“You don’t mind staying tonight, do you?”

“Staying tonight?” Matthias looked over a row of Sentry computers.

Mr. Geffen arched his eyebrows, waiting for his response.

“You want me to . . . go through everyone tonight?”

“Sorry, but we’re on a really tight schedule. Would that be okay, or . . .?”

Matthias knew he’d have to do it at some point, snoop through all their employees’ activity records. But on his first night? There was already so much on his mind, so much new information to digest. And then there was Ernesto’s mission tonight. He’d wanted to tag along. But, apparently, Matthias had his own, less glamorous mission to complete.

“Might as well just get it over with,” Matthias said, clicking off the screen he’d been on and then opening up a new one.

“Yes,” Geffen said. “Thanks. Anything you need, just come ask. I’ll be staying late for a bit, too.”

What Matthias needed was something a little more challenging, and rewarding, and not so contemptible as spying through everyone’s work. Especially Laurel’s. He didn’t even want to think about that aspect of it. But she was, somehow, and so unfortunately for him, suspect number one. Maybe he’d save hers for last.

As he began opening up the file on the first suspect, er, employee, he thought again of Laurel and how difficult it would be to pry into her work. Maybe he’d feel the same about any of the other employees if he had known them. But it went beyond that. And he’d definitely gone beyond getting to know her. Through their wild night of lust and fantasy, and even today when they’d had to face the gritty reality of their situation in the full light of day, a connection had been made. A bond that he wasn’t sure he could break, mission or not. It was Jackson’s worst nightmare, his operative getting in bed with the potential enemy, Sentry’s potential leak, and potential accomplice to the murder of an FBI agent. Then again, it wasn’t as if he could really argue the point. Not after Mira. Carly too, and Fiona. Matthias grinned. Jackson was going to lose his mind if he hooked up with a mission target, too.

He hunkered down at the workstation. Through his special access he could see virtually every major action an employee took. They were broken down into subject categories and segments of time. By the minute, hour, day, week. He could see every workspace they had logged on to, every website visited, every piece of entered code. He could even see their individual keystrokes if he’d want to get that specific. The company had implemented a keylogger that had, with the accuracy of a security camera, saved everyone’s activity to the key. Whether or not the Sentry employees knew it, the keylogger was like a security camera pointed at every desk, recording every action no matter how useful or absolutely benign.

The only problem was that these were hackers he was dealing with. Not just some regular old employees at a real-estate insurance company. If someone really wanted to do anything away from the camera’s all-seeing-eye, there were any number of black hat options. Mr. Geffen knew this too, hence their need for DARC Ops specialty. Someone like Laurel—or at least, whoever the talented leak was—needed a fellow expert to catch her, or him, in the act.

Several times, Matthias was tempted to skip right to her activity log. The anticipation had been building with each name he’d checked off the list, with each increase in the odds that the leak, if there was one, was her. But she was still in the building. Could he risk rummaging into her file while she was still there? Maybe. But perhaps the more important question: could he get over the ethics of it?

He had gone through three whole logs, scratching off three names from the list, when he decided he couldn’t wait any longer. Matthias hastily exited the current employee page and went back to the list to find Laurel. He was acting on impulse, on a nagging drive that urged him to click on her name, type in a code, and then open up a huge spreadsheet of her data. As he began to read the words, Matthias could almost hear her voice in his head. And then in his ear.

“Hey, Matt?”

He startled and frantically closed the work window, and his body’s sudden jerkiness seemed to take her by surprise. But of course . . . Matthias knew that she was used to the graceful dancer. Not the frenetic fidgeting of a lying sneak.

“What’s up?” he said, opening up a web browser.

“What were you just doing?”

“Uh, nothing, just looking through someone’s work.”

“Mine?”

He laughed. “Yeah. It looks good.”

But she was still looking serious. “Are you seriously looking through my work?”

“I’m looking into AIDA. I don’t know why I closed my window down like that, it’s kind of a bad habit. A natural reaction.”

She smiled. And he was instantly relieved.

“It was porn, wasn’t it?”

“No,” he said, turning his chair to her, looking her up and down, trying not to imagine her naked. “I don’t think I’ll need porn ever again.”

Laurel smiled and averted her eyes, a slight flush coming over her cheeks. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

“I guess so.”

