Page 7 of Enigma

Which was exactly why his confession had terrified her.

“I need time.” She’d shaken her head and taken a step back. “I’m sorry, Tev. I just . . . I need time.”

They hadn’t spoken since. She’d avoided the office, taken her personal leave, and tried not to think about the pain in his eyes when she’d walked away. But now Lloyd had been attacked, Jason was six hours away and furious with her, and she needed help from someone with Tevin’s particular skillset.

She felt like the worst kind of person for calling him now, when she needed something, when she had no answer to give him about where they stood. But she didn’t have a choice.

Taking a deep breath, she dialed his number.

The phone rang twice before Tevin answered, his familiar voice immediately recognizable despite the careful neutrality he tried to maintain.

“Olive?” There was hope there, buried under layers of wariness and hurt. “I . . . I wasn’t sure you’d call.”

“Hi, Tev.” Her voice came out smaller than she’d intended, and she cleared her throat. “How are you?”

“I’ve been better.” A pause. “How’s your time off going? Getting the perspective you needed?”

The question wasn’t accusatory, but she heard the subtext:Have you made a decision about us?

“Actually, that’s . . . that’s not why I’m calling.” Olive closed her eyes, hating herself for what she was about to do. “I need help, Tevin. Professional help.”

Silence stretched until the only thing she could hear was her heart beating in her ears.

“Olive . . .” His voice was soft, resigned in a way that made her chest tight.

“I know we have conversations that we need to have,” she said quickly, before he could say whatever he was thinking. “But I can’t. Not right now. I’m sorry.”

He sighed, the sound of someone who’d been hoping for something different but wasn’t entirely surprised by disappointment.

“What do you need?” His voice had shifted into professional mode—the same tone he used when they were working a case together.

The familiar change back to their normal dynamic should have been comforting, but instead it made her feel even worse.

This was what they’d always been good at—working together, trusting each other, functioning as a team. And she was about to ask him to do that for her while giving him nothing in return.

“I’m in Florida,” she began.

Then she launched into the story of finding Lloyd unconscious.

Tevin listened without interrupting, and Olive could almost picture him taking notes in that precise handwriting of his, organizing the information the way he always did when they worked cases together.

There’s nothing a spreadsheet or a drone won’t fix.That was one of his favorite sayings.

She found his quirks endearing, including his affection for all things dill pickle flavored. As she’d driven from the airport to Lloyd’s place, she’d seen a restaurant advertising dill slushies, and her mind had instantly gone to him before filling with remorse.

“Let me get this straight: You went to see Jason’s dad—to basically investigate him—without telling Jason,” he said when she finished.

It wasn’t a question, and there was something in his voice that might have been understanding mixed with exasperation.

“I made a mistake. A big one.”

“Yeah, you did.” But his tone was gentle rather than judgmental. “What do you need from me, Olive?”

“I need you to do a deep dive into Lloyd’s financials. Bank accounts, investment records, property holdings, anything that might give us a clue about what he’s been up to lately.” She paused. “I know it’s a lot to ask, especially given . . . everything.”

“Everything meaning the conversation we’re not having right now?”

“Tev . . .”