Chapter 11
“I need to get you to safety. No way this ends well for us together.”
Resentment jolted Sarah at Griff’s self-assured tone.
His harsh assessment made her eyes sting. Not that she’d let him know it. She blinked hard, hoping the reflection in her glasses would hide her reaction.
"Knight Tactical’s got a million safe houses.” He went on, oblivious to her rising anger. “Medical care for your ankle, secure communications, full protection. I can get you there without being tracked. My team will—"
"No."
The word came out sharper than she intended. Griff cocked his head, clearly not expecting immediate resistance.
"This isn't a discussion," he said, but she caught the slight uncertainty. "You need proper medical attention, secure facilities—"
"I need answers." Sarah shifted to face him fully, ignoring the twinge in her ankle. "This is my investigation. My case. Someone tried to kill me over it."
"Exactly why you need protection."
"Your team's protection?" She grabbed his phone from where he'd set it down, showing him his own dark web intel. "The team that's under surveillance? The one you won't contact because it's too dangerous?"
His jaw tightened. "They can handle—"
"Handle what, exactly? Me showing up at their door alone?" Sarah let that sink in. "Hi, I'm Sarah, Griff sent me but he's not coming, can't tell you where he is, also we're all being watched. How does that play out?"
"They'd protect you."
"And Stillwater would know immediately you're alive, that you sent me, and that I know something worth protecting." She stood, testing her weight on the bad ankle. "I become bait the second I surface without you."
"You're already bait."
"Exactly. So let's think tactically. Option one: I go to your team. Stillwater sees this, knows you're operational and hunting them. They either grab me for leverage or hit your entire team to flush you out."
Griff's expression darkened but he didn't interrupt.
"Option two: I try to disappear alone. How long do I last? A day? Two? I'm a forensic accountant, not Jason Bourne."
"Option three," Griff said evenly, "I get you into witness protection—"
"Through what agency? The FBI that sent me here to die? The Marshal Service that might also be compromised?" Sarah shook her head. "You said it yourself—we don't know how deep this goes."
She saw him running scenarios, working through possibilities. Time to close the deal.
"Or option four," she said quietly. "We stay dark together. Two people they don't expect to be working as a team. You need what's in my head—the financial trails, the patterns I've found. I need your tactical expertise to stay alive long enough to use it."
"You're a civilian."
"I'm a federal agent with the highest clearance levels for financial intelligence." She met his stare steadily. "I've already proven I can handle myself under pressure."
"That's not—"
She played her last card. "You've been alone for months, carrying this. Tank's death, the conspiracy, all of it. Maybe you need someone who expects you to live through this, not die for it."
That landed. She saw it in the way his shoulders tensed.
"You don't understand what you're signing up for," he said, but the argument had lost its edge.
"Then explain it to me. Make me understand." She stepped closer, ignoring her ankle's protest. "But don't make decisions for me. Not about my own life."
The silence stretched between them. Sarah could see him weighing options, calculating risks. Finally, his shoulders dropped a fraction.
"If you stay, we do this my way on anything tactical."
"And my way on anything financial."
"You follow orders when it's about survival."
"And you follow my lead when it's about the money trail."
He studied her for a long moment. "You realize what you're choosing? No contact with anyone. No safety net. No calling for help if things go wrong."
"Things have already gone wrong." Sarah touched her cross pendant, drawing strength from it. "My life as I knew it ended the moment that SUV rolled up to my door. At least this way, I get to fight back."
Another long silence. Then Griff nodded slowly.
"Partners?" She extended her hand.
He looked at her hand, then at her face. "You're going to be a problem, aren't you?"
"Absolutely."
The ghost of a smile crossed his face as he shook her hand.
"Speaking of problems," Sarah said, still squeezing his hand. "We need to discuss you making unilateral decisions. Like throwing away my phone without telling me."
"That phone was—"
"A liability. Agreed. But next time we discuss it first."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're already making demands?"
"Partnership requires communication." She released his hand, trying to ignore how warm and solid it had felt. "Equal partnership means no more surprises."
"Fine. No more unilateral decisions." He paused. "Within reason."
"Define reason."
"Imminent death scenarios void the consultation requirement."
Despite everything, she laughed. "Fair enough."
He rubbed a hand through his short hair, his expression a mix of consternation and humor. “Alrighty. Let’s see what you brought, Super Spy.”
