Page 33 of Duty Compromised
The paramedics loaded me onto a gurney despite my protests that I was fine, just slightly dazed, just a minor laceration. The ambulance interior blazed too bright, too clinical. The paramedic with kind eyes pressed gauze to my temple while his partner rattled off medical jargon into a radio, and we started on our way. Through my haze, I watched him reach for something beside the gurney.
“We grabbed what we could from your vehicle,” he said, holding up my battered lunch box. One corner was dented from the impact. “This and your purse were still in the car.” He handed me both.
I clutched my lunch box against my chest, trying to breathe. Trying to think. What was I going to do?
Beating my lunch box against the side of the gurney was not going to convince this medical professional that I was okay, but I was still tempted.
Then I stopped, registering my lunch box’s weight. It was heavier than it should be. Heavier than any empty lunch container should be.
With shaking fingers, I popped the latch. Inside, sat four pens that were usually on my desk, the papers Marcus wanted me to look through, and…
The stabilizer code drive.
Laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep, slightly hysterical but genuine. In my complete mental breakdown while talking to Ty, I’d dumped everything haphazardly between my computer bag and lunch box. My sandwich Tupperware container had ended up in my computer bag, and the drive—the irreplaceable, invaluable, career- and life-saving drive—had landed in my lunch box.
If someone had deliberately targeted me for the stabilizer code, they were in for a rude awakening. A computer that would wipe itself the first time a wrong password was entered and a Tupperware container that might still carry traces of today’s sandwich.
“Miss? Are you okay?”
The paramedic was studying me with concern, probably wondering if the head trauma was worse than it appeared. I was laugh-crying into a lunch box while blood dried on my temple and my car sat crumpled at an intersection.
“Better than okay,” I said, snapping the lunch box shut and holding it tight. “Absolutely perfect.”
They exchanged glances suggesting they’d be recommending a thorough neurological exam, but I didn’t care. The stabilizer code was safe.
I might be headed to the hospital, might have to explain to Ty how I’d managed to get myself into a car accident while trying to escape his protection, might still lose my job when everything came to light.
But the code was safe. And that beautiful, impossible truth made everything else manageable.
Chapter 10
Ty
I pulled my gaze away from the monitor, stretching my neck until it popped. Charlotte’s desk sat empty across the workspace, her chair pushed back at an odd angle. She’d been gone for what—an hour now? Maybe more. I checked my watch. Definitely more.
The lab felt different without her constant typing, that rapid-fire rhythm that had become the soundtrack to my days here. Her workspace looked abandoned—empty creamer packets scattered across her desk like fallen leaves, sticky notes in her handwriting covering every available surface of her monitor frame.
“She’s having a particularly Charlotte afternoon. Freaking out about getting the countermeasure finished.” Darcy had rolled her eyes when she’d said it earlier, her voice carrying that particular blend of affection and exasperation reserved for Charlotte’s more intense moments. “She told me about the deadline. She’s holed up in the break room. Said she needed to isolate herself to actually get work done.”
That made sense. We’d had our moment at lunch; she’d understood the assignment. Understood the deadline. This was her cranking it up to the next level. I needed to let her do her job, and I needed to do mine.
I shifted my attention to the lab floor, watching the team move through their routines. Chances were, someone here had sabotaged the code last week. Someone had cost Charlotte days of work, pushed her to the breaking point. They’d be watching now, wondering why she’d relocated. Wondering if she’d figured something out.
Marcus hunched over his workstation, same as always. His fingers moved steadily across his keyboard, no telltale nervous tics, no glances toward the break room. But then again, Marcus had been here for three years as a systems engineer. Long enough to know the quantum architecture inside and out. Long enough to know exactly how to corrupt Charlotte’s drives without leaving a trace.
Priya typed steadily at the next station, pausing only to sip her coffee. She’d joined the team six months ago as a cryptography specialist, right around the time the Cascade Protocol was handed over to the FBI. Coincidence? Maybe. But I’d learned to distrust coincidences in this job.
Even Roger, who usually radiated cheerfulness—the software engineer who brought donuts every Friday—seemed unusually focused on his screen. Though his focus seemed genuine. The man had been nothing but supportive of Charlotte’s work, always checking if she needed anything. Hard to imagine him sabotaging her efforts.
“Well, well. The contractor playing bodyguard.”
Raymond Wilmington’s voice cut through my observations like nails on a chalkboard. The head of security strolled toward me, that practiced smile already in place. Same territorial attitude he’d shown since day one—first when he’d tossed me that keycard on the rooftop like it was trash, then Monday when I’d forced him to hand over the entry logs.
Today, his tie hung slightly crooked, breadcrumbs clinging to the front of his shirt. The kinds of details that drove me crazy—if you’re running security, you should notice everything.
“Wilmington.” I kept my tone neutral, professional. No point feeding his ego more than necessary.
“How’s our little security review coming along?” He straightened his tie, apparently oblivious to the crumbs still decorating his shirtfront. “Finding all our weak spots?”
