Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
But every time she tried to follow it, the sentence blurred.
Upton’s forty-eight-hour deadline hung over her like an execution order written in memo format.
By tomorrow morning, she was supposed to be ready to return to Langley with the Vance materials, or at least to justify why she wasn’t doing so.
She had a notification memo in the Agency system now, narrow enough to be technically compliant.
She had a government-issue sedan connected to a decommissioned vehicle tied to Legacy Shield, a classified review program chaired by Upton and linked to Caldwell Strategic Risk.
She had a sketch of the man who’d tried to kill her, a partial plate that had opened one door with ten more behind it, and a growing stack of Vance anomalies that suggested someone had been massaging records for years.
What she didn’t have was the sentence, memo, signature, or direct reference that would make the whole thing undeniable.
She blinked hard and pressed her bandaged palm flat against the edge of Jasper’s desk.
Pain tugged at the cut beneath the gauze.
The boxes of Vance papers lined the wall in disciplined stacks, red-tabbed files separated from blue, fragile correspondence boxed separately, the Cinder materials locked in Jasper’s lower cabinet because she’d needed to put them somewhere that felt like a vault.
Jasper’s office had become a strange hybrid of archive, war room, and borrowed sanctuary.
His monitors glowed at his desk. Her notebooks were spread across the coffee table.
Priss had claimed the top of an empty archival box near the couch, where she slept with the smug satisfaction of a creature who had discovered that a private security compound came with multiple people willing to provide treats.
Everyone was absurdly in love with her.
Mack had brought her something called “recovery chicken,” which Priss had accepted after pretending to be suspicious of it for approximately six seconds.
CB had walked past Jasper’s office twice and saluted her through the glass.
Vivi had sent down a folded fleece blanket because “trauma and cats both required soft surfaces,” and Garrett, who looked like a man carved out of stone, had crouched beside Priss earlier and asked her whether she preferred salmon or tuna treats when someone made a supply run.
Priss had blinked at him, slow and regal.
Katherine had almost cried.
She bent over the letter again. Discretionary containment pending final historical determination.
“Discretionary containment,” she whispered.
Priss opened one eye.
“I know. It’s terrible language.”
The cat closed her eye again, as if terrible language was beneath her concern unless snacks were involved.
Katherine turned the page carefully. The paper was thin, faintly yellowed, and soft from age. Vance had made a note in the margin beside a reference to Caldwell, but the ink had faded enough that she had to tilt the page beneath the lamp.
Caldwell—interim review, asset D? Cinder risk not closed.
No initials. No date beyond the letter’s heading. No full name for the asset. No direct connection to Legacy Shield, which shouldn’t have existed under that name yet if Vivi’s contact was right.
Katherine’s eyes burned.
She wrote the note into her log anyway. She underlined “not closed” twice, then stared at the phrase until the ink seemed to lift off the page.
The office door opened.
She didn’t jump, which she counted as progress, but her shoulders tightened before she could stop them.
Jasper stepped in carrying a plate, a bottle of water, and an expression that told her she wasn’t going to like him for the next few minutes.
He’d changed into a black thermal and jeans sometime after lunch, but his hair was still slightly damp from whatever punishing run or shower had been necessary to keep him from putting his fist through a wall.
He looked tired, though not in the way she was tired.
Jasper’s exhaustion had edges. Hers felt like fog.
“You’re doing the thing again,” he said.
She looked down at the papers. “The thing where I work on the assignment that might keep me alive?”
“The thing where you read the same line until it blurs.”
“That’s a legitimate archival technique.”
He set the plate on the desk beside her notebook. “You’ve been awake for most of the past thirty-six hours. You’ve eaten half a biscuit, three bites of egg, two bites of a sandwich, and one piece of bacon that Priss didn’t steal.”
Katherine frowned. “That’s an alarming level of dietary surveillance.”
“I’ve been in full protection mode since someone shot at you. Dietary surveillance is included in the premium package.”
“Does the package come with fewer interruptions?”
“No.”
“Then I’d like to downgrade.”
“You don’t qualify.”
She tried to glare at him, but the attempt required more energy than she had. He noticed, because Jasper noticed everything, and some of the teasing eased from his face. “Katherine,” he said more quietly, “you’re done for a while.”
“I’m not done. I’m close.”
