Page 30 of Keeping Kasey (Love and Blood #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Kasey

I can barely contain my good mood as I walk hand in hand with Logan through the base the next morning.

The pure, uncharacteristic optimism flowing through my veins is making me giddy.

All I can think about is how it’ll feel to have this secret out in the open. To tell Logan that I want to stay and be with him.

To tell Logan I’m in love with him.

I didn’t sleep at all.

The mix of anxiety and excitement was a mental roller coaster that kept me wide awake. I spent the night soaking in the warmth of Logan’s embrace, memorizing each strong beat of his heart, and hoping like hell it wasn’t the last time he held me.

When we walk into Ford’s office, Damon is already waiting for us, lying on the sofa as he always does.

“I’ll be back at noon to take you out to lunch,” Logan says, lifting my hand to kiss my knuckles.

I can feel Damon’s eyes on us, and my cheeks burn at the thought of someone witnessing Logan’s unrestrained affection.

“You don’t have to do that,” I tell him.

“I’d like to see for myself that you’re taking a break. You’re not going to overwork yourself like yesterday.”

“Okay,” I say with a smile I couldn’t suppress if I tried. “But I get to pick where we eat.”

With a farewell kiss that I’m sure makes Damon uncomfortable, Logan leaves for his office.

My phone buzzes as soon as he’s gone.

Logan: Change of plans. We’re not going out after all. We won’t be leaving my office until I make that blush permanent.

My heart does a backflip, and a jolt of anticipation hits my chest. I have half a mind to follow him now and let him make good on that promise, but I need to exonerate myself first.

I put my backpack down—a backpack that is bulkier and heavier than the one I usually bring to the base—and I force myself to ignore the guilt at having brought the go-bag in the first place.

I won’t need it.

I know I won’t.

But I couldn’t bring myself to leave it at the manor.

I trust Logan. I’m sure he will understand, and we’ll spend the night wrapped up in each other as a real couple.

But there’s a part of me that feels like I’m sixteen again, asking my mom to understand me—begging her to—only to have her kick me out and move on with a normal family.

I sit at the desk and turn on the monitor, ready to get this over with.

“Well,” Damon says from the sofa. “You two seem awfully cozy these days.”

I keep my hands busy at the keyboard. “You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

When I turn, Damon’s expression isn’t taunting like I’d expected from his tone. It’s soft—a tender expression I haven’t seen on him before.

“And why is that?”

He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back. “You once asked me if I trust Logan.”

“And you said you do—with your life.”

“But I never told you why.”

“He’s your brother.”

His smile turns satirical. “So was Mason.”

I cock an eyebrow. “So, then, why?”

“Because this family is Logan’s entire world,” Damon explains. “Everything he has ever done has been for the good of this family, even when it was in direct conflict with what he wanted.”

“If you’re going to tell me I’m distracting him from his job, Matteo already beat you to it.”

“Actually, I think it’s the opposite.”

I officially have no idea where he’s going with this, so I wait for him to go on.

“Family is a strong motivation, but love is stronger.”

“No one said anything about love,” I snap in a knee-jerk reaction.

Aside from a brief look that calls me on the lie, he ignores me.

“Logan committed his life to this family when he was only thirteen, and I don’t think he ever stopped long enough to consider what that forced him to sacrifice.” Damon’s lips pull into a small smile. “I think you make him see that he can be more than just the boss of this family.”

The confession strikes a chord in me, and I wonder why everyone has to open up to me when I harbor a secret that’s sucking the life out of me.

And since I realize that secret has the potential to ruin everything, I decide to ask the question I’ve been wondering since I first got here.

“Why did you pass the title to him?” I ask. “You could’ve been a good boss, too.”

There’s a far-off, almost reminiscent, look in his eyes. “I was born for the role, but Logan lived for it.”

It’s such a humble stance, and there’s no questioning the conviction in his words.

“You’re a confusing person,” I tell him.

He chuckles. “Right back at you, Goldie.”

I spend the next few hours hacking my own program.

Getting into the program itself isn’t the problem, but accessing the names of each person who has ever used it isn’t as easy as exporting a file.

My expertise and Mason’s personal touches to the coding make breaking in a challenge, and it’s oddly validating to know even I have a hard time accessing it. I’m not sure if my ability to hack it proves I’m better or worse at what I do, and it’s a paradox I avoid solving.

I’m making quick progress, and I’m nearly there when Damon’s phone rings.

“What’s up?” he says as a greeting. “Okay. Yeah, will do. See you later.”

His words come at the same time my phone buzzes.

Logan: Need to bail on lunch. Ford is awake and needs to see me urgently. I’ll make it up to you tonight.

“That was James,” Damon says. “He and Logan are heading to the hospital to see Ford. I guess he’s conscious and needs to talk to them. Logan’s demanding you take an hour-long break.”

Anxiety spikes through me with a physical force. My stomach churns, my heart races, and my hands sweat so much I have to wipe them on my pants.

What could Ford possibly have to tell them so urgently?

The answer hovers at the forefront of my mind.

The likelihood is too low.

Right?

“Come on,” Damon calls with an outstretched hand. I hadn’t even noticed him walk over to me. “Let’s grab something to eat.”

I take his hand in a daze, my mind spiraling for the millionth time with worst-case scenarios.

We’re walking down the hall when I come to the conclusion that my safest bet is to get into the program as soon as I can.

The longer I wait, the greater the chance I’ll get caught before I can get Logan the list.

Which means this break cannot happen.

“Damon, I feel fine. I’d rather work and leave early.”

