Page 21 of Defended By Love

That alone is reason enough for me to take this seriously. Usually, when people find errors in their own work, they cover them up. For someone to file a report that could ultimately be blamed on their own incompetence, means that they’re certain of their data.

And this data is something else.

Lauren Musgrave, long-time employee of the DFO, reported repeated inconsistencies with the fish count in the vicinity of the island. A random sample of the fish trackers came back several times as near-zero, and several times with almost double the number of expected fish. Repeatedly.

Sadly, I’ve seen this before. It likely means that the company is emitting waste that’s killing the fish or making it otherwise uninhabitable. So, to cover their tracks, they’re trying to fudge the data, but have made gross errors in doing so.

Whatever Hart is trying to cover up must be something else. Something big.

I jot down some notes about possible avenues to explore. As a non-government firm, we don’t get caught up as easily in the red tape that these companies can throw at us. Still, this needs to be approached with care.

Idly, I flip through the remaining pages, hoping for inspiration to strike. The rest of the file is mainly newspaper articles about the companies and pictures of their employees or initiatives. A lot from our firm’s private investigator, Marigold.

Honestly, I’m not expecting much. I’ve been through this file again and again. I’ve read about their ‘Solar Panels for Success’ program and their ScatterTech satellite patent. I’ve seen the pictures of different known employees visiting high school science fairs and tech conferences.

Except, that was days ago. A lot can happen in a day.

For example, a picture that was utterly forgettable a day ago, now sets my heart racing. It’s a simple photo that was taken just a week ago by our P.I. that catches my eye and breaks my heart.

It’s of the employee terminal on the mainland. Since the headquarters is located on an island, there’s a ferry that brings them across. It’s owned by Hart Link Incorporated and only employees use it. There’s absolutely no reason for someone who isn’t an employee to be there—unless they’re a spy, like our girl, Marigold.

There’s one picture of the employee ferry while it’s pulling into the dock that makes me gasp. Initially, it’s the tall man who catches my eye. He stands out at the front of the ferry, like some dark god surveying the sea. With a better look at his face, I can see there’s a scar that runs from his lip to his eye. The tall, scarred man. He’s so statuesque with his menace that his presence dominates my attention.

At least until a pair of the most gorgeous, warm chocolate find my own. Even though his hair is a wind-swept tangle of curls instead of its gelled-back perfection, I would recognize him anywhere. Even here, leaning casually against the rail of the ferry a couple feet behind the tall, scarred man.

It’s Grant.

Grant is on the employee ferry.

Chapter 11

For someone who continually suspects the worst in people, I was not prepared for the worst in Grant. Not really.

Humiliation burns on my face. I believed the whole superhero act. I really believed it. Maybe it was the video of him saving that whale. Maybe it’s just hard to believe that someone in skin-tight spandex has anything to hide. Or maybe the adrenaline of the night dulled my senses.

Why else would I dare to believe that someone could fall for me? I’ve learned that lesson before. I’m not the sort of person people like to be around.

Shame on him for manipulating my feelings for whatever he has planned.

And shame on me for believing him.

People aren’t good. Those who seem like they are, are actually the worst. People like Grant and Zagreus Hart are too good to be true. No one flies around helping old ladies across the street. No one goes above environmental protocols at a financial loss for their business.

They are definitely bad.

And probably working together.

God, they probably planned the whole building collapse together. A shiver goes through my body. They might have even planned for me being there. Anyone with any real surveillance would know that I have a history of going into work in the middle of the night. Anyone with any bit of intel on me would know that I would want to take the files home with me.

If they had any inkling that they were being investigated by us, then they could have orchestrated this entire thing—complete with seducing the idiot with all the files.

The angry part of me thinks that this is the perfect plan. The more logical part of me recognizes that it’s a little bit extreme and full of holes. Full of holes, but technically plausible. Especially if—

My thoughts are interrupted by this weird sensation that overwhelms my body. It’s that lurching feel on the first dip of a roller coaster. The disrupted equilibrium when you go to walk up another stair that’s not there. The upward tug of your heart when your chair gets pulled out from under you as you go to sit.

It’s like falling directly downwards.

Only multiplied by a thousand.

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