Page 43 of Shadow Operative

Had she somehow managed to lose that guy?

It almost seemed too good to be true.

One thing was certain—she couldn’t just sit here.

She needed to find answers.

Her thoughts went back to the meeting Rob had here at the office. She’d been a part of it, as well as her VP, Graham Boston, and her Director of Development, Keith Washington. They’d met in the conference room, and Rob had truly seemed excited about the deal they’d brokered.

He’d left here at two-thirty. At four, he’d called about dinner.

What had happened in that time to change his mood from excited to anxious?

Nia tapped her finger on her desk as she thought it through.

Right as Rob had been leaving her office, he’d gotten a text, she remembered. He’d frowned as he looked at the screen. Nia hadn’t thought much about his reaction at the time. But what if that text was the start of his trouble?

If only she had access to his phone . ..

She continued to tap her finger.

Shedidhave some capabilities for hacking into certain online accounts. Her company had brokered many deals in the tech world. As part of that, they kept prototypes and paperwork in the office as a backup.

And some of her clients had developed extraordinary technology and programs for both the private sector and the government.

She could dive into some of that tech to find out information she needed. But if she were caught . . .

The key would be not being caught, she supposed.

She turned to her computer as she contemplated what she should do.

chapter

nineteen

Nia leanedback in her chair as she waited for Chatterbox to work.

Chatterbox had almost been sold to police departments across the country—before a judge had ruled it illegal and the project had been shelved. However, Nia still had the prototype.

The program was brilliant, really. When someone entered a phone number, Chatterbox pulled call records. The creator’s hope was that it could help law enforcement skip getting a warrant and going through phone companies to get these records in time-sensitive investigations.

Just don’t get caught.

That was what she kept telling herself.

As she waited, she tried to call Hector Backus, Rob’s attorney.

The call went to voicemail. She’d try again later.

After several more minutes, a log of Rob’s phone calls populated her screen.

Nia’s breath caught.

Would this information pinpoint who the killer was?

If that was the case, what would she do with whatever she discovered?

Thirty minutes after Nia left, Gage figured out—through the process of elimination—where she’d gone.

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