackie looks at me.
Logan shakes his head grimly. “We grilled her and scrubbed her devices.”
I don’t want to throw the woman to the wolves, but you never know what people are capable of. “She’s a talker, is all I’m saying.”
Pierre was the one who fed Fred Pierson just enough to start digging last year. Back when Carter dropped out of sight for months, after his stint on the operating table. The well-meaning, but disastrously naive soul had a crush on him, and thought that talking to a reporter might help her figure out where Carter had gone.
“So are you,” Logan bristles. “Maybe we should look a little closer at your contacts?”
“Enough.” It’s not Carter who reins him in this time. It’s Jackie who steps between us, blocking Logan’s view. “How do we find the mole?”