Yeah. This wasn’t going to impress. She limped to the couch. Time to face the evidence. She unzipped it, pulling the bag wide. Portable drives cascaded out like digital dominoes.
"You packed THREE laptops?" Griff's voice climbed toward the ceiling.
"Hello? Redundancy." The words tumbled out defensive and sharp. "Different operating systems, encrypted partitions, backup protocols—"
"What about food?" He stared at the electronic mountain. "Warm clothes? Shoes that don't require duct tape?"
He peered over her shoulder. The warmth from his body hit her. Hard.
"They’re fabulous boots!"
"For sidewalks."
The reminder hit like ice water. Her life—her real life—was gone. Vaporized.
His phone buzzed. He glanced down, and she caught him fighting a smile.
She sidled closer, reading over his shoulder. "You tossed my phone. I have to read something."
To her surprise, he didn't angle the screen away. A long group text lit up the screen.
Axel: Someone filled my truck with packing peanuts.
Zara: Allegedly.
Axel: I'm SWIMMING in foam. SWIMMING.
Izzy: Video or it didn't happen.
Axel: [sends video of him waist-deep in packing peanuts]
Kenji: Z, THAT WAS YOU??
"Who's Finn?" Sarah asked, watching another name appear.
"Hacker. Former bad guy. Now on our side." Griff's tone was casual, but she heard the fondness. "Recent addition to the team."
Finn: That's my girl. Hypothetically. If she did it. Which she didn't.
"Dating someone who fills trucks with packing peanuts?"
"Allegedly." Definitely fighting that smile now.
"You miss them."
The walls slammed back up. He pocketed the device. "I'm protecting them. That's why I'm here instead of there."
Pain flashed across his features before he could hide it. Whatever had driven him from these people was destroying him by inches.
She wanted to push, to understand, but something in his expression warned her off. Instead, she turned back to her laptops.
"Money doesn't disappear," Sarah said, her fingers hovering over the keyboard, ready to dive in. "It changes shape. And every transformation leaves fingerprints. I already figured out that someone’s siphoning off big bucks from government accounts. My bet is whoever’s doing it uses the funds to pay Stillwater, among other things. I just need to prove it."
He made a satisfied sound. “So ‘Follow the money’ is a real thing.”
“Yup. It’s almost always the right answer. Never bet against greed.”
She could feel Griff watching her, that intense focus that probably kept people alive in combat zones now directed at understanding her work.
"The FBI trained you well," he said.
"Business school trained me. The FBI taught me to follow rules. You're about to see what happens when I break them."
The familiar weight of her laptop grounded her. This was her battlefield, her weapon of choice. While Griff dealt in bullets and tactical maneuvers, she dealt in numbers and digital breadcrumbs. Equally lethal when properly deployed.
"First, I need the WIFI password," she said, clicking on the network icon. "Garofalo must have—"
Her screen showed exactly what she'd feared: No networks available.
"There's no WIFI?" She checked her other laptops. Same result. "But the security systems are running. There has to be a network infrastructure."
"Closed circuit," Griff confirmed. "Hardwired only. No wireless signals to intercept—smart for someone paranoid about surveillance." He reached for his go-bag. "But I've got a workaround."
He pulled out a device that looked like a cross between a satellite phone and a small laptop. "Military-grade satellite internet. Completely untraceable if you know what you're doing."
Sarah's eyes widened. "You carry military satellite internet?"
"Never leave home without it." He began setting up the portable system. "Fair warning—this draws attention if anyone's specifically looking. But with the right encryption protocols..."
"We become ghosts in the machine." Sarah was already examining the device, her fingers tracing the connections. "Quantum encryption?"
"Among other things." He powered up the system. "Sessions need to be short. Even with encryption, patterns emerge."
The connection established with a soft ping. Sarah's fingers immediately flew across her keyboard, establishing secure tunnels, bouncing signals through proxies she'd memorized years ago.
"There," she breathed, pulling up her first banking portal. "Now we're really hunting."
Time to show this hardened SEAL exactly what kind of partner he'd acquired.
She cracked her knuckles and dove into the data streams, following money trails that had been cold for days but might still leave echoes in the system. Somewhere in these numbers was the answer to who wanted her dead.
And with Griff's military-grade connection and her expertise, she was going to find it.