Page 41 of Duty Compromised

“You could stay on the couch?” She wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Just for tonight. Just so I’m not…”

“Alone,” I finished. “Yeah. Of course.”

Relief washed over her face. “Thank you.”

She disappeared down the hallway, presumably to get ready for bed. I heard water running, drawers opening and closing. I settled onto the couch, trying to get comfortable. It was softer than it looked, designed for afternoon naps and movie marathons.

Charlotte reappeared in the hallway, and I had to bite back a laugh. She wore pajamas covered in cartoon robots, complete with little flying saucers.

“Not a word,” she warned, but there was humor in her eyes.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I kept my expression carefully neutral. “Very dignified. Exactly what I’d expect from a renowned scientist.”

“They’re comfortable,” she said defensively.

“I’m sure they are.”

She hesitated at her bedroom door. “Thank you. For everything today. For staying.”

“I’m glad I could help. Get some rest, Charlotte.”

She nodded and disappeared into her room. I stretched out on the couch, trying to find a position that didn’t remind me of the gorgeous woman in ridiculous pajamas just down the hall.

My phone buzzed. Jace’s name lit up the screen.

“Well, well.” His voice dripped amusement. “Ben tells me you’ve gone freelance.”

Shit. Here we go. “It’s not freelance. It’s a favor for a friend in the FBI.”

“A favor that has you playing bodyguard without telling Ethan? That’s going to go over well.”

“Ethan doesn’t need to know. I’m technically on medical leave.”

“Right. Because nothing says recuperating like taking on side jobs.” His tone shifted, becoming more serious. “Ben filled me in on the situation. Car accident?”

“T-bone at an intersection. Deliberate.”

“I’ve been pulling footage. It’s pieced together from traffic cams, ATM cameras, and a few business security systems, but I’ve got a decent picture.”

“And?”

“Sending it to your phone now. You’re going to want to see this.”

My phone chimed with an incoming file. I opened it, watching grainy footage from multiple angles spliced together. There was Charlotte’s sensible sedan approaching the intersection. The truck waiting at the cross street. Then, just as Charlotte entered the intersection, the truck surged forward.

“Definitely deliberate,” Jace said in my ear. “Watch the timing. He waited until she was perfectly positioned.”

The impact was brutal to watch, even knowing Charlotte was okay. Her car spun, airbags deploying, glass exploding. Then came the figure in the hat and sunglasses. They moved with purpose, not rushing but not dawdling either. Practiced. Professional.

“Can you enhance the suspect’s face?”

“Already tried. He did a good fucking job of keeping his face hidden. But watch what happens next.”

Onscreen, the figure reached into Charlotte’s car. But they didn’t grab randomly. They went straight for the computer bag, ignoring her purse completely.

“He knew what he was looking for,” I said.

“Yeppers. Someone wanted whatever she had in that bag. Got it and got the fuck out.”