Page 37 of Duty Compromised
Shit. I had forgotten about that. “Bruised. Shaken. But she walked away, and that’s what matters.” I shifted the phone to my other ear, because the knot tightening in my chest wasn’t something I wanted to give away in my voice.
“For fucking sure.”
“Bigger issue: somebody lifted her computer bag during the incident. Cops are calling it a crime of opportunity. Random asshole, saw a car wreck and grabbed what he could.” My eyes stayed on Charlotte as she offered a stiff smile to the receptionist. “But I don’t buy it. Not for a second.”
I filled him in—how her files had been corrupted earlier in the week, how she was under pressure to rebuild everything on a brutal timeline. It didn’t take a genius, PhD or otherwise, to connect the dots.
“Fuck, man.” He was quiet again, but this time, I could hear him thinking it through. “You really think this accident ties back to the sabotage?”
“I think calling it a coincidence is the kind of thing stupid people do right before they get blindsided. Somebody wants her to fail. Either they don’t want the countermeasure built, or they want her too scared to try.”
Through the glass, I saw her tuck the clipboard against her chest, her braid slipping over one shoulder. She looked like she was trying to hold herself together with sheer willpower. My chest tightened again, harder this time.
“I need eyes on the scene,” I said. “Traffic cams, business feeds, anything that points a lens in that direction. I want to see who hit her.”
“You know Jace could do that in his sleep,” Ben said.
“That’s exactly who I was thinking.” Jace Monroe could find a needle in a digital haystack before most people finished their coffee.
“You also know he’s gonna give you endless shit for moonlighting while you’re still on medical leave. And for not looping Ethan in.”
I rubbed a hand down my face and forced a smile when Charlotte glanced my way. “Yeah, I’ll take the ass-chewing later. Right now, I need to make sure she gets home in one piece. I’ll deal with Ethan and Logan once we’re out of the blast zone.”
“I’ll call Jace for you,” Ben offered. “Give him the accident info so he can get started while you get Charlotte settled. Give me the info you know.”
I rattled off time and address. “Tell him I want every angle. Whatever he can get. If a squirrel twitched, I want to know about it.”
“On it.” Ben’s voice sobered. “And Ty? Watch your six. If they’re bold enough to take her out in broad daylight, this isn’t over.”
I watched Charlotte pass the clipboard back, her shoulders stiff. She still hadn’t looked my way again, and I hated the thought of her trying to pretend she wasn’t scared. My grip tightened on the phone. “Yeah. Trust me, I got that memo loud and clear.”
“Keep her safe.”
The call ended as Charlotte pushed through the door, moving carefully like everything hurt. Which it probably did. Her clothes were rumpled, a small bloodstain on her neck that the hospital hadn’t quite cleaned. She looked small, vulnerable in a way that made something protective flare in my chest.
“Ready?” I asked.
She nodded, then winced at the movement. “My car…”
“Is totaled. We’ll handle the insurance calls later. Right now, let’s get you home.”
“I can take an Uber?—”
“Charlotte.” I waited until she met my eyes. “Someone deliberately ran into your car. You think I’m letting you get into a vehicle with a stranger?”
Her shoulders dropped. “No. I suppose not.”
The walk to my truck was quiet, Charlotte clutching her lunch box like it held state secrets. Which, technically, it did. I kept my hand near her elbow, not quite touching but ready if she stumbled. She moved like someone who’d just realized how fragile human bodies were.
I opened the passenger door for her, watched her ease herself in with careful movements. “What’s your address?”
She rattled off a location in a neighborhood I knew—older homes, tree-lined streets, the kind of place professors and young professionals gravitated toward. Not what I’d expected. I’d pictured her in some stark, modern apartment, all clean lines and efficiency.
The drive was mostly silent except for her occasional directions. Left here, right at the stop sign, third house on the left. When we pulled up to a Craftsman-style house with a wide front porch and actual flower boxes, I couldn’t hide my surprise.
“This is yours?”
She stiffened. “What’s wrong with it?”
