Page 18 of Misdirection

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” She shrugged, brushing off his statement.

Her life was different than most people’s, including Tevin, who’d grown up with a father who worked as an attorney and a mother who was a teacher. He’d lived in middle-class America, taking vacations with his family and celebrating birthdays with friends.

It was the kind of childhood Olive often longed for.

She couldn’t sit here talking to Tevin anymore or thinking about things. Reminiscing would only make her late. “I need to get going.”

She slid her earrings back through her ears and straightened her dark-blue power suit.

The name-brand clothing cost more than she used to make in a week when she’d waitressed in college. Thankfully, she didn’t have to buy it herself. Aegis Strategic Enterprises had.

With a final nod toward Tevin, she climbed from the van. She glanced around once more to make sure no one was looking.

The area was clear.

She smoothed her pencil skirt before starting toward the stairway. She needed to go downstairs in order to reach the coffeehouse where she and Jason would meet.

She had no idea how this would go.

But she’d have to sell her story, or she’d be made. She couldn’t let that happen.

However, finding those answers would be difficult considering Jason had mentioned something about a baby.

His question still didn’t make any sense. What baby could he be talking about? Why was he so furious with her?

Maybe he’d have some clarity for her.

Just as she stepped into the stairwell, a footfall sounded in the parking garage.

She froze. Something about the slow pace indicated this wasn’t someone leaving work and hurrying to their car. The pace was too slow . . . almost like this person was waiting or watching for someone.

Was someone following her?

Olive wasn’t sure but, just in case, she braced herself for the worst-case scenario.

CHAPTER 6

Olive ducked behind the stairwell door and pressed herself against the concrete wall, waiting to see who was coming behind her.

As she peered through the small crack between the door and wall, she spotted one of Conglomerate’s employees walking past. Ryan Jones. Defense Technology Specialist.

He must have taken the skywalk from the Conglomerate building to the parking garage.

He was on her list of suspects.

As he moseyed by, cell phone to his ear, snippets of his conversation hit her ears.

“I know what I’m doing,” he murmured. “You’ve got to trust me. I’ll carry through on my promise.”

Olive’s heart raced.

Was he talking about the deal? Was he the one behind it?

It was a possibility.

“Just back off, okay?” he muttered, an angry edge in his voice.

Ryan stopped by his car, climbed inside, and slammed the door.

---