“From—”
“Yeah.”
Suddenly, she bursts into laughter, helpless and uncontrollable, her hand over her mouth, coffee sloshing. Her glasses slide down her nose as she bends at the waist, her joy filling the morning air, full, bright, and completely undignified. It’s worth every hour I’ve spent on goat surveillance. I would sift through a thousand handfuls of goat shit just to hear her laugh like that.
“I stole corporate evidence from a billion-dollar company,” she manages, straightening up, wiping her eyes, and trying to regain her composure. “And a goat?—”
“Efficient goat.”
“—decided it was a snack.”
“You know he’s not picky. He ate Dad’s truck registration last month. Dad had to explain to the DMV that his paperwork was consumed by livestock. They didn’t believe him until he brought photographic evidence.”
“You photographed it?”
“I photograph everything Dorito eats. I have a folder on my phone called ‘Insurance Claims: Goat.’ It’s extensive.”
She loses it again, bent double, one hand braced on her knee.
When she finally straightens, her eyes are wet in a way that isn’t only laughter. The weight she’s been carrying, the evidence she couldn’t reach, the case she couldn’t make, the man in the expensive boots asking at the diner, all had a goat-sized caveat attached. Now it doesn’t.
She pushes her glasses up with her index finger and breathes for a second. “What else is in the folder?”
“You already know about the garden hose and the welcome mat. But there was also the Bible someone left on the porch. He ate Genesis through Exodus before Maggie caught him. She said it was blasphemy.”
I pause, shaking my head at Dorito. “Four days. You ate most of the Old Testament before lunch and cleared it by dinner. Four days on a USB drive isn’t digestion; it’s dramatic pacing. You held this one,” I accuse, pointing a finger at him. “Like you knew you were the main act and were waiting for your cue.”
Jenna laughs at me scolding the goat, the morning sun catching the tears of laughter on her lashes. I’m holding a device that's been through a goat’s digestive system, but all I can see is the way she laughs with her whole body.
I clean the drive at the outdoor sink, using dish soap, warm water, and a toothbrush for the connector.
Jenna watches, arms folded, grinning. “You’re sanitizing evidence.”
“I’m sanitizing a USB drive.” As I dry the connector with compressed air and tilt it under the light, I see the contacts are clean. “Should read fine. These casings are sealed.”
She beams. “Goat-proof.”
Jenna follows me into my study, where warm electronics sit alongside cold coffee that Crowley knocked over an hour ago. Screens, recovery tools, and the encrypted VPN Beckett configured surround us. Crowley is asleep on the router, and Pixel is on my chair.
Pixel gives me a look of profound betrayal as I move her to the desk before curling up next to the monitor.
I plug the drive in. The light blinks once, yellow, then green. Readable sectors. Data. I exhale in relief. We have something to work with.
She’s beside me before I even turn around. “Show me the directory tree.” Her voice is precise and focused as she slips into data analyst mode, scanning the screen. “Start with the root. I need to see the file structure before we open anything.”
I pull up the directory. She reads it the way I would a circuit board, seeing the entire pattern at once.
“There.” Her finger hovers close to the screen. “That sub-folder. LCE_WR. That’s for water rights. And below it, MIN_SRV. Mineral surveys. I’ve seen those prefixes in the filing system.”
I smile at her enthusiasm. “Coffee?”
She doesn’t look up. “Please.”
I prepare two cups and place hers beside her keyboard. Her hand wraps around my fingers over the mug, squeezing once without glancing up.
Naming the feeling in my chest would mean pausing, and I can’t afford to stop. The drive is blinking, the information is loading, and the woman I married yesterday is here in my home. With me.
I pull up the first batch of files and dive into work.
