Page 19 of Only the Wicked (The Sinful State #1)

Chapter Fifteen

Sydney

I make a mental note to have Quinn look into Evie Thompson.

If I’m reading Rhodes correctly, my questions are unsettling.

Something about his reaction doesn’t fit the profile I was given.

A man selling state secrets wouldn’t react with genuine discomfort about a past relationship—he’d deflect or charm his way around it.

Unless jealousy was an issue in a past relationship.

The man runs a company with hundreds of employees. He’s headed to D.C. in forty-eight hours and has meetings set up through next week. If he’s expecting jealousy from me, he’s off. He’ll learn I’m far too rational. Besides, out of necessity, this is a vacation thing.

If all goes well, I’ll gain some insight and drift into the recesses of his past, a woman he had fun with for a few days. He’ll never learn I had ulterior motives.

But his reaction sparks suspicion that perhaps his long-term girlfriend from the past trained him to be wary.

Perhaps his long hours at the office were met with mistrust, perhaps her questions led to fights.

That could also just be me reading into him.

If this thing between us was real, I might prod.

Pick at the thread to learn more. But it’s not and any insight on that score wouldn’t meet the objective.

If anything, touching a sensitive subject might drive him to throw up a wall.

No, I thought the way to get to know Rhodes would be to flatter him, to play into what I assumed was a robust ego.

So I asked about his climbing adventures, Eagle Scouts, even high school since he grew up in this state.

I poked and prodded, but he never copped to being valedictorian or the men’s lacrosse MVP.

He’s not boastful, and that’s surprising.

Perhaps a lifetime of being hailed brilliant has left him without a need to brag.

But there’s something else. Most people with dark secrets have tells—a need to overcompensate, to project an image that distracts from their corruption.

Rhodes doesn’t have that energy. If anything, he seems.. .solid.

When Caroline approached me about this assignment, I expected questionable deal practices, or possibly questionable ties. The briefing made it sound straightforward: tech company prioritizes profit over patriotism, sells sensitive data to the highest bidder. Case closed.

But the more I learn about Rhodes, the harder it becomes to square the man I’m getting to know with the profile.

A suspected corrosion of integrity doesn’t seem to fit.

Rhodes fought for ARGUS to be a nonprofit.

The fight is documented in interviews and posts.

That’s not the action of someone chasing money at any cost.

What if we got this wrong?

It’s the same question I asked Caroline. But there are questions I haven’t asked of her. Did anyone hire us to investigate ARGUS? Could there be ulterior motives? I know why I signed on. Given my experience, I was the ideal recruit for this project.

KOAN investigates those deemed potentially above the law due to connections. But someone is setting priorities. Did a private party hire KOAN to secretly investigate ARGUS? Is there someone out there who benefits if an investigation is opened into ARGUS?

ARGUS parses volumes of surveillance data.

Five years ago the management team had a semi-public debate over whether or not the firm should be nonprofit.

Rhodes MacMillan weighed in at an AI conference stating all AI firms should be nonprofit, and then he got mocked in the trades when ARGUS registered as a for-profit company.

The company is private, so their financials aren’t public, but I found threads ruminating on a potential upcoming funding round.

The questions that have been nagging at me all day crystallize: Did a venture capital firm hire KOAN for due diligence on ARGUS?

Does someone out there see them as a competitor?

Or a potential acquisition target? I’ve been assuming we’re the good guys investigating the bad guy.

My friend hired me after all. But what if we’re just corporate spies in patriotic clothing?

Back at the hotel, Rhodes and I face each other awkwardly near the valet stand.

Conversation on the return hike flowed freely, punctuated with relaxed lulls, especially as we sped down the decline with me sometimes several feet in front of him.

In the car, his rental, he shared his Spotify playlist and before long, zipping through the curvy roads lined with trees, I relaxed into holiday mode, thinking about nothing but the music.

He beat the steering wheel like a drum, his demeanor aloof, the sky blue, the day perfect.

We went from sex to casual conversation to listening to music, lost in our own thoughts. He never reached for my hand to hold it.

Outside the vehicle, I concede that going for it back at the swimming hole may have been a strategic error.

I acted impulsively, doing what I wanted, and now, I’m not sure what he’s thinking.

