Mondays often seemed to be the most difficult to endure since they were the only day the bakery was closed.
“Caffeine-free disappointment, here I come,” Alex muttered to herself as she trudged toward the library. Though she’d never asked the owners why, she had pondered away many hours in search of a possible reason for why the bakery closed on Mondays.
Of all days to deprive people of such a vital sustenance . . .
A light rain peppered the city as a thick fog rolled across the water toward land. She hoisted her umbrella and continued marching toward her destination.
Once she reached the top of the steps at the library, she lowered her canopy and shook off any excess water. Upon entering the facility, she headed straight to her preferred bank of computers and started her hammering away on the keypad. She logged into her library account using the legend Blunt helped her craft, one by the name of Sarah Roberts. A normal, unmemorable name designed to help her do one thing and do it well—blend in.
She then typed in her username and password for her joint email account with Hawk. In order to avoid suspicion, she sent out emails most days to various businesses, oftentimes with a fake resume attached. She rarely received anything beyond a standard reply, but she never anticipated having anyone seriously reply. But this Monday, things were different.
A bold number 1, bracketed by parentheses, grabbed her attention when she glanced at her inbox. She was so accustomed to seeing a bolded zero in that spot that she did a double take to make sure what she saw was real.
Let’s see who is emailing me.
Alex furrowed her brow as she read the message. The sender’s name was listed as John Doe, and he’d written a vague note, one that she couldn’t readily interpret. She wondered if it was some sort of code or simply spam that had wormed its way into her inbox.
But nobody knows that this email address even exists.
She re-read the message again.
J'n dpnjoh gps zpv.
She shook her head as she studied the words once more. They still didn’t make sense to her, and she wasn’t immediately interested in cracking the code.
Instead of dwelling on it, she turned her attention to the draft folder, where she expected to see another empty slot. But a message with a header grabbed her attention.
“Re:URGENT” the title read.
Maybe I don’t need coffee this Monday after all.
CHAPTER 3
Muscat, Oman
HAWK WAITED UNTIL RAY left for work before rousing from the living room sofa. The first beams of sunshine trickled across the floor as Hawk made his way to the desk where he’d discovered papers he surely wasn’t meant to see. The conclusion was a logical one given that Ray had either taken the papers with him or locked them in one of the drawers. The only thing on the desk besides the keyboard and terminal was a sticky note giving Hawk instructions on how to log in to the computer as a guest.
Showing a similar distrust for Ray—and a penchant for exercising caution—Hawk carefully covered his cyber tracks as Alex had instructed him to do. He logged into their email account and composed a note for her, devoid of any salutations or extraneous words.
I wanted you to know that I’ve stumbled onto something big and I need your help. I had been planning a way to avenge our nemesis, but I’ve found something that just might be what we need to put him away for good. However, I can’t do it alone. I need to infiltrate a private security company here, but I need a new legend, one that’s rock solid online and completely believable. You’ve got one day to do it. Please respond either way to make it happen. If so, please send back a copy of my new resume for this venture as well as any other pertinent details about my new alias. I’ll explain everything more in depth at a later time.
Hawk saved the message in the draft folder and closed out of the account. Using the tricks Alex had taught him, he erased all the folders and history that would’ve logged his visit to the email inbox on the computer. He closed the computer and leaned back in his chair. All he could do was wait for Ray to return home.
* * *
A FEW MINUTES before 6:30 p.m., Ray strolled through the door, whistling an old Backstreet Boys tune. Hawk laughed to himself before speaking.
“The things we do when we don’t think anyone is watching,” Hawk said.
Ray shook his head and smiled. “I guess you finally busted me. My weakness for 90s boy bands has been exposed.”
Hawk stood up. “If I was doing psychological interrogation of a suspect, I might subject them to that garbage for 24 hours straight with no sleep. And in most cases, they’d crack. But you—”
“I’d be unbreakable,” Ray said. “And when you’d leave the room, I’d close my eyes and bounce to the beat.”
“I don’t know what happened to you, but I’m guessing your mother dropped you on the head one too many times.”
“Pardon me if my music tastes aren’t so wide-reaching and diverse as yours, Hawk. Will you still be my friend if I tell you I hate the Eagles?”
“Blasphemy,” Hawk said. “May your life in the hereafter be filled with Macarena on endless repeat.”
“I love that tune,” Ray said, thrusting his arms out to begin the song’s accompanying dance moves.
Hawk moaned. “I’m glad I left the Seals because I would’ve straight up shot you myself if you subjected me to your music at base camp.”
“At least we agree that the Dallas Cowboys
