Chương 7
Because he did.
“I did not choose you.”
The words landed harder than I expected.
“What does that mean?”
“It means someone else did.”
The monitor beside him continued its steady rhythm.
My heartbeat did not.
“Someone else chose me for what?”
Cole looked at Whitmore.
Then Hayes.
Then back at me.
“I do not know.”
I almost laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because I was running out of reactions.
“You are telling me a dead man left a warning in my apartment, someone accessed my personnel file, two men attacked you, and somehow I am involved, but the colonel in the middle of all of it does not know why?”
“I know it sounds impossible.”
“It sounds like everyone knows more than I do.”
Cole did not argue.
That bothered me more.
Most people defended themselves when accused.
He accepted the accusation.
“Tell me the truth,” I said.
A nurse passed outside the room.
The door remained closed.
Everyone inside waited until her footsteps disappeared.
Cole lowered his voice.
“The truth is that I was trying to find out who was leaking information from inside our organization.”
“And?”
“And I found evidence that someone had access to records they should not have had.”
“About Daniel Reeves?”
“About Daniel.”
“About you?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“About me?”
Another pause.
Longer.
That one hurt.
I did not know why.
Maybe because I had spent years believing that if I stayed professional enough, worked hard enough, and avoided unnecessary attention, I could keep my life simple.
Apparently, someone had decided otherwise.
“What does my file have to do with this?”
Cole looked at the floor.
“I do not know.”
I stared at him.
“That answer is becoming a problem.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I do.”
His honesty was frustrating.
It would have been easier if he was arrogant.
Easier if he acted like he had everything under control.
Instead, he looked like someone who had spent months chasing a problem and finally realized the problem had been chasing him too.
Whitmore stood.
“We need to discuss this somewhere else.”
“No,” I said.
She looked at me.
“No?”
“No.”
I pointed toward Cole.
“He is the reason I am here.”
“Lieutenant.”
“No.”
My voice was sharper than I intended.
Everyone noticed.
I noticed.
“I am tired of being moved around while people explain half the truth.”
Whitmore watched me carefully.
I expected anger.
Instead, I saw understanding.
That almost made me more uncomfortable.
“You are right,” she said.
The agreement surprised me.
“We should have brought you in earlier.”
Hayes looked at her.
“Sarah.”
“She deserves to know.”
Cole looked at Whitmore.
“Not everything.”
“Not everything,” she agreed.
“But enough.”
I looked at Cole.
“What happened to Daniel Reeves?”
Cole was quiet for several seconds.
Then he answered.
“Daniel found a pattern.”
“What pattern?”
“Names.”
“Whose names?”
“People who were supposed to be unrelated.”
I waited.
“He found connections between contractors, officers, and civilian organizations that should not have existed.”
“Corruption?”
“I do not know.”
That surprised me.
“You were investigating something for months and you do not know what it was?”
“I know something was wrong.”
His eyes met mine.
“I do not know how deep it went.”
That was a more honest answer than I expected.
I sat in the chair across from him.
My anger was still there.
So was my suspicion.
But underneath both was something else.
A feeling I did not like.
Pity.
Not because he was injured.
Because he looked exhausted.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
“Why did Daniel’s note end up in my apartment?”
Cole looked at the paper.
“I do not know.”
I leaned forward.
“Then tell me something you do know.”
He was silent.
Then he said, “Daniel trusted very few people.”
“That is not useful.”
“He had a system.”
“What system?”
“If something happened to him, information would be released gradually.”
“Released to who?”
“I do not know.”
“That is impossible.”
“No.”
Cole shook his head.
“That is exactly the problem.”
He looked at the paper.
“Daniel did not trust institutions anymore.”
The statement created another silence.
Because everyone in the room understood the meaning.
People who stopped trusting systems usually did not do it because they were naturally suspicious.
They did it because something had happened.
Something that changed them.
I thought about the note.
DO NOT TRUST COLE.
“Maybe Daniel was warning me because he knew something about you.”
Cole nodded.
“Yes.”
The answer surprised me.
“You are not going to deny it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Daniel had reasons to question me.”
Whitmore looked at him sharply.
“Jonathan.”
“He was right to.”
Nobody expected that.
Not even her.
“What are you saying?” I asked.
Cole looked at the ceiling.
“Six months ago, Daniel found evidence that someone inside our investigation team had compromised information.”
“Someone on your team?”
“Yes.”
“Was it you?”
The question hung there.
A weaker person might have been offended.
Cole only looked tired.
“No.”
The answer was quiet.
Not defensive.
Not angry.
Just certain.
I believed that he believed it.
That was not the same as trusting him.
I had learned the difference.
Before I could respond, Hayes’s phone vibrated.
He looked at the screen.
The color left his face.
“What is it?” Whitmore asked.
He did not answer immediately.
Then he turned the phone around.
A message had arrived from an unknown number.
Only one sentence.
Nobody in the room spoke after reading it.
Because the message was not a threat.
It was a location.
And the location was my apartment.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
The message remained on Hayes’s phone screen.
A simple address.
My address.
The same apartment I had left less than an hour earlier.
The same place where someone had entered without permission and left a warning that had started this entire nightmare.
Whitmore reached for the phone.
“Do not respond.”
Hayes handed it over.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good.”
She studied the message.
No number.
May you like
No name.
No explanation.
