Chapter 2
LINDEN
Iadjusted the stacker for the thinner paper of the next batch of documents I was preparing to feed into the scanner. The new machine made my job a lot easier. It also gave me more time to daydream about the man who rescued me from tripping yesterday.
I’d been so focused on staying within the boundaries of the tarmac that I’d completely missed the most obvious thing and would’ve been in trouble if Keegan didn’t have such quick reflexes. And strong muscles.
It was too easy to remember how his large hands had gripped me. The shiver of awareness that had gone through me.
Not that I blamed myself too much since Keegan would’ve made quite an impression even if we’d met under different circumstances. His dark hair and intense green eyes were hard to forget. But it was his firm lips I kept thinking about, wondering what it would’ve felt like if he kissed me.
I’d actually thought for a moment that he’d been tempted to, which was ridiculous.
A guy like him could have any woman he wanted.
I was just a boring data archivist. As a civilian admin, pilots often overlooked me.
But it hadn’t felt that way when Keegan caught me.
It had felt like he’d missed nothing. And hadn’t been disappointed.
Shaking my head, I forced the inappropriate thought away and focused on the document in front of me. The next batch of files fed smoothly through the scanner. I monitored the digital queue while updating the spreadsheet I’d built to track my progress.
“Already?” my supervisor asked from behind me.
I glanced up to find Jim leaning against the edge of my cubicle wall. “Already what?”
“I just sent that batch over twenty minutes ago.”
“Oh, then yes. Already.” I turned my monitor slightly so he could see the screen. “I haven’t gotten far, but some 2022 logs were mixed in with the batch from 2024.”
“Good catch.” He gave me an approving smile. “You’re fast and accurate. I’m lucky you took the relocation offer. We needed someone who could untangle this mess.”
“It was good timing for me. I needed a change.” I didn’t elaborate because the grief was still too strong.
“How’re you settling in?”
“West Virginia isn’t all that different from Georgia.” I minimized the open windows on my screen and folded my hands loosely in my lap. “And I bounced around a lot growing up. Navy brat.”
“Glad to hear it.” He nodded toward my screen. “Well, keep doing what you’re doing. At this rate, we might actually finish this project ahead of schedule.”
“Will do, sir.”
He walked off, already checking his phone.
I reopened the index and continued sorting.
Digitizing records wasn’t glamorous work.
It took a lot of patience and attention to detail.
Two traits I hadn’t known I possessed until my dad pulled some strings to get me a job as a records assistant a couple of years ago.
I wouldn’t have been hired without him, but I’d made myself indispensable and moved my way up to an archivist role faster than anyone expected.
Which had been a lifesaver for me when we lost my brother a year ago. Looking at old flight logs somehow made me feel closer to Carson.
A few hours later, I fed another stack into the scanner and frowned at the one on top.
“That’s not right,” I muttered under my breath.
I pulled the sheet free and shook my head. The one under it didn’t belong with this batch either. They weren’t part of the logs I’d been working on. The headers were from 2025 instead of 2024.
Somewhere along the line, someone had mixed in records that didn’t belong. They should’ve been in the next batch I’d be working on.
I thumbed through the sheets to see how many pages were impacted, stacking them neatly beside my keyboard. Once I dug deep enough to get back to the correct year, I read through the first incorrect document.
My breath caught as a familiar name jumped out at me. A call sign I had memorized years ago from dinner table conversations and forwarded squadron photos. Merlin had flown with Carson.
I wondered if there would be more details about Carson in the files.
So I continued flipping through the pages until I reached a flight my brother had piloted.
The date stamped beside his name was one I knew by heart.
I’d never expected to be tasked with archiving documents related to the crash that cost him his life.
Unsure if I was emotionally prepared to read the details, I set it aside and picked up the next report. Only it was for the same flight.
I’d already caught some duplicate documents, but none that hit this close to home.
The process before destroying one copy was to review the information line by line to ensure it was truly identical.
It was what I’d done when I found that Merlin had two logs for the same flight. I’d found a small discrepancy and set it aside to find out which one to import later.
