Chương 10
“Calvin.”
Kayla whispered, “Why?”
Pamela shook her head.
“I don’t know yet.”
The door opened again.
Mercer returned with Collins.
Pamela told them about the maintenance ticket.
Collins immediately took out his notebook.
“Can someone else close those tickets?”
Pamela nodded.
“Certain salaried managers can.”
“But this one was closed under his login?”
“Yes.”
“Can logins be shared?”
“They’re not supposed to be.”
Mercer said, “Supposed to be isn’t the same as can’t.”
“No.”
Pamela pressed her fingers to her forehead.
“People sometimes stay logged in on office computers.”
“So we don’t assume Calvin did it until the system history is reviewed.”
“Correct.”
That small restraint mattered.
It reminded me how quickly suspicion could become certainty when people were angry.
I was angry enough to want certainty.
That made it dangerous.
Collins documented Kayla’s messages.
She signed a consent form allowing the screenshots to be photographed and copied.
Mercer asked her a few questions about Derek’s contact and stopped whenever she needed time.
He never asked why she had not reported sooner.
I noticed that.
Afterward, Pamela walked Kayla to the break room to get her jacket and purse.
Collins went back outside.
Mercer and I were alone.
He closed the door but did not sit.
“You should have told me you were here.”
I looked at him.
“That has nothing to do with tonight.”
“It has everything to do with tonight for me.”
“That doesn’t make it relevant.”
His jaw tightened.
“You disappeared.”
“I moved.”
“You changed your number.”
“Yes.”
“You left no forwarding information.”
“That was deliberate.”
“I know.”
He looked toward the teamwork poster.
“I spent six months trying to figure out whether you were dead.”
I stared at him.
“That sounds like your problem.”
His face went still.
The cruelty landed exactly where I meant it to.
I hated myself for that immediately.
He nodded once.
“Fair enough.”
“No.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“It wasn’t.”
He said nothing.
“I didn’t want anyone finding me.”
“I figured that out.”
“I mean anyone.”
“I know.”
“You especially.”
That hurt him.
I could see it.
He did not pretend otherwise.
“Why?”
The office seemed too small.
I looked at the sink.
The paper cup I had crushed sat in the trash.
“I blamed you.”
“For what?”
I laughed once.
“You know.”
“No.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Morgan, I have spent six years guessing.”
His voice stayed low.
“I’d like to stop guessing.”
I looked at his hands.
His left thumb still had the habit of rubbing the edge of his wedding ring when he was tense.
Then I noticed there was no ring.
Only a pale groove.
I looked away before he caught me noticing.
“You made the call to hold position.”
His face changed.
There it was.
The old building.
The courtyard.
The radio traffic.
Aaron’s voice.
Mercer said, “Yes.”
“Three minutes.”
“Yes.”
“Three minutes was enough.”
His shoulders sank slightly.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I counted them every night for two years.”
The answer stopped me.
He looked at the floor.
“Then every week.”
His voice roughened.
“Then less often.”
I could not speak.
He continued.
“I gave the order because moving would have exposed the evacuation route.”
“I know why.”
“Do you?”
“I read the report.”
“The report wasn’t why.”
“Then what was?”
He looked at me.
“Because I was afraid.”
I stared at him.
Mercer swallowed.
“I thought if I moved the team, I would lose everyone in that corridor.”
His voice dropped.
“So I waited.”
“You made the correct tactical decision.”
“That doesn’t make it clean.”
“No.”
“No.”
For six years I had imagined him certain.
Cold.
Professional.
The man who made the calculation and lived with it.
I had needed him to be that man.
It had been easier to hate certainty than to forgive fear.
A knock sounded.
Pamela opened the door halfway.
“Morgan.”
Her face told me the night had found another direction to turn.
“What now?”
“They pulled the access history from the maintenance system.”
I stood.
Pamela looked at Mercer.
“The camera ticket wasn’t just closed under Calvin’s login.”
She swallowed.
“It was closed from the computer in his office.”
Mercer’s expression hardened.
Pamela continued.
“And fifteen minutes later, someone used that same workstation to open Morgan’s employee profile and view her emergency contact information.”
For one second, I could not understand why anyone would care about my emergency contact information.
Then I remembered what was in that field.
Nobody.
Pamela watched my face.
“What does your profile list?”
“Nothing current.”
Mercer looked at her.
“Is that unusual?”
“Not necessarily.”
Pamela shifted her weight.
“Employees sometimes leave an old contact in place, or no contact at all.”
Mine had once listed my sister in Ohio.
I removed her four years ago after she stopped answering my calls.
That story had nothing to do with Derek.
It still hurt.
“What exactly was accessed?” Mercer asked.
Pamela checked her phone.
“Employee profile, emergency contact section, home address, and schedule history.”
The room seemed to contract.
“My address?”
“Yes.”
I stood so quickly the chair scraped backward.
Mercer moved toward me.
I held up a hand.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
Pamela said, “We don’t know who was at the workstation.”
“I do.”
“Morgan.”
“Calvin.”
“We don’t know that yet.”
“He was already giving Derek information.”
“Yes.”
“He closed the camera ticket.”
“We have evidence his login was used from his office.”
I stared at her.
She did not look away.
“That distinction matters.”
I hated that she was right.
Mercer said, “Was there camera coverage inside the manager’s office?”
Pamela shook her head.
“Not inside.”
“Hallway?”
“Yes.”
“Preserve it.”
“Corporate already is.”
Mercer took out his phone and stepped toward the corner.
I heard him ask dispatch for a unit to drive past my address.
That made something inside me tighten more than anything else had.
“No.”
He turned.
“What?”
“No patrol car at my house.”
“Morgan.”
“I have neighbors.”
May you like
“That is generally how neighborhoods work.”
“I don’t want lights in front of my place.”
