Page 11 of Sly Like a Fox (Romance Expected Dating Service #3)

Fenton

The sound of my office door opening while Jenna is supposed to be waiting in the living room makes me freeze.

I’m sitting at my workstation, frantically shutting down the most sensitive displays of financial records from my ongoing investigation into Garret Anklor’s corruption network, surveillance photos, and the detailed organizational chart that maps his entire criminal enterprise.

I hear her soft intake of breath behind me and know without turning around that my cover has just been blown to pieces.

“Fenton?”

Her voice carries confusion mixed with curiosity, maybe, or concern.

I slowly turn in my chair to find her standing in the doorway, staring at the bank of monitors I haven’t managed to hide behind the facade with the usual setup, because I can’t close this secret space until the computers are shut down.

The screens still show transaction records, account access logs, and lines of code.

This is not how I wanted this evening to go, but she’s already stepping into the room for a closer look, her eyes wide as she takes in the sophisticated computer setup. “Holy crap. This isn’t a normal home office.”

My first instinct is damage control. I should shut down the remaining monitors, escort her out, and come up with a plausible explanation that doesn’t involve confessing I’m conducting an illegal investigation into one of the city’s most powerful businessmen.

Looking at her expression, I realize it’s too late for deflection.

She’s seen enough to know this isn’t normal, and trying to lie about it will only make things worse.

Instead, I make a calculated decision to test her reaction with gradual honesty. I gesture toward the monitors. “You’re right. It’s not.” I watch her expression, looking for signs of shock, disgust, or fear. “What you’re looking at is my real work. I’m a freelance problem-solver.”

She tilts her head, considering the phrase. “Problem-solver?”

I point to the financial data scrolling across the nearest screen. “I help redistribute wealth from people who acquire it through illegal means to more deserving recipients. Think of it as aggressive wealth redistribution.”

Her expression shifts from confusion to understanding and then to something that looks remarkably like admiration. She crosses her arms, studying me with new interest. “You’re talking about stealing from criminals.”

I shake my head, choosing my words with care. “I prefer wealth redistribution, and I only target people who’ve gained their fortunes by harming others, like corrupt businessmen, money launderers, or individuals who destroy honest companies for profit.”

She moves closer to the monitors, studying the financial data with an intensity that implies she understands a lot of what she sees. Her finger traces one of the transaction paths on screen. “Like this Garret Anklor person?”

I join her at the desk, pointing to a series of transactions on the main screen. “Exactly like Garret Anklor. He destroyed my family’s construction business through illegal bid rigging and drove my father into bankruptcy before an early grave.”

Instead of backing away or expressing shock, she leans forward to get a better look at the data. Her voice is matter-of-fact, almost clinical. “How long have you been tracking him?”

The question reveals an acceptance that surprises me. “Two years of active investigation. I spent nine months before that building the identity and resources I needed to get close to his operation.”

She straightens and looks around the office, taking in the multiple monitors and sophisticated equipment. “And the technology consulting business?”

I gesture toward the monitors showing legitimate client files. “Real, but it’s mostly cover. I handle enough legitimate clients to maintain the facade, but this is my actual work.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, studying the screens with focused attention. When she finally speaks, her question surprises me. Her eyes narrow as she examines the security protocols displayed on one monitor. “What kind of security measures do you have in place?”

I blink at the unexpected direction of her inquiry. “Excuse me?”

She turns to face me, her expression serious and practical. “If you’re conducting illegal surveillance on powerful people, you must have serious security protocols, including encrypted communications, identity protection, and contingency plans for if you’re discovered.”

The question reveals an understanding of operational security that goes far beyond casual curiosity. I study her face, noting the calculating intelligence behind her concern. “Why do you ask?”

She crosses her arms and meets my gaze directly. “Because if you’re going to do something like this, you need to do it right. What’s your exit strategy if things go wrong?”

For a moment, I consider deflecting or minimizing the scope of what I’m doing, but her questions are too informed, her interest too genuine, and her lack of moral judgment too refreshing to waste with half-truths.

I pull up a file on one of the secondary monitors, showing her encrypted folder structures.

“Multiple backup identities, offshore accounts, and safe houses in three different states. Plus dead man’s switches that automatically release evidence to law enforcement and media outlets if something happens to me. ”

She nods approvingly, leaning in to examine the file structure. “Smart. What about digital security?”

I bring up another screen showing my network architecture. “Military-grade encryption, rotating VPNs, and air-gapped systems for the most sensitive data.”

Her smile carries genuine admiration. “Impressive. How do you select targets?”

I bring up my target assessment protocols on the main monitor. “Financial records, pattern analysis, and victim impact assessments. I only go after people who’ve caused genuine harm and gotten away with it through wealth or connections.”

She settles into my desk chair like she belongs there, spinning slightly to face me. “And the redistribution part?”

I open another file showing donation records.

“Anonymous donations to victims, charitable organizations, and legal defense funds. I have money from my grandmother, so my goal isn’t personal enrichment.

” I smile at her. “One of my favorite missions was draining offshore accounts of a famous football player involved in a dog-fighting ring and rediverting the money to the rescue helping rehabilitate them. Of course, he couldn’t file a complaint—”

“Because he’d been hiding the money from the government in the first place.” Her smile is full of delight for a moment before she falls silent again, processing what I’ve told her. When she looks up at me, I see respect mixed with attraction in her expression.

She drops into a chair, studying my face with new intensity. “Can I tell you something?”

I move closer, intrigued by the shift in her demeanor. “Of course.”

Her voice becomes matter-of-fact without shame or apology. “I ran small cons for a few years when I was fifteen to nineteen. Nothing major, but I learned early the world is divided between predators and prey, and I wasn’t going to be prey.”

The admission doesn’t shock me as much as it probably should. I’ve suspected from our first date that Jenna’s survival instincts run deeper than most people’s, and her mind has always seemed too sophisticated for someone with a purely legitimate background.

I perch on the edge of the desk, studying her expression. “What changed?”

She gestures at the monitors with obvious frustration.

“I got tired of taking from people who couldn’t afford it.

I always tried to go after rich people or companies, but even when I targeted wealthy marks, most of them turned out to be working professionals rather than true predators.

This is different. You’re going after someone who genuinely deserves it. ”

I follow her gaze to Anklor’s photo on the organizational chart. “It’s also incredibly dangerous. Anklor has connections throughout law enforcement, the judicial system, and city government, plus a head of security who’s not squeamish about using violence.”

She stands and moves to the organizational chart displayed on the left monitor. “All the more reason to make sure you do it right. Have you considered working with a partner?”

The question catches me by surprise. For three years, I’ve operated alone by necessity and preference.

Partners mean complications, additional security risks, and the possibility of betrayal, but looking at Jenna’s expression as she studies my work, I’m considering possibilities I’ve never allowed before.

I shake my head slowly. “Partners introduce potentials I can’t regulate.”

She points to several names on the organizational chart, her tone becoming more animated.

“They also provide capabilities you might not have. Social infiltration, for instance. These people attend charity galas, business networking events, and exclusive social gatherings. How do you gather intelligence on their personal relationships and private conversations?”

She’s right. My technical skills are excellent for financial surveillance and digital intelligence gathering, but I’ve always struggled with the human intelligence aspects of investigation.

Getting close to targets, earning their trust, and accessing information they only share in private social settings feels foreign to me.

I nod, acknowledging the limitation. “It’s been a challenge.”

She turns from the monitor to face me directly, her expression confident. “It wouldn’t be if you had someone who specializes in reading people and adapting to social situations.”