So I took a steadying breath and forced myself to set my brother’s reports side by side.
Everything matched until I came across one log entry stating the flight was aborted before takeoff due to a mechanical anomaly, with no injuries. If only that were true, my brother would still be alive.
The second report listed a redacted crash record, pending review. But it was marked for deletion. And it listed the flight as complete.
I stared at the words until they blurred. Neither report made sense. The only indisputable fact about flight Bravo-X was that Carson died piloting that plane.
My mind tried lining up explanations. Something administrative like a clerical error.
Neither report aligned with the mechanical failure explanation the Navy had given us. But the military protected classified information. They told families what they could live with.
Maybe Carson’s work had been top secret. It was possible that even with my dad’s clearance, he hadn’t been entitled to the full truth.
But that still didn’t explain two conflicting logs. Or why the one referencing a redacted crash report was marked for deletion. It would’ve made more sense for the other to be in error.
Leaning back in my chair, I pressed my lips together.
I knew what was expected of me as a civilian working for a defense subcontractor.
I needed to run this up the flagpole, but I wasn’t ready to ask Jim about these reports.
Not until I could look at these reports without seeing Carson instead of the data.
When the clock in the corner of my screen crept toward five, I knew I’d run out of time. I stared at the two Bravo-X logs one last time. Protocol said I should escalate discrepancies—clean data in meant clean data out.
I stood and walked down the short hallway to Jim’s office. His door was open, and he glanced up before I said anything. “Need something?”
I stepped just inside the doorway and did my best to keep my tone light. “Yes, do you happen to know which log I should keep for Bravo-X? These two versions don’t match.”
If I hadn’t been looking directly at him, I might’ve missed his reaction. His hand paused mid-motion over a stack of folders, and his expression tightened just slightly.
“Bravo-X?” he repeated.
“Yes, sir. One says aborted before takeoff. The other lists the flight as complete with a crash report pending review,” I explained. “The latter version is marked for deletion, but I wanted to confirm.”
“Must’ve been an oversight. Give the reports back to me.” His gaze moved toward his monitor. “I’ll handle it.”
“Okay, sir.” I had no reason to deny his request, but I could buy myself a little time. “I have a small stack left to scan, then I'll be ready to head home. It should only take five minutes tops, so I’ll drop them off on my way out. If that’s okay with you?”
He nodded. “That’ll do.”
I stepped back into the hallway, biting my lower lip as I made my way to my cubicle.
My father had raised us to trust our instincts, and something felt off.
My gut said that when I handed those paper copies over to my boss, I might never see either version again.
And that didn’t feel right to me. Not when they were about the flight that killed Carson.
I couldn’t have stumbled onto something this big related to his death. That seemed impossible. I was probably overthinking the whole thing, and it was just an administrative error that didn’t warrant extra scrutiny.
Or Jim had requested the copies because he planned to look into it.
Either way, I included both versions in the small stack of reports I scanned, making a mental note of where they were saved. I had scanned thousands of pages today alone, so it was easy to bury these inside a folder nobody would ever look twice at. Except me.
Then I packed up my things and stopped at Jim’s office to drop off the reports. “Here you go.”
He took the documents from me, scanning the one on top before lifting his carefully blank gaze to me. “Holbrook.” It was a statement, so I wasn’t sure how to respond.
Before I could reply, he waved toward the door and turned back to his computer, effectively dismissing me.
I stopped by the employee break room to grab my lunch leftovers before heading out to my car, wondering about his use of my last name since he'd only ever called me Linden before.
The parking lot lights hadn’t fully kicked on yet, and halfway down the second row, I felt a subtle prickle between my shoulder blades. The unmistakable awareness of being watched.
I kept going, forcing myself not to look until I reached my car. A man stood near the far edge of the lot, partially obscured by a truck. All I could make out was that he had his phone in his hand.
He could’ve been waiting for someone or scrolling through emails. There were a dozen reasonable explanations.
But that didn’t stop me from getting in my car faster than usual, locking the doors right away, and driving ten over the speed limit all the way home.