“Okay, so anyway . . . Um, well this is a terribly timed segue, but, uh . . .” Her eyes returned to his, her lip sucked in, her hips swiveling self-consciously. “I was just gonna ask if you wanted to hang out tonight?”

“Hang out?’

“Like, work.”

“Work out?”

She laughed. “Work on the AIDA hack.”

“Oh, right.” He’d want nothing more than to spend time with her again, whether it was working out or hanging out, or working on a hack. But there was this Sentry work, and there was the possibility that Ernie would call to invite him to his mission. And then came the sudden panic, an uncertainty of how to say no to her invitation, and to do so without hurting her feelings. Though it was ridiculous, having to feel that way about a simple decline . . . She’d made him so neurotic.

Laurel had been staring at him while these thoughts raced through his mind. Her smile had disappeared and now it was almost a look of fear. She didn’t want to be turned down. And he’d hate to do it.

“I think I really have to stay tonight,” he said with a wince. “I have to work on some things, make some reports for Washington.”

“Oh,” she shrugged, staring at the ground. “Yeah . . . Well, it’s okay.”

“But trust me, I’d rather be with you.”

She smiled. “I bet.”

“I really would.”

“I know.”

“You’ll be here tomorrow, right?”

Laurel rolled her eyes. “And the day after that and after that and . . . yeah.”

“Well, good.”

“Not really,” she said.

“Good as in, we’ll get to work on the hack tomorrow. Do you have any time slots free?”

“I can make some.”

He smiled.

But now her face had hardened back to that managerial scowl of an office drone. “Because we really need to get going on that. The deadline . . .”

“Of course.”

She nodded, then stared at him for a moment before saying, “Bye, Matthias.”

The way she said Matthias, and not Matt, sent a chill down his spine.

“Bye, Laurel.”

Matthias returned to work, albeit on different employees, for the duration of Laurel’s stay at the office—about ten minutes of packing up and leaving without another goodbye. He waited for good measure, taking on other employees in the now silent office. She was the last remaining employee, aside from the two men running the show, Geffen and Andre. And through half of the names so far, everyone had seemed to check out. It became increasingly boring, with each clean activity log. It had always been tedious work, going through the actions and the dates and times, but now it had taken on a certain silliness. It was a little hard to imagine that he was even there, in Atlanta of all places, checking through files like he was just another bean counter. As he clicked on files and read through little lines of text, his mind began to wonder over to the industrial wasteland of the Southern Dragons’ territory, to Ernesto’s car waiting in the weeds somewhere. Of Ernesto, this time with backup, creeping through the weeds with their high-tech listening instruments, approaching the biker compound.

“How’s it going, Matthias?”

He turned to see Mr. Andre.

“Sorry to bother you. But I was wondering if you got on to Laurel’s file yet? I’m kinda anxious about that.”

“Well, she was just here, so . . .”

“So what?” said Mr. Andre, his face finally easing into a smile.

Matthias returned to his computer screen and clicked onto her file. “I’ll let you know.”

“Don’t kill yourself over it,” said Mr. Andre. “I’d just like to cross her name off the list. She’s a pretty important cog here.”

Matthias hated how he used the term “cog,” like she was some dispensable nobody, another brick in the wall. “That’s right,” he said. “She’s managing the AIDA project, correct?”

Just a little reminder for Mr. Andre.

“That was out of our hands,” he said. “And it’s assistant manager.”

Matthias nodded and kept working. Out the corner of his eye he saw Mr. Geffen appear. He walked up to Andre and whispered into his ear before they both left the room.

It seemed like he had no choice but to get started on her, all the people and circumstances and stars aligning to move him in that one single direction—to betray the trust of his new friend.

As he entered her work history, he tried rationalizing it in his mind, trying to find a way to convince himself that it was just another mission. And that it was up to Laurel to keep her nose clean at work. That’s all there was to it. And then he came to the frightening realization that, if she had indeed been the leak, he would have to cease contact—for sure the after-hours contact. Unless it was part of some investigation, he’d no longer have any extracurricular work sessions, especially dates.

The confusion of it put knots in his stomach, the worries of how to let her down gently after their relationship started burning so fast and hot. But for any of that to happen, he would have to find some horrible clue on her personal workspace—something he assumed, or at least hoped, would not happen.