But even as I worry about the implications, part of me realizes I acted impulsively because.

..I wanted to. Not because it served any operational purpose.

Is that so bad? When was the last time I did something just because I wanted to?

And now, what will the repercussions be? Is he going to say, “Thank you for a great time and see ya”? I’ve done it to men in my past when I didn’t see a reason to invest time.

“I’ve been thinking about Asheville.”

Here it comes.

“Why don’t we stay here? It’s a gorgeous day, and I don’t really want to be cooped up in the car.

We can hang by the pool. Tomorrow it’s supposed to be rainy, so it won’t be a great day to explore Asheville.

I’ll book us some spa appointments. Maybe a couple’s massage? Or separate. Whatever you prefer.”

I blink, processing his words. I didn’t screw things up. We’re still a go.

“I’ll never turn down a massage,” I hear myself saying as I register the balled-up anxiety dissipating as relief courses through my sore limbs.

“We can come back to Asheville another time.” Then, as if he’s realizing what he’s saying, moves one shoulder forward in a weird shrug. “Or meet up there next time.”

“Sounds good to me.” I bounce on my heels, aiming to reassure him I like his plan, but the move is too energetic and cocked. “I mean, you know…”

What the fuck am I saying?

“Cool. Ah, I need to check in with the office. Want to meet up later…maybe you can swing by my villa. If the thunderstorms hit, we can Netflix and chill. They have Netflix… I can connect to my account. We can watch pretty much anything.”

Does he know what Netflix and chill is a euphemism for? I doubt it. He doesn’t come across as a pop culture kind of guy. His playlist was straight from the nineties and early two thousands.

“Sounds good. I’m gonna make some calls too, then.”

I spin past him into the lobby and he heads off to the side of the inn and the path that leads to the back of the property with the villas.

In my room, I unzip my backpack and pull out my phone, immediately smiling upon seeing his text.

Rhodes from the Highlands

Give me an hour, then swing by whenever you can.

Perfect .

Although, no, perfect would be an invitation to hang in his villa while he conducted business.

But, if I go with him to D.C., that’s going to happen, right?

Quinn trashed the idea of installing a program on his laptop or attempting to catch him with a phishing attempt—said his system would catch it.

She’s probably right. He’s an elite programmer.

She’s doing what she can with access to his phone. Hopefully she’s been able to monitor his texts and calls remotely. The CIA has programs that can do that with only a number, but we’re not the CIA. With luck, thanks to her gizmo, she can monitor him undetected.

Rhodes from the Highlands

Chance of thunderstorms rises after three. Avoid the deluge. Get here before then.

After giving his text a thumbs up, I stare at the phone for a moment. Should I be questioning the project? I’ve discovered nothing about Rhodes that fits the profile of a man comfortable with betraying his country.

But not fitting a profile doesn’t mean he’s innocent.

I dial Quinn, press speaker, and set the phone down. I take a seat on the chair and begin working on my hiking boot laces.

“When do you leave for Asheville?”

“Whoa, no hello? What’s—wait, is shit going down?”

A door clicks in the background.

“No. You’re just catching me in the middle of something.”

“Should I call back?”

“The boys are packed. Ready to follow your tail.”

“Wait—boys? Plural? How many—” My hiking boot hits the ground with a thud . “Never mind that. We’re staying put.”

“What? Why?”

“Tomorrow’s supposed to rain, so he figured the spa here would be better than exploring a rainy city. He mentioned D.C. Loosely. I’m likely in but no guarantee.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Pause. “And don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you think I’m making bad choices. I can hear it in your voice, Quinn.” I pause, ensuring she notes my conversation change. “Anyway, did you access his phone?”

Technically, once she accesses his phone, my job’s obsolete.

They’ll get more from monitoring his email and texts than I could from being in the same room with him.

Phone access is a goldmine. Of course, it’s doubtful he’s going to freely talk about illicit deals.

But he might talk about an upcoming meeting.

Scratch that. He’s a smart guy. He won’t talk about illegal activities around me. The only way he would is to couch the discussion in terms that a bystander wouldn’t pick up on. It’s possible Hudson will pull me; tell me it’s time to wrap it up.