“I should go talk to him. I—once he’s alone—”
“No.” Levon reached across her to block her hand when she reached for the car door handle. “You are not leaving this vehicle, Olive.”
“This has to be a mistake; Franklin wouldn’t—”
Then as if summoned by her protests, Franklin’s gaze moved across the parking lot and fell directly on her. He froze. Olive froze. Levon cursed when he noticed the exchange.
“We’re leaving.” Levon tossed his half-full cup of coffee out the window and started the engine. As he backed out of their space, Levon asked, “Anyone else notice us?”
But Olive couldn’t talk, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything except stare at Franklin Monroe and Colin Wilson, both of whom were now staring directly back at her.
10
Olive was in danger. Levon could tell himself a million times over that his intrepid high school crush, and mother of his child, would have been in the Reapers’ crosshairs regardless of whether he was here or not—but that still didn’t change the fact that it was his fault she’d been on their stakeout last weekend. Stupid move, bro. Profoundly stupid.
Levon vowed to do better as he worked on the plumbing at the high school that Wednesday. He had to do better. There was no other option.
As he jammed the plunger harder than necessary into the porcelain basin, trying to dislodge whatever object shouldn’t have been in there in the first place, he tried to take some consolation in the fact that at least his infiltration into the school’s maintenance team had gone off without a hitch. They’d even given him a medieval-looking ring of keys that jangled on his belt with each hard thrust of the plunger. Those keys unlocked every door on campus, including Olive’s classroom. Plus, being here gave him a credible excuse to check in on Olive during the day.
Just not this day. These high school kids were keeping him busy, and the toilets weren’t going to unclog themselves of... what was that? A loud sucking noise filled the stall, followed by the wet plop of something on the floor. Nose scrunched, he reached down with a gloved hand to pick it up. It appeared to be a water-logged wad of paper. Setting the plunger aside, he carefully peeled the soggy paper open to reveal what looked like the answer key to a quiz. Of course.
“Brats,” he muttered under his breath. Not that he hadn’t tried the same thing himself back in the day. Tests were the worst for him in high school. All that pressure, all those questions swimming around before his eyes. Add in the time constraints and they were a disaster waiting to happen. It didn’t matter that he knew the material. Not when he had horrible test-taking anxiety. So yeah, he’d cheated a few times, because what else was he going to do? Back then, people didn’t recognize dyslexia as a real learning disability like they did now. They didn’t cut him any slack or give him any special accommodations because of it. They just made him sit there like everyone else while the time ticked by. He’d felt like a dead man walking those days, even with Olive’s help. If it hadn’t been for the resourcefulness of his friends in stealing the answers and his own creativity in making up extra credit points, he’d probably still be sitting in one of the classrooms, trying to find a way to pass.
He tried the handle on the toilet, but the damned thing was still clogged. Picking up the plunger, he went back to work, giving his upper body a good workout. Finally, a second squelching noise was followed by a second wad—this time, it was paper towels, wrapped around an object of some kind. Upon inspection, he found something much more promising inside—a SIM card.
Bingo.
After cleaning up the stall and making sure the toilet flushed properly now, Levon exited the bathroom, the SIM card wrapped in a fresh paper towel and tucked in his pocket. Once he’d washed up and dropped off the plunger back in the supply closet, he took a break and headed out to find a deserted computer lab where he could upload the data from the SIM card for the guys back in Arlington. He dialed the home office while he searched the building. Thankfully, it was around lunch time, so there weren’t a lot of people around to overhear him in this corridor.
His teammate Noah Wild answered on the second ring. “Hey, Asher. What’s up?”
“Hey, I just found a SIM card someone tried to flush, and I need you guys to find out what’s on it.” He stopped at the end of an empty hall and peered through the glass window set in the wooden doors. Success—the room was unoccupied, computers ready and waiting. The door was locked, but soon the keys on his ring had him inside and sitting behind the desk. He left the lights off to avoid drawing unnecessary attention to himself, and booted up a computer. “I’ve just located a terminal and will send the data momentarily.”
“Good job,” Noah said. “I’ll have Clint go over it since he’s still chomping at the bit around here.”
Levon snorted. Clint Buckman was an excellent sailor and teammate who’d hit a rough patch personally and was currently sidelined from active duties until things got worked out. Levon could understand the guy’s pain. Sometimes he thought if he didn’t have the job with SSoF, he might lose his mind. He needed an outlet for all the skills he’d mastered as a SEAL and the other guys felt the same. “Cool. I need them ASAP, so whenever he’s done, make sure he sends me the results.”
“Did something else happen?” Noah asked, his tone tightening with tension. They were co-workers, but the guys were also a band of brothers, forged from
