Page 55 of Concerted Chaos

“I’m sorry,” the agent stammers at Brixley. “I was not expecting you. I’m a fan. A huge fan. I ...” She’s at a complete loss for words. It’s kind of adorable. Her face is getting redder, and she can’t seem to close her mouth. I suspect Benítez has a little crush. And from the smirk on her partner’s face, I suspect Johnson is fully aware of it and finds this situation hilarious.

“We need to speak privately with the Corbitts.” Agent Johnson finally takes over because Benítez is too starstruck to form coherent sentences.

“No problem, I have reading to catch up on anyway. I’ll be by the pool.” Brixley blows a kiss at all of us as she leaves, and I swear Benítez swoons. But as soon as Brixley is out of sight, Benítez morphs back to her all-business persona. Too bad. I liked her better when she was showing her softer side.

We migrate to the dining room, where the big table is, and we are finally introduced to the new guy. His name is Agent Walters, and he proudly describes himself as a hacker.

“You’re an IT specialist,” Johnson corrects. “Stop calling yourself that.”

“Hacker is more exciting,” he grumbles. “Fine. I’m an IT genius who specializes in hacking. Better?” This sounds like an argument they’ve had many times.

When they’re through debating job descriptions, we get down to the reason they’re here.

“We’ve discovered the origin of the money used to pay the mechanic to place the bomb.” Benítez scrutinizes our faces, to analyze our reactions. Powell and I exchange a look.

“That’s ... good, right?” I ask, because the way she says it, it doesn’t seem like good news.

“The money came from Blaine Holdings, LLC.”

My heart drops. That’s mine! That’s the business name under which I own the gym and my other commercial investment properties.

“How is that possible?” I ask, suddenly paranoid that I have somehow been implicated.

“Somebody hacked into your system about six months ago and started funneling money away.” As a self-proclaimed hacker, it’s on Walters to provide the explanation. “I found traces when I was checking out your security cameras. They were conveniently down when the bomb was placed on Powell’s car.”

“They’ve been going down a lot lately. I’ve had someone out to fix them.”

“We know.” They are all watching me. They can’t seriously believe I’m involved in this, can they? Does Powell?

I kindly turn to my brother to reassure him. “If I wanted you dead, I’d kill you myself. I have all the alarm codes and I know where you sleep.”

“Same!” Powell exclaims, and we both laugh. It does not amuse anyone else in the room.

“Is Cassidy a suspect?” Mike asks. He puts a firm hand on my shoulder, and I’m unsure if he’s signaling his support for my innocence or if he’s preparing to incapacitate me.

“No.” Benítez’s answer gives me a sense of relief. I’d never harm my brother, and I’d certainly never murder Jace, and I would hope they knew that without me having to say anything. “But the bomber may be trying to frame her. Or this could be part of a bigger plan. For now, you need to go about your life as normal. Don’t act weird and don’t tell anybody about the investigation. It’s possible that the mastermind is somehow connected to you.”

“But I don’t know anyone with the computer skills to pull that off,” I tell them, immediately thinking over and dismissing every single person I’ve ever encountered. “Nor do I know anyone who wants Powell dead.”

“Really?” My brother asks. “I do. Not thirty seconds ago, my own sister threatened to kill me in my sleep.”

“Get a restraining order,” Agent Walters suggests and is met with annoyed sighs from both his colleagues. He’s definitely the odd man out on this team. “I was kidding. What, they can make jokes but I can’t?”

“Walters, this is a murder investigation,” Johnson reminds him. “Focus.”

I am not surprised when Brixley decides she’d rather do poolside yoga with Mike and Powell than come to my gym, especially since I will be dealing with the annoying Agent Walters instead of getting in a good workout. I can’t blame her. If given a choice, I’d prefernot spending my afternoon sitting in my office while a man who won’t even tell me his first name digs through all my private files. But I am committed to finding out who is trying to kill us, and who stole from me. And hopefully getting them arrested.

When we arrive, Walters informs me he needs complete access to my work computer. Initially, I’m a little hesitant because I’m never comfortable with anyone looking through my things. Also, Mike pulled me aside after our meeting and gave me a strict lecture to not trust anybody.

But it’s not like Walters is the hacker himself, unless the rest of the FBI team is in on it too. And I just can’t believe that Benítez would consider even bending a law, much less breaking one. Alright, I’ve convinced myself. I sign on to my rarely used computer and let him have his way with my data.

Whitney pokes her head in the door while we’re working. Or rather, while he’s typing and sighing, and I’m watching impatiently. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know you had someone in here.”

“This is just . . .” I wave my hand vaguely. Hmmm. I can’t identify him as an FBI agent, and he refuses to reveal his first name, so I’ll have to bestow one upon him. “Percival Von Sharkington. He’s filling in for the regular IT guy and seeing if he can get the cameras back online.”

The newly named Percival doesn’t glance up from his work, but his annoyance is reflected in the monitor. Whitney appears skeptical. I guess she’s not familiar with the famed West Coast Von Sharkingtons, and their prodigal son.

“Okay, Cass. Anyway, glad to have you back. I heard about your car accident.”

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