Chapter 9
CASSIDY
I hit submit and stare at the cursor blinking on my screen for a moment before I let myself exhale. Another assignment turned in. Another small victory. What had my therapist and Holt reminded me over the last two years? Focus on the wins. All of them.
It still surprises me how giddy I’ve become over these courses. For years, I thought I knew exactly what my future looked like. A dark blue uniform, a badge, and long shifts delivering the unexpected. It’s the kind of career that came with a pension and a permanent knot in your neck and shoulders.
Following in my father’s footsteps had felt less like a choice and more like the road mapped out for me.
It was part of my DNA. While my brother leaned more toward my uncles’ careers in the fire service, my choice had always been to work in law enforcement.
I loved the idea of righting wrongs and fighting for justice.
Yet something always felt off. I chalked it up to nerves.
This profession isn’t for the faint of heart.
Boy, did I learn that the hard way.
But after all I’ve been through, this feeling is one I never anticipated. One where I wake excited to tackle another assignment, because it’s bringing me closer to the possibility of making a future I’ve only imagined happened on television.
That I could be Penelope Garcia.
This unexpected career change has made something inside me come alive again.
A spark that always eluded me when I was in the academy.
It would eventually come, I rationalized.
I mean, it had been my dream for as long as I could remember.
I’m certain I couldn’t feel it because it was buried beneath the nervousness of my new and dangerous profession.
Yet from day one of these online classes, there has been adrenaline coursing through my limbs I haven’t felt before.
Digital Forensics and Incident Response Training.
It sounds so dry and monotonous on paper.
Like something designed to drain the soul out of you, one spreadsheet at a time.
I’d expected endless numbers, logs, hours upon hours of staring at data until my eyes crossed.
Instead, it feels like solving a puzzle. Phone forensics, especially.
There’s something intoxicating about it.
Digging through call logs, timestamps, and metadata.
Looking for similarities, like when Holt and I would play a spirited round of Hüsker Dü when we were kids.
We’d try to remember the location of the pictures and match the pairs to win the game.
Phone forensics works similarly, allowing me to reconstruct a story from fragments on a page.
Piecing together movements and motives from nothing but digital footprints.
Sometimes, when I’m deep into an assignment, it feels like I’m not even reading anymore.
It’s as if certain patterns light up. Not literally, but close to it.
As if an invisible highlighter is sweeping across the screen, drawing my attention toward what matters.
A repeated number. A timestamp that doesn’t belong there.
It’s like I don’t even have to search. My eyes are drawn straight to it.
I just know.
It defies reason, really. I’ve tried to explain it away. Maybe it’s neurological. Some leftover rewiring from my head injury. A synapse misfiring in just the right way. But nothing about the unusual ability to connect the dots feels broken.
It feels real. As if something is quietly nudging me toward the truth. And for the first time in a long time, I catch myself considering something I never thought I’d say again. I might actually be good at this. Really good.
A small ounce of pride dares to warm my chest. I cling to it as a rare smile invades my face. Because this excites me in a way that’s different than the life I thought I was supposed to want.
Bzzz. Bzzz.
I reach for my phone, hoping it really is Holt calling this time. “Hello.”
Silence.
“Hello.” There’s that familiar odd clicking sound on the line again. My anxiety over these calls is starting to do a real number on me. I hang up and check the call log. The same unknown number from before.
Breathe. You’re fine. Everything is fine.
By the time I make it back to the dressing room, the girls are already lined up in front of the mirrors wearing the new DPG server outfits, looking like a dysfunctional girl band.
Matching pewter dresses hang from each of their bodies, barely covering their asses.
And the neckline has their breasts on full display.
The material is nothing short of mesmerizing, particularly in the way the slinky fabric clings to each body type in uniquely flattering ways.
Ways that should probably be illegal before sunset.
I glance down at mine hanging on the rack and have to fight the urge to roll my eyes. So this is what we’re doing now. Why not just ask us to parade around in a G-string and pasties?
Fern turns in a slow circle, inspecting herself. “Well, I’ll be damned. If this dress gets any tighter, I’m gonna need a safe word just to breathe.”
Candice squints at her reflection. “I mean… I don’t hate it. But if I bend over, I’m flashing Jesus.”
Brier doesn’t even look up from adjusting her stilettos. “That’s between you and Jesus. But something tells me he’s seen you do worse.”
Lala steps back to assess all of us, hands on her hips. “Gianni wanted something elevated but seductive, I think this qualifies.”
“Elevated?” Fern snorts. “Lala, the hemlines of these things are so elevated my bits are barely covered.”
“Wait ’til you see the other collections,” Lala adds. “Needed to make sure the fit was right before I ordered the rest of them.”
Candice’s eyes slowly slide to me in the mirror. “So,” she says sweetly. “You gonna tell us about Max, or we gotta keep pretending we didn’t all see that dance?”
