30. Savannah
On Saturday morning, I was gathered around the first-floor conference room with Ben, Ryan, Lang, and Kyle. Pasco was, per usual, parked at a computer, breaking through encryption layers and delving deep into the massive quantity of data we’d downloaded from the Lamp;M servers and sending the files to Ben and me. Bond, who had responsibilities elsewhere in the agency, wasn’t in the building. Kat had a full roster of telecons she was taking in her office. That left me to be the last bastion of estrogen against eruptions of teenage-boy-esque sniping and gross humor.
More than once, I’d felt like I was fighting a losing battle.
But it was their attempt to boost our flagging spirits because the secrets we were uncovering were few and far between. I did find two secret corporate bank accounts and the HR data on the new staff in the Annapolis office. But they were far from smoking guns, and unless I could prove I hadn’t known about the accounts, I was probably just as culpable as Devlin for transactions. It was more than I’d had yesterday at this time, and a forensic accountant might be able to unravel the knots and find some of our stolen revenue, but we’d found nothing overtly criminal thus far.
Unfortunately, Ryan, Kyle, and Logan, whose deep-dive into WCI and its followers was severely curtailed by the lack of warrants the agency had been able to procure, were coming up just as empty.
“I just got off a call with X,” Kat announced as she joined us. “The news isn’t great. WCI is in the middle of filing for 501(c)(3) status.”
Kyle glanced up from the pile of employment applications of the Maryland staff I hadn’t known I’d hired. “They want to be recognized as a religious organization? What happened to being a business management and self-improvement group?”
“They’ll call themselves whatever is necessary to cover their asses,” Ben said. “But you said filing, so they’re not protected yet.”
Kat shook her head. “That makes our position even more precarious. They could start making noises about a government organization attempting to intimidate them into dropping the filing.”
“That means more slow-rolled warrants and subpoenas, doesn’t it?” Pasco asked.
“It does,” Kat answered.
Pasco groaned. “Man, sometimes I miss being on the other side of the law.” He smiled at Kat. “What are the chances you’d look the other way for a couple of hours and let me go rogue?”
This time, Lang answered. “About the same as the chances X would save your ass from indictment a second time.”
Ben and I glanced at each other. That sounded like a war story we’d like to hear. Unfortunately, it was probably sealed in the metaphorical vault, like most of the HEAT agents’ exploits.
“I could use a drink,” Ben said.
I glanced up from the spreadsheet I was studying. “It seems a bit early, but I feel your pain.”
“I’d settle for some strong coffee.” He pushed back from the table. “I’ll start a fresh pot.”
“Could you also bring back some snacks?” Ryan glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “Please and thank you.”
Ben flashed a fake smile. “Sure.”
“I’ll help carry things,” I said. I also wouldn’t mind stealing a few kisses and maybe a grope while the coffee brewed.
Five minutes later, the front door of the building opened, and Mai strolled in. “Hello, Elite Forces Team!” she called.
“What the hell did you call us?” Lang called from the conference room.
“Just a name some of us are trying out.” Mai spotted us in the kitchen and waved.
“Well, cut it out,” Lang said.
Mai shrugged in our direction, then greeted Kat, who stepped out of her office.
“She’s not going to drop in at our condo all the time to monopolize your attention, is she?” Ben whispered.
“She definitely is,” I whispered back. “Jealous?”
“Nah. As long as she doesn’t get to take baths with you, we’re good.”
“Thanks for providing an extra set of hands and eyes,” Kat was saying to Mai. She pointed to the conference room. “The team is set up in here. Ben and Savannah are on snack duty.”
“And they’re taking forever!” Ryan called. “I suspect they’re making more than snacks.”
“Ew,” Mai said. “Keep those thoughts to yourself. He’s still my brother.” She walked toward us. “Just kidding. I think you’re adorable.” She entered the kitchen and hugged us both at once, then held on to my arm. “Look at us. The dynamic duo, together again.”
Ben shook his head and pointed his finger between him and me. “Pretty sure we’re the dynamic duo.”
“Fine,” Mai said. “Maybe the three of us can be the terrific trio.”
“That’s an objectively terrible name,” Ben said.
“Is this why snacks continue to take so long?” Ryan strolled into the kitchen and wrapped Mai in a hug. “Because this asshole is harassing my friend?”
Kyle came in behind him. “Hey, Mai. You joining our team?” He glanced at Ben and Ryan. “We could use some good tactical ops around here.”
The four of them devolved into raucous banter. I smiled and only half listened. I was trying, and miserably failing, to get inside Devlin’s head. He’d told me to go on the run. Then he, or someone working with him, had taunted me in the hopes of pushing me deeper underground. A week and a half later, not only had I come out of hiding, but I’d walked right into one of our office buildings with what seemed to be a tech expert and hired muscle and walked out with servers that exposed the shady financial moves he’d made with our money.
And he hadn’t said boo about it. He had to have figured out that my “tech expert” could help me access my work systems. But he’s sent no emails, voicemails, or interoffice e-messages.
“We should at least set up a group chat,” Mai was saying.
“Won’t work,” Ben said. “I’ve already blocked Wheeler’s number.”
I held up my hand. “What did you say?”
Ben grinned at me. “That I already blocked Wheeler’s number.”
I shook my head and looked at Mai. “What you said. A group chat. A chat.” My thoughts were coalescing, pulling on a memory I’d buried because I hadn’t thought it was important. “Devlin used to contact me through a chat app he asked me to download on my phone. I only kept it for a month because I thought it was creepy. It kept asking me for permissions I didn’t want to give it and trying to get me to pin my location for it.”
“Chat-o-gram?” Ryan asked.
“That’s it,” I said. “Have you used it?”
“No, but I’ve heard of it,” he answered. “No wonder you think it’s creepy. It’s known as the stalker app.”
“Use it a lot, do you?” Ben asked.
Mai and Kyle laughed.
Ryan took it in stride. “I would never use it because—Savannah’s right—it wants access to all your private data. And as far as tracking your location, most apps have the capability to do that, but Chat-o-Gram makes uncovering that information easy.”
A shiver ran up my spine. “You mean every time I responded back to Devlin on that app, he could see where I was?”
“If he knew how to set up that feature, which is literally just checking one box in the account information,” Ryan said.
I hoped Devlin hadn’t known. After all, I was just learning about it now, more than a year after using it. Then again, he had suggested the app. In fact, he’d insisted we try it. My anxious stomach roiled in my gut. I pushed away the thoughts and their implications. I would have to sort through those another day.
“If I deleted the app from my phone, could I still receive messages?” I asked. “Could they be sitting out there, somewhere on a cloud?”
“If you canceled your account, I doubt it,” Ryan said. “But if you closed the app without canceling, I’d think it would continue receiving messages.”
The five of us went silent and looked around at each other. Then we pushed through the kitchen door en masse and headed for the conference, all calling at once, “Pasco!”