Chapter 10
Ty
I pulled my gaze away from the monitor, stretching my neck until it popped. Charlotte’s desk sat empty across the workspace, her chair pushed back at an odd angle. She’d been gone for what—an hour now? Maybe more. I checked my watch. Definitely more.
The lab felt different without her constant typing, that rapid-fire rhythm that had become the soundtrack to my days here.
Her workspace looked abandoned—empty creamer packets scattered across her desk like fallen leaves, sticky notes in her handwriting covering every available surface of her monitor frame.
“She’s having a particularly Charlotte afternoon.
Freaking out about getting the countermeasure finished.
” Darcy had rolled her eyes when she’d said it earlier, her voice carrying that particular blend of affection and exasperation reserved for Charlotte’s more intense moments.
“She told me about the deadline. She’s holed up in the break room.
Said she needed to isolate herself to actually get work done. ”
That made sense. We’d had our moment at lunch; she’d understood the assignment. Understood the deadline. This was her cranking it up to the next level. I needed to let her do her job, and I needed to do mine.
I shifted my attention to the lab floor, watching the team move through their routines.
Chances were, someone here had sabotaged the code last week.
Someone had cost Charlotte days of work, pushed her to the breaking point.
They’d be watching now, wondering why she’d relocated.
Wondering if she’d figured something out.
Marcus hunched over his workstation, same as always.
His fingers moved steadily across his keyboard, no telltale nervous tics, no glances toward the break room.
But then again, Marcus had been here for three years as a systems engineer.
Long enough to know the quantum architecture inside and out.
Long enough to know exactly how to corrupt Charlotte’s drives without leaving a trace.
Priya typed steadily at the next station, pausing only to sip her coffee. She’d joined the team six months ago as a cryptography specialist, right around the time the Cascade Protocol was handed over to the FBI. Coincidence? Maybe. But I’d learned to distrust coincidences in this job.
Even Roger, who usually radiated cheerfulness—the software engineer who brought donuts every Friday—seemed unusually focused on his screen.
Though his focus seemed genuine. The man had been nothing but supportive of Charlotte’s work, always checking if she needed anything.
Hard to imagine him sabotaging her efforts.
“Well, well. The contractor playing bodyguard.”
Raymond Wilmington’s voice cut through my observations like nails on a chalkboard.
The head of security strolled toward me, that practiced smile already in place.
Same territorial attitude he’d shown since day one—first when he’d tossed me that keycard on the rooftop like it was trash, then Monday when I’d forced him to hand over the entry logs.
Today, his tie hung slightly crooked, breadcrumbs clinging to the front of his shirt. The kinds of details that drove me crazy—if you’re running security, you should notice everything.
“Wilmington.” I kept my tone neutral, professional. No point feeding his ego more than necessary.
“How’s our little security review coming along?” He straightened his tie, apparently oblivious to the crumbs still decorating his shirtfront. “Finding all our weak spots?”
“Working on it.” We hadn’t told him the newest development about the Cascade Protocol being sold on the black market. Honestly, I didn’t trust the man.
“Good, good.” His smile widened, showing too many teeth. “At least now you won’t have to worry about Charlotte spilling anything on you now that she’s gone. She does tend to make a mess of things.”
My jaw tightened. The jab at Charlotte felt unnecessary, deliberately cruel, even. But how the hell did he know she’d moved to the break room? Darcy wouldn’t have told him. Charlotte certainly wouldn’t have.
“She’s under a lot of pressure. The stabilizer code isn’t exactly a weekend project. She’s working her ass off.”
“Oh, I’m sure she’s working very hard.” Wilmington’s tone dripped with mock sympathy. “Or, at least, she was. But you know, health comes first.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Wilmington’s expression shifted to something smugger, if that was possible. His eyes glinted with the kind of satisfaction that made my instincts prickle. “Oh, you didn’t know? She left for the day. Dentist appointment, she said. Just walked right out about twenty minutes ago.”
“Dentist appointment?” What the fuck? “In the middle of the afternoon?”
“Annual check-up, apparently. Very important to prioritize proper hygiene, don’t you think?”
“What?” I stood, the chair rolling backward hard enough to hit the desk behind me.
