Page 89 of Misdirection

Jason narrowed his gaze. “You mean you were hired to find a mole in your job as an information security analyst?”

“Kind of. It’s a little more complicated. Duncan actually hired me after the CIA told him what was going on.”

Jason raked a hand over his face. “You’re telling me Duncan hired you to look into the company and that the US Attorney General also talked to Bennett about the same issue?”

“That was confusing to us also. But, yes. However, our contact is with the CIA.”

“Who is this ‘our’ you are talking about?” Slight accusation stained Jason’s words. “You and Tevin?”

“It’s not just us. We work for a private security firm and do deep cover assignments.”

He cocked his head in doubt. “You’re joking with me right now, aren’t you?”

“I’m not.”

“I’m head of security at Conglomerate, and no one thought to fill me in on this?”

As Tevin took an especially sharp turn, Olive reached for the dash to keep her balance.

“Sorry,” Tevin murmured. “I don’t want to lose Adriana.”

Olive glanced back at Jason and saw that his gaze had darkened.

She’d hoped he might be understanding. Maybe even admire her dedication to her job. Instead, he still looked infuriated.

A part of her couldn’t blame him.

Instead of explaining more, she waited for him to ask questions. In the meantime, she glanced at the street ahead of her.

Adriana had headed out of the city and into the suburbs. Where exactly was she going? How long would this drive be?

To Olive’s surprise, only ten minutes later, Adriana stopped in the driveway of a moderately sized house just outside Chicago.

Tevin pulled to the side of the road two house lengths away, and they watched as Adriana briskly walked toward the door. She didn’t knock. Instead, she punched in a code on the keypad and slipped inside.

From where Olive sat, she could see the outline of two people talking behind the curtain in one of the windows.

“You recognize the house?” Olive asked Jason.

“No, I don’t.”

Tevin grabbed his computer. “I can figure this out. Give me a few seconds.”

He tapped in several things and then announced, “It’s Trey Bartle’s place.”

“Who is Trey Bartle?” Olive asked.

He turned his computer and showed her a picture of a man with gleaming white teeth and thick, light brown hair.

She’d seen that man before.

Then she realized where.

He was the man in the photo in Bennett’s office.

Her lungs froze.

What if Bennett wasn’t as innocent as he claimed?

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