Page 67 of How to Play the Player

The list is shorter than I anticipated. Jonathan, Nathan, and Jake definitely knew about the NorthStar deal. And I only knew because Nathan told me. Kiera likely heard of it because she works closely with her fiancé. Marco wouldn’t have known about anything, other than wedding details. Every person I think about as I mentally go down the list for the tenth time just doesn’t seem right for the crime.

I’m so absorbed in my work that I almost don’t hear the knock at first. I look up to see Nathan through the glass panel of my door, holding a cardboard tray of coffee in one hand and a pink box in the other. A large bag hangs from his wrist.

My heart does a complex little flip that I immediately try to suppress. This is business, I remind myself. We’re working together to solve a problem, nothing more. What will happen afterward is another bridge I don’t plan to cross until I have to.

“Come in,” I call, straightening involuntarily.

Nathan pushes the door open with his shoulder, the familiar scent of coffee and something sweet filling the small space. He looks better; not as tired. The dark circles under his eyes have begun to subtly subside. Overall, there’s a determined energy about him.

“Morning,” he says, setting the coffee tray and box on my desk. “I figured we could both use the caffeine. And sugar never hurts when trying to solve mysteries.”

I can’t help but tease him. “Spoken like someone who watched too manyScooby-Dooepisodes as a kid.”

He plays along. “Jinkies!”

I let out a small giggle before turning serious again. “Thank you.”

I accept the vanilla latte he slides toward me—he still remembers my order, an extra shot and light on the foam. That shouldn’t matter, and neither should the fact he made me laugh, yet they do.

He sets down the shopping bag and pulls up a chair. “I’ve been going over the security footage again. Still can’t get a good look at her face, so I’m having Scott work on enhancing what we have.”

I nod, opening my laptop again only for the screen to go dark. Again. “You have to be shitting me. Not again.”

“Before we go on swearing like sailors…” He places the large bag on my desk and pulls out whatever is inside. “I brought you this.” He shows me a sleek laptop box. “If we’re going to investigate, we’ll need two functioning computers.”

I stare at the brand-new laptop, look up at him, then look back at the device again, hesitating. “Nathan, I can’t?—”

“Yes, you can,” he interrupts. “Consider it a tool for the job or a small step toward making amends. Either way, we need it. You need it.”

He isn’t wrong. And his directness makes it harder to refuse. He’s just about pointed out every reason I need a new laptop. Rejecting it would be a disservice to myself, especially when I need one now.

“Okay,” I concede. “But only because it’s for the investigation.”

As he unpacks the laptop with methodical precision, I slide my notepad toward him. “I’ve been working on a list of who had or could’ve had access to both sets of information and potential motives.”

His brows furrow in concentration as he scans the names. “Short list. Not surprising. I came to the same conclusion too.”

“I wondered.” I breathe out a long sigh. “I keep having this feeling there’s a connection we’re missing. What if there’s another person we haven’t considered?”

“Who are you suggesting?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Haven’t gotten that far. But one thing is for sure, these attacks feel personal.”

“That text message I received certainly did feel that way,” he agrees.

I reach for a donut, suddenly needing comfort food. “Let’s think outside the box. Is there anyone that comes to mind to you who’d benefit from either event?”

“Besides Knight Industries’ competitors? Hard to say.”

“Same here.”

We fall into contemplative silence as Nathan continues setting up the new laptop. The machine whirs to life with none of the painful delays I’ve grown accustomed to. My old laptop sits beside it, the screen dark again despite being plugged in.

Nathan frowns at my old computer, his expression shifting from concentration to something that looks more like he’s solving a puzzle. He taps a few keys, and to my surprise, the screen flickers back to life.

“How’d you do that?” I ask. “I’ve been wrestling with that thing for months.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, his attention focused on my laptop’s display. I notice his posture change subtly. His shoulders tensing, eyes narrowing, his whole demeanor becoming more alert.

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