Page 115 of Hard Pass

Thank God, I didn’t tell him to leave.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Dublin

The text comes in just after nine.

I’m sitting at my kitchen table, doing my best to make my report as comprehensive as possible regarding Cole’s innocence in this matter, and the name on my screen is unexpected.

Marcus.

That’s odd. My boss hates texting. He calls—even when he summons someone.

MARCUS: Meet me at the offsite Rebels facility at 10.

Rebels facility? He’s here in Austin? What the—

I scroll up through his other texts and then open up my email to see if I missed anything from him saying he was going to visit.

Nothing.

My stomach drops instantly.

I’m too afraid to ask why he’s here.

DUBLIN: I’ll be there.

Analytics could’ve come back with a break in the case and he’s here to back me up during a press conference he expects to turn ugly.

Or maybe something major has surfaced that I somehow missed.

Or this has nothing to do with the investigation at all, and he simply wants an in-person status update like he occasionally does.

Then again, maybe this is my opportunity to come clean about Cole and me crossing the line.

All the possibilities race through my mind while I’m getting ready and continue to tumble while I’m driving to the offsite facility.

But I refute each one, over and over.

I don’t miss things. That’s the one constant I’ve established my career on.

And in-person status report comes with a heads-up that he’ll be in town.

And while it could be a myriad of other things, guilt is the only other one I can think of, front and center—Cole and I crossing the line.

My nerves riot as I walk into the quiet of the building. Marcus is already in the conference room waiting for me. His arms are crossed, his posture is rigid, and his expression . . .

Oh, I’ve never seen that expression directed my way. Shit.

“Marcus. Hi. What a surprise.” I infuse cheer I don’t really feel into my tone.

His mouth doesn’t flicker anywhere near a smile.

“Is there something you wanted to tell me?” he asks, voice hard as steel.

No greeting. No lead-in. Just that.

My pulse kicks up. “What do you mean?”