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lder as he works.
He does his job quietly and efficiently, ignoring our agitation as he focuses on his work. Finally, he gives a grunt of satisfaction, straightening a little as he pulls up a document on his screen. “Does any of this look familiar to you?”
We scan over the list of dates, times, locations, and menial texts that look unimportant to anyone but the sender and receiver.
“Nothing that stands out,” Hale says slowly, reading over the list. There’s a bite of frustration in his tone. “Did you find anything else?”
“Yeah. As soon as this finishes syncing, you should have access to any deleted voicemails or audio recordings on the phone.”
Hale nods, returning to his seat without a word. I give a few more minute’s attention to the list, but don’t find anything of interest other than stuff we already know.
One short text catches my eye, and I duck my head a little closer to the screen as I read it. It’s a message from Brian to whoever he was working with.
Secured, heading to location now.
I grimace, my hands clenching into fists. That one was sent the night we rescued Grace from the fucker who used to be her fiancé.
“Ah. Here we are.” Keith nods in satisfaction, interlacing his fingers and stretching them out. His knee bounces up and down as he taps on the keyboard quickly, pulling up a list. “Any particular date you’d like to start?”
“Start from the top. Oldest to newest,” Hale directs, leaning forward in his seat.
Keith presses play on the first message, and the voice that comes from the laptop’s speakers sends chills down my spine. The voice is instantly recognizable, even with the groggy transmission delays and the poor quality of the recovered voicemail.
Leland Bennett.
25
Grace
I don’t immediately recognize the voice that comes through the speaker from the recorded voicemail, but I’m the only one.
All the men stiffen, and my immediate reaction is to glance toward Hale and try to read his expression, the war of emotions raging in his body. Anger and betrayal flash across his face, followed closely by sadness.
“Who is it?” I murmur.
Zaid catches my eye and shakes his head, jerking his chin lightly toward Keith.
Right. They won’t say the name in front of him. They won’t take even that small chance that their hacker could let the man behind Damian’s death know we’re on to him.
“That’s enough,” Hale says gruffly. “Zaid, go grab a flash drive. We’ll transfer everything to that, then listen through all of it.”
Zaid nods and leaves, and there’s a pause as everyone waits for Hale’s next order. I watch as he fights to pull his shit back together and push aside everything he’s feeling so that duty can take its place.
He recovers quickly. I’m not sure that’s a good thing or a bad thing. He’s soft with me, alone in my room or his at night—and although I know he has to be hard to survive this life, to lead the Novak Syndicate out of this dark time, I don’t want him to lose his heart.
Whatever walls were still up between the two of us before, they all crumbled the night his father died.
The night he chose to trust me.
As if drawn by my thoughts, Hale’s gaze shifts to mine. His dark blue irises warm slightly, and he draws in a breath as if calmed by my very presence.
“Thank you for your help,” he tells the hacker, who nods. “We’ll transfer the information you found, then you can go. You’ll be paid shortly.”
Zaid returns a moment later and hands Keith a small flash drive. The hacker plugs it into his laptop then taps out a few keystrokes. It takes less than a minute for everything to transfer, and he unplugs the drive and gives it to Hale. “Everything I got is on this.”
Hale takes it, and Keith gathers up his equipment before Zaid and Lucas lead him out of the living room. My heart is beating hard and fast, and I can barely keep myself from demanding answers as we wait for the twins to return.
As soon as they step back into the living room, I glance around at the four men. “So? Who—”