Charlotte knew what was at stake. Knew how tight our deadline was.
There was no way in hell she’d duck out for an afternoon for a fucking routine dentist appointment.
Hell, I didn’t think she’d go to the dentist right now if her teeth were literally dropping out of her head. “She wouldn’t—”
“Check for yourself.” He shrugged, already turning away, but I caught the slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Her car’s gone from the lot. But I’m sure having pearly whites will help with her research—”
I moved before he finished talking, heading straight for the break room. Empty. No laptop, no papers, no sign she’d ever been there. I checked the women’s bathroom, calling out first before entering. Nothing. The lab itself—her usual workspace abandoned, no sign of her anywhere.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
My phone was in my hand before I’d made a conscious decision to pull it out, my fingers already typing.
Where are you?
…
The typing dots appeared immediately, disappeared, appeared again. My chest tightened with each second that passed. One second. Two. Three. The dots vanished, reappeared. Whatever she was typing, she kept deleting it.
I’ll need to talk to you later. I’m in the emergency room.
The floor seemed to shift under my feet. Fucking emergency room? The words hit like a physical blow, adrenaline flooding my system instantly.
What happened? Which hospital?
Car accident. I’m fine.
Like hell, she was fine. People who were fine didn’t end up in emergency rooms.
Charlotte. Which goddamned hospital?
The pause lasted too long before her response.
Mercy General. Really, I’m okay. I’ll explain later.
I was already moving, grabbing my jacket, ignoring Wilmington’s called question behind me. Something about protocols and proper channels. I didn’t give a damn about protocols. Charlotte was hurt, and I’d been sitting here watching empty desks while she—
The drive to Mercy General took twelve minutes on a good day. I made it in eight, running two yellow lights and one that was definitely red by the time I cleared the intersection.
The emergency room buzzed with controlled disorder—crying children clutching parents, worried families grouped in uncomfortable chairs, the antiseptic smell that never quite masked everything else.
A woman in scrubs rushed past, nearly colliding with me.
The triage nurse barely glanced up when I approached her desk.
“Charlotte Gifford. She was brought in from a car accident.”
“Are you family?”
“Federal agent. She’s under my protection.
” I flashed my badge—the Citadel Solutions contractor ID that looked official enough if you didn’t examine it too closely.
The lie rolled off my tongue smooth as whiskey, and I prayed she wouldn’t call my bluff.
I added just enough authority to my voice, the kind of tone that said I wouldn’t be taking no for an answer. “I need to know where she is. Now.”
The nurse’s fingers clicked on her keyboard, her expression shifting from bored to alert. “Room seven, down the hall, second left. But—”
I was already moving, not waiting for whatever caveat she wanted to add.
The hallway stretched ahead, too bright under the fluorescent lights.
I mapped the route automatically—two exits visible, one probably leading to radiology, based on the signs, another to the main hospital.
Three corridors branching off, too many blind spots, too many places someone could approach from.
My hand drifted toward my weapon as I moved through the hallway, hyperaware of every person I passed.
Room seven’s door stood partially open. I knocked once, pushed through.
Charlotte sat on the exam bed, her legs dangling over the side like a child’s.
The sight of her stopped me cold. A bruise darkened her left cheekbone, the purple swelling distorting the delicate line of her face.
Blood had dried at the corner of her temple, a dark rust stain that stood out like a beacon against her pale skin.
She held her lunch box against her chest with both arms, knuckles white from the grip, like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
She looked up when I entered, and color flooded her face despite the bruising. She turned away, but not before I caught the tears she’d been fighting. One escaped anyway, tracking down through the dried blood on her cheek.
“Hey.” I kept my voice soft, moving slowly to the chair beside her bed. No sudden movements. She looked ready to shatter. “You okay?”
She nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again. Another tear escaped, rolling down her bruised cheek, and she swiped at it angrily.
“Is it the pain? I can get the nurse—”
“No.” The word came out thick. “No, I’m just…” She pressed her lips together, shaking her head. “I’m overwhelmed.”
I found a tissue box on the side table, pulled one free, and handed it to her. She dabbed at her eyes, wincing with each touch. Her hands shook slightly, whether from shock or exhaustion, I couldn’t tell.