Page 15 of Only the Devil

“Meh.” I hesitate, admitting the appeal feels like cheating on ARGUS, on Rhodes, or even on my cause—hunting down the rat bastards who hoodwinked Reed. “He’s paying me well.”

“Right. Well, whatever he’s paying you, I bet it’s a fraction of what it would cost him to outsource.”

Hmm. Good point.

Sterling’s algorithm project tugs at me like a puzzle I can’t resist. It’s exactly the kind of challenge that would normally have me coding until 3 a.m., surviving on energy drinks and the rush of cracking something everyone else thinks is impossible. But the shadiness of cryptocurrency makes my stomach churn. I’m not one to compromise ethics for an interesting problem.

“Military does that shit all the time. Outsource to ‘save’ money.” He leans closer to me as he air quotes the word save. “And then you get wind that the little cost-saving outfit caught a billion-dollar contract.”

“Well, he’s not outsourcing. It’s all in-house. Said I could hire additional employees, which is intriguing. He has the space for new hires, but I don’t know where he’s getting the money, especially after his last fund collapsed.”

“Why’s he holding onto an entire floor if he’s not using it?”

“My guess is it’s a long-term lease, but I should look at that.”

I stop on the sidewalk.

“No one’s gonna be in there this afternoon. I left my headphones on purpose. Want to go back in there with me?”

“Sure thing, if you think it’s cleared out. I need to install surveillance. You can point out the offices of those that you think would be worth monitoring.”

“I don’t think these guys are stupid enough—” Jake side eyes me. I can’t actually see his eyes, because he’s got these Tom Cruise Top Gun shades on, but I read him without him saying a word. What he’s thinking is, it’s more likely that an employee will slip and mention something in a closed door, private conversation, than that I’ll find incriminating documents uploaded on the network.

“Point made.”

He grins, clearly noting his win. “Should we go now?”

“Well, it’s probably cleared out now, but maybe we’ll give it another hour to be sure? They already did the rounds, pushing people out.”

“Don’t you think that’s weird? I thought companies liked for people to work late.”

We resume walking in the direction of a nearby park.

“It is weird. And Ms. Weaver made a comment yesterday about working late, but I guess in the summer maybe…and, well, this is Virginia.”

“What does that mean?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Seems like the strict work ethics come from big cities.”

“Hey now.”

“You gonna try to tell me you jarheads never cut out early? That you work eighty-hour weeks?”

“First,” he stops me on the sidewalk. There’s basically no one out here. Everyone passing us is doing so in air-conditioned automobiles with the windows rolled up. “Not a jarhead. That’s the Marines. I’m Navy. Second, you owe your security to those in the military.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Bad joke.”

“Damn straight.”

“If you loved it so much, why’d you leave?”

He rounds the corner and it could be my imagination, but I’m pretty sure his skin reddens around his neck and ears. It could be the heat.

“It was time.”

His jaw tightens. The slight stiffening of his shoulders, the way his eyes dart away—whatever happened, it still cuts deep.

“Let’s head back,” he bites out, and we turn, retracing our steps.