“To what?”
“To something.” She pushed the Vance page toward him because if she could make him see it, maybe the meaning would sharpen for her, too.
“Look at this phrase. Discretionary containment pending final historical determination. Vance uses similar phrasing around Caldwell twice, and he notes that the Cinder risk is not closed. Legacy Shield didn’t exist yet, but the language does.
Or the philosophy does. There’s a pre-program version of it here, Jasper. I know there is.”
He leaned over the page, reading quickly. His shoulder brushed hers. The contact was brief, probably accidental, and still her entire nervous system lit up like the Fourth of July. That was becoming a problem. A large one. A very inconveniently timed large problem.
“You’re probably right,” he said.
“I need to keep going.”
He gently touched her cheek where the scratch was still an ugly reminder of what had happened. “You need sleep.”
“I’ll sleep when we know who tried to kill me.”
He straightened and picked up the plate. “Your mind is not going to get more accurate if you fall asleep on a Vance letter and drool on a potential evidence item.”
“I don’t drool.”
“Everyone drools.”
Priss lifted her head and chirped as if contributing expert testimony.
Katherine pointed at her. “No one asked you.”
Jasper’s mouth curved. “She agrees with me.”
“She agrees with whoever is most likely to feed her.”
The cat was sniffing the air, locked onto the plate and the offerings on it. “She’s wise.”
“She’s a menace.”
He handed Katherine the plate. “Eat this.”
“What is it?”
“A turkey sandwich and fruit.”
“I don’t have time for this.”
“Five minutes to refuel won’t cause the world to end.”
She rubbed her forehead and hated the fact that her eyes were stinging.
“Jasper, I have less than a day before Upton expects me back at Langley. If I don’t find something concrete, I either return the papers to the people who may be burying the truth or I refuse a direct order from an Associate Deputy Director with nothing but suspicion and a half-built theory. ”
“You have a team.”
“I’m aware.”
“No, you’re not.” His voice stayed even, but he gave her a stern look. “You’re sitting in here as if the entire case rests on whether your eyes can keep focusing. All of us are working on leads. You aren’t the only person holding this up.”
The words should have comforted her. Instead, they scraped against a place inside her that had been raw since the bedroom door had splintered. “I’m the reason it’s happening.”
He sighed. “Don’t blame yourself.”
“I found the flag. I challenged the reassignment. I contacted Dr. Montgomery. I brought you into it. I moved the papers here. If I miss something—”
“If you miss something, I’ll catch it.”
“You don’t know that. You haven’t even had time to check my notes.”
“I know you aren’t responsible for the actions of the man who tried to kill you or the people who sent him. And I’m starting on your notes after this.”
She took the plate and stared down at the food, but didn’t concede the point. “That’s not how it feels.”
His silence lasted long enough that she had to look back. “No,” he said. “It usually isn’t.”
The words landed softly. He knew how responsibility could ignore logic and settle into the body anyway.
“What happened to Deacon?” she asked.
He reared back slightly. “Nothing that concerns this case. It was a long time ago.”
“I’m sick of everything being about me right now. He was your best friend. Why?”
The air left his lungs in slow exhale. “He struggled in school and his dad was an angry drunk. He beat him on the regular. That’s why we made out pact—we were joining the Navy and he was going to get as far away from his old man as possible.
When he was in a sub, miles under the water, his dad couldn’t touch him. ”
“What happened?” she repeated, softer this time.
“One night…” He swallowed, looked away. “One night, Deacon couldn’t take it anymore.
His father had gone on a bender, beat him up good.
Usually he called me and the two of us would talk for hours about what it would be like being out at sea and far away from him.
But that night”—Jasper shook his head—“I guess he’d let it slip that we were bailing the moment he turned eighteen.
His dad lost it. Deacon couldn’t take it anymore.
We were still six months from graduation and another two before he was old enough to join up. He took his own life that night.”
Katherine swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry. I know that’s not enough, but—”
Jasper raised a hand. “It’s okay. I know what it’s like to blame yourself even when it’s not your fault.
I’ve lived with guilt that I didn’t get him out of that house before it happened.
That I didn’t realize how depressed he was, how scared of his father.
” A shaky breath escaped his lips. “I’ll never not blame myself. ”
“You were just a kid.”