28. Keaton （Skee）
Keaton (Skee)
The sixth exploit dies before it has a chance to finish.
Lines of code race down my monitor faster than most people could read them, searching for a weakness that doesn't exist anymore. I watch them anyway, refusing to look away until the familiar message blooms across the center of the screen.
ACCESS DENIED.
I let out a slow breath and lean back in my chair, scrubbing both hands over my face before dropping them into my lap.
"They rebuilt the network." The words barely make it past my lips.
Not patched. Not upgraded. Rebuilt.
Whoever Ronan brought in knew exactly what I'd done.
Every vulnerability I'd spent months quietly creating had disappeared overnight. The hidden access points I'd left behind, the secondary routes, the backup routes for those routes... all of them had been sealed behind an entirely new infrastructure.
I launch another exploit anyway. Because maybe I missed something. Maybe they missed something.
Hope is a dangerous thing in my line of work.
Three minutes later, another denial flashes across the screen.
I don't swear. I don't slam my laptop shut. I just stare.
For the last twenty-six hours, I've tried everything I know.
The estate's security cameras. The smart televisions. The irrigation controller buried somewhere beneath the landscaping. The lighting automation. The gate access. Hell, I even spent forty-five minutes trying to hijack the robotic pool cleaner just to see if it connected to the old network.
Nothing.
Every road I've built over the last several months now ends the same way. A locked door.
The only victory I'd managed came yesterday afternoon when I found a way into Ronan's phone.
Eighteen minutes. That's how long I'd had it. Eighteen minutes of watching him walk through the house while I searched every reflection, every doorway, every room, hoping to catch the smallest glimpse of Maeve.
The kitchen.
Nothing.
The dining room.
Nothing.
The library.
Nothing.
Then he'd walked into his office, set the phone on his desk beside a half-finished cup of coffee...
...and never picked it up again.
For six hours I'd watched that office. The leather chair. The framed degrees on the wall. The steam slowly disappearing from his coffee. I knew exactly how the afternoon sunlight moved across the hardwood floor.
I still hadn't seen Maeve.
My fingers find the edge of the desk before I realize they're moving.
Two taps. Pause. Two taps. Pause.
The office door opens quietly behind me.
"You've been staring at that screen long enough to burn a hole through it." Matt's voice is calm, almost amused, but I hear the concern underneath it.
"I know."
He walks over carrying two mugs of coffee, setting one beside my keyboard before lowering himself into the chair across from me. He doesn't speak right away. He simply studies the room the same way he studies every mission.
The failed exploit windows. The code still running useless scans. The satellite maps spread across one monitor. The frozen image from Ronan's abandoned office on another.
When he finally looks back at me, he sighs. "You're not hacking your way through this one."
"I'm close."
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "No, Keaton. You're stubborn."
I finally drag my eyes away from the monitor. "They replaced everything."
"I know."
"I can still get in."
He nods once. "I think you probably can." Hope flickers inside my chest. Then he finishes. "...Eventually."
The word lands like sandpaper.
I push away from the desk so hard my chair rolls backward into the wall.
"Eventually isn't good enough." The office suddenly feels too small.
I cross to the window before turning back toward him, my boots wearing another invisible path into the hardwood floor.
"I haven't seen her in..."
Matt glances at his watch. "Twenty-six hours."
"I know exactly how long it's been." Because I've counted every one of them. Every failed exploit. Every dead end. Every time I've caught myself opening the Gallagher file just to make sure her picture still looked the same.
"I should've gotten her out." The admission surprises even me. I stop pacing long enough to meet Matt's eyes. "I knew something was wrong."
"You suspected."
"No.” The word comes out sharper than I intend. "I knew.
Matt watches me for so long the silence begins pressing against my ribs.
Finally, he folds his hands together. "Maybe you did."
The fight drains out of me so quickly it leaves me exhausted.
"But knowing something..." he says quietly, "...and proving it are two very different things."
I laugh once. Without humor. "You didn't see her face."
"I saw enough."
"No." I shake my head. "You saw surveillance footage." I swallow hard. "I watched her realize she was trapped."
Matt looks down into his coffee before setting the mug on the desk.
"When I left the Army," he says after a long pause, "I thought the hardest adjustment would be learning to stop fighting." His eyes meet mine again. "It wasn't." I wait. "It was learning when I wasn't allowed to."
The words settle over the room.
"We aren't overseas anymore, Keaton."
"I know."
"We don't kick in doors because our instincts tell us to."
"My instincts have kept me alive."
"They have." He nods once. "And I think they're probably right."
I blink. "What?"
"I think something's wrong too."
Hope surges through me. "Then let's go."
Matt's expression doesn't change. "Being right isn't enough."
The hope disappears just as quickly.
"If you walk into that house today," he continues, "what do we tell the police?"
I don't answer. Because I already know.
"What crime has Ronan committed?"
"He—"
"Does he control her? Isolate her? Track her? Yes." Matt leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "And every bit of it makes me sick." His voice drops. "But it doesn't give us the legal right to take another man's wife."
The truth hits harder than I want it to. "If you're wrong..." He doesn't finish. He doesn't have to.
"I go to prison."