My stomach drops straight through the floor. Suddenly putting on this little racy number is the least of my worries. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Fern gasps. “Oh, girl, please. Y’all were basically in a music video. I half expected fog machines and a slow fade-out.”
“It was one song. Gianni just pulled girls onto the dance floor to give the guys someone to dance with.” I snort. “Lala was out there too.”
Candice wiggles her brows. “Well, it looked like he was enjoying himself.”
“Good grief. He would’ve danced like that with whomever Gianni pushed in his direction.”
Brier’s gaze sharpens, watching me through the mirror like she’s cataloging my every expression. “You sure about that?”
“Yes,” I blurt with as much confidence as I can muster. “What would a rich, sophisticated man like that want with a girl like me?” My eyes reconnect with Brier’s, hoping to convey she’s much more his type than I am.
Fern flops dramatically onto the couch. “Tragic. Absolutely tragic. A billionaire tech god dances with you, and you didn’t even swoon. I would’ve been trying to find ways to give him my phone number.”
“Hence why Gianni didn’t push you in their direction,” Brier harrumphs.
Candice taps on her phone with her long acrylic pink nail. “Well, we did some digging.”
Of course they did.
“Did you know he’s, like, filthy rich?” Candice continues. “He built his own international cybersecurity empire. There are pictures of him on the gram standing in front of private jets, gorgeous resort properties, and ridiculous-looking sports cars.”
“And he’s single,” Fern adds in a sing-song voice.
Candice grabs Fern’s arm in her excitement to share more details. “He apparently never dates the same woman twice.”
Brier hums. “Could be a front.”
I blink. “A front for what?”
“Perhaps he’s happily married and wants to keep his family life out of the public eye.”
I roll my eyes. I thought this girl was supposed to be the smart one in this crowd. “So he throws everyone off the scent by spending all of his time at a private sex club.”
Fern lowers her voice like she’s sharing state secrets. “Maybe he’s gay.”
Candice nods seriously. “Yeah. This place might just be his cover.”
I stare at them. These two are ridiculous. “Why would he need a cover? What’s wrong with being gay?”
Candice shrugs. “Nothing. But some people aren’t ready to be out yet. I mean, with all of his big business deals, maybe he wants to keep that part of his life hidden.”
I can’t help but consider the way Max looked at me on that dance floor.
The way his hands felt on my waist. The way his eyes locked onto mine like the rest of the world had gone quiet.
And the various times I’ve spotted him watching me.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not egotistical enough to think it has anything to do with me per se.
“I don’t think so,” I say softly. “Not with how he looks at women.”
Brier’s gaze flickers, almost impressed. “Interesting.”
The conversation keeps buzzing around me as I try on the new company digs. Fern’s arguing about whether a man’s net worth should be public information, Candice insisting she could absolutely handle dating someone famous, and Lala reminding them we still have a job to do.
But my mind drifts. Not to Max. Not really.
But to his world. His cybersecurity empire.
To chat rooms, firewalls, and encrypted systems instead of cocktails, flirting, and barely-there outfits.
To a world where I’m behind a screen instead of behind a bar.
Doing the kind of work that’s focused more on the data than on danger.
Cybersecurity and the ability to follow digital trails could provide a way to work alongside law enforcement, if I determine there’s no way to go back there. At least it could be a viable option.
I think about the case studies from my courses.
The ones where tech teams worked alongside federal agencies.
Tracking predators. Mapping digital footprints that led to real arrests.
Does Max’s business do that kind of work?
Does his company collaborate with law enforcement? The feds? Private task forces?
My pulse picks up. Not because of him, but because of this preposterous idea.
Imagining a career at a place where I could still protect people without putting my body on the line.
Where my brain might actually be the weapon.
Where my past wouldn’t make me weak, but useful in a way I hadn’t considered before.
If I finish my courses, could I apply there? Would he even remember me? I glance at my reflection again. Pink hair. Tiny, cleavage-exposing pewter dress.
Ugh. There’s no forgetting this.
He’s been nothing but cordial whenever I’ve interacted with him. I’ve never felt any judgment coming from Max. Not like some of the sleazeball men who Anthony and Gianni have quickly put in their place. But would he laugh me right out of the office if I attempted to make a serious career change?
I trail my hands down the shiny dress. Jeez, Cass. Please don’t refer to this job as a career.
However, the truth of the matter is, I’m not ready to give up on law enforcement. I’m not certain a job in cybersecurity would give me the rush of adrenaline I need. But I’m also not sure I’m brave enough to go back.
I can practically hear my brother over my shoulder. Encouraging me to finish my classes and put myself out there. To chase my dream. And if it isn’t a good fit, move on to something that is. Don’t settle for anything less.
Not after everything I’ve fought to survive.
I bite down on my lower lip, the seed planted. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a future in his billion-dollar security business. But after working here, I’m worried he might not be able to take me seriously. Maybe he couldn’t get past this enough to look at me and think:
She belongs here.