When tears slipped free, mixing with the water against her cheeks, she was almost grateful he couldn’t separate one from the other. Because this wasn’t fear or sadness for herself. It was grief for the little boy who had lost his parents. For the young soldier who came home wondering why. For the man who fell in love and tried to have a future, only for it to end up costing him again.
Leland angled her away, so their eyes met. “Want to tell me what this is about?”
The question was quiet. Cautious.
“I will,” she whispered. “But not yet.”
He studied her for a second longer. When she pressed close and held him, he didn’t question it again.
Chapter 26
Dev let himself into the lobby. An unusual stillness greeted him. Greta almost always opened the office, but today was Sunday. Cari was at the gallery prepping for a showing, and rather than kick around at home all alone, he came in to catch up on an inbox full of work. Greta would be ecstatic.
Weekends were usually quiet unless a case went sideways. This one already had.
He started a pot of coffee in the break area and headed toward his office. Halfway down the short hallway, a string of muttering stopped him cold.
Someone was here.
Dev followed the sound to Callan’s partially open door. The man sat hunched over in front of dual monitors still wearing yesterday’s clothes. His dark hair stood up in uneven spikes, as if he’d dragged both hands through it repeatedly during the night. Empty 5-hour Energy bottles crowded the trash beside his desk while surveillance footage flickered nonstop across every available screen.
“Have you been here all night?”
Callan jumped hard enough to knock his keyboard sideways before spinning around in his chair.
“Jesus, Dev.” One hand flattened against his chest. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
Dev’s gaze dropped meaningfully toward the empty bottles overflowing the trash can.
“Bet your heart’s racing.” He walked in and picked one up between two fingers. “Maybe ease off these things, bud. I’d hateto see you have a heart attack before you’re eligible to run for president.”
Callan snorted tiredly. “Six months and I can start campaigning.”
“You look about seventy right now.”
“That’s hurtful.”
“It’s truthful.”
Despite the sarcasm, Dev studied his bloodshot eyes, unshaven jaw, the wired, brittle edge of someone who’d pushed past exhaustion and landed deep in caffeine-fueled obsession.
“What are you working on?”
“The security breach. The firm handling the party Emily catered finally sent over the full files instead of snippets.”
“It’s about time,” Dev muttered. “But I thought they refused, worried about liability. What changed their minds?”
“You mean who? I had Leland call and use his persuasive skills when my pleading failed miserably.”
Dev chuckled. “Even working remotely, he’s got a knack.”
“I ran through the files last night, found nothing, and went home. But something kept bugging me.” Callan turned back toward the monitors and queued the footage again. “I couldn’t let it go. Then I found it.”
“Found what?” Rhys asked, walking in with a cup of coffee, perfectly composed despite the early hour.
“What are you doing here?” Dev asked, surprised to see him.
He took a slow sip from his tall paper cup, before he drawled, “Working. Like you two degenerates.” Rhys’s gaze moved over the screens. “I hope you mean you found the breach.”
