Page 40 of Raven

I hesitated—because I didn’t have hard proof, just that cold-blooded certainty that something wasoff. “It’s Beatrice. Something’s not right. I haven’t heard from her in a week, and she’s got someone at that firehouse I don’t trust. Fire Marshal, Katherine something.”

“Katherine Laurent?”

“That’s the one.”

Another pause. “You want me to run her?”

“Quietly. She’s smart. She’s got a temper wrapped in sugar, and Beatrice thinks she’s hiding something. I think so too.”

Sean exhaled. “You think she’s dirty?”

“I think she’s dangerous.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, watching the sunrise burn red through the windows of the airfield.

“I’ve seen what that look on Beatrice’s face means,” I said. “She’s scared. She won’t say it, but she is. And if I’m not there to watch her back…”

“You’ll hate yourself,” he finished quietly.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.

“Alright,” Sean said, already typing. “You’ll be wheels up in an hour. I’m pulling favors to move your schedule.”

“I appreciate it.”

“One more thing,” he added. “I’ll get the Golden Team on standby. If this gets messy, I want someone watching your back.”

“Copy that.”

As I hung up, I caught my reflection in the dark glass. Tired eyes. Jaw clenched. A man trying not to panic.

But if anything happened to Beatrice before I got back…

God help whoever was responsible.

22

Beatrice

I waited until lunch.

Katherine had gone out to meet with a city inspector—something about a safety review on a new apartment complex. She left with a chipper tone and a coffee in hand, like she hadn’t looked through me all morning, like she was planning something.

The second the door closed behind her, I pulled out the thumb drive from my jacket pocket and slid it into my personal laptop, tucked deep in the bottom drawer of my desk. I had twenty minutes, maybe less.

I opened a secure messaging app Raven had installed for me a few months ago, one he swore couldn’t be traced.

TO: Cyclone

Subject: Need your eyes on this—quietly.

Hey, it’s Beatrice. Sorry to drop this in your lap, but something seems off about the fire marshal I’m working with. Something isn’t adding up. I’ve attached log files—access times don’t match the timeline of the bombing. Please keep this between us. I don’t want to believe it, but… my gut says she’s involved. Raven would know what to do. Just… help me confirm I’m not losing it.

I hitsend, then encrypted the files and attached them with a password we’d agreed on for emergencies:“oceanfire.”

My hands trembled when I shut the laptop. I told myself it was just nerves. Just too much caffeine and not enough sleep.

But the second I turned around, I froze.

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