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He eyes me cautiously. Loads of intelligence in his gaze but not much emotion.
After I flip open my laptop and place the jump drive in the USB port, I open the document and slide the device down the desk so it’s in front of him.
“As you can probably guess, my PC has oodles of my data. And I’m giving it to you. Look at the document I prepared while you’re at it. It’s an analysis of your network, firewalls, and related vulnerabilities. No charge for that. Did it off the clock.”
Heaving a deep breath, I add, “You can hold on to my laptop for a few days. Poke around. See what you can dig up on me. No restrictions. Bank accounts, investments, contacts, software. You name it, you can have access to it.”
My stomach rolls, but this is what I’m prepared to do to earn his trust. If I expect him to place his confidence in me, I need to be willing to do the same. It’s a leap of faith, but I want this to work more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time.
Nothing on that device can tell him about my past at the CIA— that’s not something you can take when you leave the company. But it’s got the rest of me on it.
The real me. Miriam Bennett.
“Why?” he asks flatly.
“I’m asking you to trust me, so it’s only fair I show that I trust you too. I want to be part of this team.”
This family.
His gaze glides between my face and the offered laptop a half dozen times while he rolls his tongue over his teeth. “Okay.”
He takes my laptop, closes it, and slides it into a desk drawer on the far side of his desk. Away from me.
“So what questions did you have about our cases?”
Tension broken and trusttentativelyforged. Groundwork laid. First step complete.
Only this time, I’m not aiming to manipulate my target. My mission is genuine. Earn trust. Join the family.
Then I can rebuild my own.
Chapter8
Walking, but not after midnight
KLEIN
It’s a great day to be me.
The best day. The day of days.
While dashing to the elevator, I throw my phone to my ear and wait impatiently for my mother to answer. “Come on, Ma. Pick up, pick up.”
The call rolls to voice mail.
“Son of a bitch.”
I call her neighbor Gloria, but she doesn’t answer either.
Too impatient to wait for the elevator, I bound down the stairs and through the lobby at full speed while dialing my sister and trying to calm my spiking pulse.
I can’t help my mom if I don’t stay calm.
“Hey, bro. What’s up?”
“Have you talked to Ma today?”
“No, what’s wrong?”
