Then lean closer to the screen.
“That can’t be right.”
I pull up the record again.
Make sure I typed it correctly.
The database loads slowly.
Then the file opens.
I stare at the photo.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
Because I’ve seen it before.
Not in a volunteer database.
In an intelligence briefing.
I whisper the name aloud.
“River Channing.”
Footsteps move behind me.
Boone’s voice cuts through the quiet.
“You find something?”
I glance over my shoulder.
He’s leaning against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, watching me.
Alert.
Always alert.
I turn the laptop slightly so he can see the screen.
“You know that name?”
Boone steps closer.
His eyes scan the file.
Then they narrow.
“Yeah,” he says quietly.
“I know that name.”
“Former Special Ops,” I say.
“Now working private operations.”