“Not happening, Goldie.”

I stop walking. “I’m serious. I’m not hungry, and I want to work.”

He stops a few feet ahead of me, and the stony determination does not bode well for me.

“Logan gave a direct order. Take it up with him, but until he tells me differently, we’re going to the cafeteria to get something to eat.” Damon turns to keep walking. “You can either walk, or I’ll drag you.”

I know he means it by the warning glance he shoots me, so I start walking again, and my mind works to devise an alternative solution.

What I come up with is not only risky but cruel.

“The cafeteria is really crowded this time of day, and it’ll give me a headache. Can we at least eat in Logan’s office?”

Damon contemplates that, not seeming to pick up on my urgency—thankfully.

“I don’t see why not. But you’re not allowed to work on his computer.”

I roll my eyes, playing along with the excuse. “Whatever.”

Twenty grueling minutes later, we’re finally sitting in Logan’s office, and I’m running out of time.

Because no matter how many times I consider what Ford has to tell Logan, I come to the same conclusion.

Ford knows.

He knows I lied about the attack, and he’s about to tell Logan—if he hasn’t already.

I’m sitting in a chair in front of the desk while Damon lounges in Logan’s, and I survey my options before reaching for my drink.

Right before the water bottle reaches my lips, it slides through my fingers and spills all over my sweatshirt.

I curse under my breath and clumsily scoot back.

“You good, Goldie?” Damon asks.

“Wet, but fine,” I mutter, pulling off my sweatshirt, which leaves me in a gray tank top. I feign a wince as I push to my feet, lifting a hand to my temple for good measure. “I just need to dry it off.”

As I hoped, Damon stands and snatches the sweatshirt from me. “You’re supposed to be resting. I’ll do this.”

His back turns to me, and I cross my fingers that he’ll shut the door behind him when he steps into Logan’s private bathroom.

When he does, I almost melt with relief.

I have to move fast because, as it is, I may already be out of time.

And once I do this , there’s no turning back.

The door shuts behind Damon, and I spring to Logan’s desk.

As quietly as possible, I push the massive piece of mahogany furniture—something I attribute to the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

There’s a low groan as it slides across the floor, but the automatic dryer in the bathroom masks the sound.

The desk is a foot away when the dryer stops. I throw caution to the wind and push as hard as I can, slamming the desk into the door. It opens outward, and with this blocking the way, Damon is effectively trapped.

The door handle shakes, and Damon’s fists pound against the wood.

“Kasey! What are you doing?” The pounding and pulling continue, and my guilt increases tenfold.

“I’m sorry, Damon. I promise I’ll explain everything later,” I say, and though he’s banging on the door, I know he can hear me.

I go behind Logan’s desk to turn on the stereo—needing something to mask Damon’s shouts—but when I move to leave, the most recent email on Logan’s computer stops me.

It’s from Kade, Moreno’s cybersecurity capo, and the only reason it gives me pause is because of the subject line.

Subject: Kasey Miller Investigation Update

I click on the email, ignoring Damon’s shouts as I do.

My eyes scan the screen with the sickening realization that I’m not the only one keeping secrets.

Logan had Kade gather dirt on me.

The address of my apartment. Call logs between my mother and me. A list detailing some of the jobs I’ve taken over the last few years—what I did, who I worked for, even what I was paid.

Logan used one of Moreno’s men to investigate me.

He deserves the chance to explain , a little voice in my head says.

I’m not exactly in a position to judge.

I lock the office door from the inside before slipping out—anything to delay the inevitable.

I don’t run down the hall because I don’t want anyone to get suspicious, but my speed walking isn’t much better.

When I finally get to Ford’s office, I lock the door and run to the desk.

It only takes a few seconds, but it feels like hours have passed by the time I’m in the program again. All that’s left is to access the operation data and compile a list of every user who has ever used the program.

I originally planned to include the device each traitor used to access it, but I can always add that later.

Time is not a commodity I have—a fact that becomes increasingly clear when my phone rings.

Logan’s name lights up the screen.

My heart lurches, dread tightening my chest as bile crawls up my throat.

But I can’t answer it.

This program is delicate, requiring my full attention and the constant disarming of firewalls and malware so it won’t lock me out. I made it impenetrable—with the potential for self-destruction—and for once, I’m not proud of that fact.

When it rings for the third time, a tear slides down my cheek. My silence will only add to my guilt, but right now, I don’t have a choice.

The phone doesn’t ring again, and it’s only a matter of time before Logan sends someone to find me, but with only ten percent left to load, I can’t stop.

The monitor next to me lights up with an alert, and my stomach drops when I read it.

Seize Kasey Miller immediately.

The weight on my chest becomes unbearable, preventing any oxygen from reaching my lungs. Whatever breaths I do manage to pull in are strained as my heart cracks into a million tiny pieces.

He’ll listen to me once I have this list.

He’ll understand why I did it.

He’ll forgive me, and everything will go back to normal.

So, I stay firmly planted in my seat and watch the progress bar.

Five percent left.

Four.

Three.

Two.

The screen goes black.

The words LOCKDOWN ENGAGED flash across the screen, confirming something worse than any scenario I could’ve imagined.

This can’t be happening.

Ford must have employed the lockdown protocol to slow me down, but what it actually did is so much worse.

The communication program has a failsafe—if it’s attacked while open, it wipes all data from existence.

Which is exactly what just happened.

The list of names—which I was seconds from having—has been permanently erased.

The only proof of my innocence is gone.

And Logan is going to kill me.