"You go to prison." He nods. "Grayline dies." He pauses. "And Maeve is left exactly where she is."
Silence settles between us. The computers hum. A cooling fan spins somewhere behind me. Outside the office window, Rachel laughs at something Wheels says. Life keeps moving.
Mine feels like it's stopped.
"I don't know how to sit here." The words scrape their way out of my throat.
Matt stands and walks over, resting a hand on the back of my neck the same way he did after bad missions overseas. "I know." His grip tightens for just a second. "And that's exactly why I'm asking you to."
After he leaves, the office feels impossibly quiet.
I lower myself back into the chair and stare at another failed exploit. Another locked door. Another reminder that somewhere behind a firewall I can no longer breach...Maeve is alone.
And for the first time since I found her...I have absolutely no way to get back to her.
****
At some point during the night, exhaustion finally wins.
I don't remember closing my eyes. I don't remember deciding the couch in the Grayline office was good enough for another night.
I only remember telling myself I'd rest for twenty minutes.
That had been... hours ago.
The glow from the monitors is the only light left in the room, washing everything in muted shades of blue. Half-finished coffee cups crowd the desk beside three untouched protein bars that someone—Rachel, probably—had quietly left for me sometime this afternoon.
I still haven't eaten them. I haven't gone home either. Bullet dropped off a change of clothes yesterday morning. Wheels tried convincing me to shower by telling me I smelled like "stress and bad decisions."
Rachel hugged me. Sloane stole my laptop charger until I agreed to drink water.
Matt…Matt stopped trying to convince me to leave. Instead, he'd started bringing me new cases to work.
Anything to keep my hands busy. Anything except the one thing I actually wanted to do.
Sleep finds me somewhere between another failed exploit and another cup of cold coffee.
I don't know how long I'm out. Minutes. Maybe an hour.
"Taibhse." The whisper slips into my dream so naturally I almost don't notice it.
For a second, I think I've imagined it. A trick of an exhausted mind that has spent the better part of three days thinking about one person.
Then it comes again. "...Taibhse?"
My eyes fly open. Every trace of sleep disappears. The office is silent. The monitors still glow. The clock on the wall reads 2:17 a.m.
My pulse pounds in my ears as I sit up too quickly. No. Not imagined. I know that voice.
I reach for the small speaker sitting beside my laptop so fast I nearly knock it onto the floor.
The bathroom microphone. The only thing they never found. For three days…Nothing. Not a single sound.
I grip the speaker so tightly my knuckles ache. Static crackles softly. Then...
"I don't know if you can hear me." Maeve. My eyes close. Just for a second. Because hearing her feels like breathing after being underwater too long. "I think you probably can."
A tiny laugh escapes her. It's quieter than I remember. Tired.
"If anyone would somehow still be listening..." Another pause. "...it would be you."
My throat tightens.
"I guess if someone finds this recording someday..." she says softly, "...they're going to think I've completely lost my mind."
The corner of my mouth twitches. Even now...She's trying to make herself laugh.
The room around me disappears. There's only her voice. Only the sound of her breathing between sentences. Only the tiny catch she tries so hard to hide.
"I just..." Silence. Long enough that I wonder if she's changed her mind. "I wanted to say thank you."
The words barely rise above a whisper. "You gave me something I didn't know I'd lost."
I swallow hard.
"You reminded me what it felt like to laugh."
Every muscle in my body goes still.
"What it felt like to wake up looking forward to part of my day."
She laughs quietly again.
"I know that probably sounds ridiculous."
No. It sounds like the most important thing anyone has ever said to me.
"I keep thinking..." Another long pause. "...that I wish we'd met."
The words punch every bit of air from my lungs. "I think I would've liked meeting you."
My grip tightens around the speaker.
"I didn't realize..." Her voice wavers for the first time. "...I didn't realize how much I could miss someone I'd never actually met."
I stop breathing. Not metaphorically. Literally. The next breath refuses to come.
My knuckles go white around the speaker.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Because somehow...She misses me as much as I've missed her.
"I don't think I'll hear your music anymore." Another shaky breath. "But that's okay."
No. No, it isn't.
"I'll hear it anyway." She laughs softly through what sounds suspiciously like tears. "Every time one of those songs comes on..." A breath. "...I'll think of you."
My chest aches. Not sharp. Not sudden. Something quieter. Deeper. The kind of hurt that settles in your bones.
"So..." Another pause. "...thank you."
Silence. I wait. Certain she'll say something else. Anything. Nothing comes.
The microphone crackles once. Then goes silent.
I keep holding the speaker against my ear anyway. Long after I know she's gone. Long after the silence becomes louder than her voice ever was.
I don't remember standing. I don't remember crossing the room. One second I'm sitting. The next my hands are braced against the desk while I stare at the dark monitors. Every camera. Every exploit. Every line of code.
Worthless.
Because none of them could reach her anymore.
My reflection stares back at me from one of the dark monitors. I barely recognize the man looking back.
Because somewhere between a surveillance assignment...A cup of French vanilla coffee...And a girl whispering goodbye into an empty bathroom…She stopped being the assignment.
She became everything. I’m in love with her. And she thinks she just said goodbye.