Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Josie has cornered a cluster of potential clients at one of the long work tables in the center of the lobby. A digital display cycles through layered maps as she demonstrates our cyber prowess, which, honestly, is probably more impressive than the muscle of the field agents.
“What you’re looking at isn’t raw chatter,” she’s saying. “It’s pattern convergence. We track anomalies across financial transactions, encrypted messaging spikes, supply chain irregularities. Individually, they mean nothing. Together, they predict instability.”
One of the men folds his arms, his expression skeptical. “You’re saying you can forecast an attack?”
“We can forecast probabilities. The model flagged a seventy-two percent likelihood of coordinated unrest tied to a shell corporation funding extremist logistics.”
The men all lean forward, completely hooked now. They’ve been dazzled by Josie but that’s not hard. I’ve seen her work. It’s surgical—a thousand data points and she finds the one thread that unravels everything. If Malik runs the blade, Josie sharpens it.
Reid drifts past me with a low whistle. “Remind me not to piss her off. I don’t ever want her digging into my past.”
“You don’t have enough secrets for that to matter.”
He grins and moves on, and I decide to hit the buffet. The line snakes past the reclaimed timber columns and I step in behind a broad set of shoulders in the dark navy of the Seattle Police Department dress uniform.
“Are you here for the free food or just to rub elbows with real men?” I murmur low.
Brady Frost doesn’t turn around, but I see the corner of his mouth lift into a smirk. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m here for optics.”
Brady’s been embedded in the Seattle PD for two months, working to expose a corruption ring from the inside. The head of their internal affairs brought us on to lead the investigation so that it would remain impartial. Brady was a natural choice for the job. He’s a former US Marshal and has nerves of steel. We generated an airtight new identity complete with a fake background that included working with the New York PD, but with a “blemished” record of insubordination and a few infractions. It was pure bait and the corrupt cops drew Brady in right away.
“How’s life treating you?” I ask.
“Sucks,” he mutters. “Can’t wait for this shit to be done.”
From a distance it looks like idle small talk between a private security operator and a city cop. Across the room, near the glass partitions, the mayor stands with the police chief and two men I don’t recognize—tailored suits and government posture, though not city government. Brady’s gaze drifts there briefly, not long enough to draw attention.
He adjusts his cuffs as one of the assistant chiefs glances our way.
“Fitting in?” I ask quietly.
“Well enough. They think I’m ambitious.”
“That a stretch?”
He snorts and starts to respond, but he sees someone approaching me from behind and his eyes ice over. I turn to find Caroline Prescott cutting through the crowd toward us. She’s in a royal blue dress that shows off all her curves, the color matching her eyes. She’s wearing her long black hair loose, which we rarely see with the female agents who always have it tied up and out of the way when we’re training. She navigates with the confidence that comes from being inherently secure with herself.
Brady stiffens the closer she gets and I bet Caroline notices it too. These two seemed to have taken an instant dislike to each other since the day Caroline transferred from Vegas to Seattle. Whenever they’re in the same room, they never seem to miss an opportunity to snipe at each other.
“What’s up, Cole?” she says, offering her fist for a bump.
“Caro,” I drawl, eyeing her appreciatively. “You’re going to have every bachelor in this building falling at your feet.”
Brady makes a dismissive scoff and Caroline’s eyes snap to him, brutally chilly.
She glares at him a moment and then turns her regard back to me. “You clean up well.”
“You say that every time I dress up.”
Caroline snorts. “Because every time it surprises me.” She grins and reaches for a champagne flute off a passing waiter’s tray. “How’s the shoulder? Reid told me you took a hit in the training run this morning.”
“Reid needs a smaller mouth,” I mutter.
“Reid needs a lot of things,” she agrees cheerfully, and then nods toward the spiral staircase that ascends to the top floor. “A few of the guys are up there playing pool. Come up and I’ll take your money.”
“Probably worth the trip,” I say, looking around at all the suits. I hate any sort of hobnobbing.
“Must be nice,” Brady says, pleasant as a blade, his eyes pinned on Caroline, “having the kind of job where playing pool is a work event.”
Caroline turns then, slow and unhurried, like she’s just now remembering he exists, but in truth, I can tell she was waiting for this. “I’m sorry?”