And when he did, stumbling across an odd series of data packet transfers, he nearly threw up in his mouth.

The transaction was dated two weeks before. A set of files going out to an unfamiliar recipient. Matthias forced himself to delve deeper, to inspect and read the files, confirming that it definitely had something to do with the FBI’s tracking encryption.

They were of such high security importance that he should know the recipient. Better yet, the files maybe shouldn’t have been sent at all. But these were sent out, in a batch, late at night on Thursday. From the office, and going to . . .

As best as he could understand, so far, the files had been sent to a location in Gainesville, Georgia.

Each click and each closer inspection brought him closer to the possible horrific truth that Laurel had indeed been the leak. The criminal. Already his brain began wondering, thinking about what type of incoming file or email to look for that would signify a type of cooperation, a deal, or perhaps, if she was stupid enough, a payback. But she was probably too smart for that.

Then again, she wasn’t smart enough not to do this.

Matthias couldn’t skip any steps. He had to be methodical and non-emotional. He couldn’t harbor any prejudice or come to any early conclusions. The question now was when would he notify Mr. Geffen. And what would he say?

No. Not yet. He’d have to be absolutely sure about what he was looking at. Any mistake there could be fatal, not only for her career, but for their . . . relationship . . .

But no, she couldn’t have done this. She must have been set up. Someone local at Sentry logging onto her account and doing the deed of the shady file transfer. Yes, of course that was it. Someone else. Someone other than his smart, sexy, southern belle. His perfect mate.

Yes, someone else.

To explore that scenario, he’d have to look at the activity signature of the user, a digital fingerprint which takes the minute characteristics of how one uses their computer and ties it into one of the thirty-seven employee profiles. And for that, he would have to talk to one of the two big boys.

He found one of them, Mr. Andre, whom he liked considerably less than the CEO, Mr. Geffen. He was hunched over the document shredder, and when he saw Matthias, his back stiffened as if he’d tried standing taller, competing. They were roughly the same height, but Matthias clearly had the edge—without tip-toeing or posturing.

“Need anything?” said Andre. His tone was cool, definitely managerial, his inflection and word choice making it clear that the conversation was decidedly unwelcome while he was shredding his documents.

“I might have found something, but I—”

“Who is it?” Andre interrupted.

“But I’m not sure what I’m looking at until I can get deeper access.”

“For who?”

Matthias hadn’t expected him to be so insistent, and couldn’t immediately think of a way to deflect the question.

“You’re holdin’ out on me?” Mr. Andre said. “You’re trying to wait me out for the access?”

“It’s not worth mentioning yet.”

“Sure it’s not.”

“I’d like to be able to access the activity signature so I can be sure.”

There was a flash of panic through Andre’s eyes, followed by a glazed-over calm.

“So could I have access?”

“I’m not sure if I can do that,” Mr. Andre turned away from the shredder and leaned back against it. “No, sir, I do not think I can do that for you. That goes into some very . . . sensitive areas.”

“Don’t you want me to investigate this?”

“Didn’t we tell you to take it easy?”

“Mr. Geffen also insisted that I start tonight.”

He smiled. “It’s Laurel, ain’t it?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure,” he said with disgust. “Well, what are ya sure of?”

Matthias didn’t say anything.

“Besides wanting the deeper access.”

“Hey, if you can’t trust me . . .”

“I trust you fine,” Andre said. “It’s just part of our policy, to our shareholders. To not give away certain secrets. Especially to Yankees.”

“What about your Yankee CEO?”

Mr. Andre smiled, but it looked forced and tight. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Is he here?”

“Right now?”

“Yeah.”

“No. I mean, he’s here but he’s not. He’s tied up right now with the head office.”

“I thought this was the head office.”

“We’ve got people that we answer to. As I’ve previously mentioned.”

“The shareholders?” asked Matthias.

“Well . . .” He tilted his head from shoulder to shoulder as he spoke. “The shareholders, the investors, you know, people that might not be comfortable with you rooting around too deep. We’ve got to walk a fine line with you.”

“Due diligence, huh?”

“You said it, mister.”

Shit. He’d made a huge mistake talking to Andre at all.