In bed with Havoc

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

AVA

Against the rational part of my mind, I found myself searching for the drive to hand it over to him.

“You'll regret this, Ava.” I scolded myself. “silly girl.”

I found the flash drive at the bottom of the clothing bag then sat on the edge of the bed, turning it over in my fingers as I second guessed my decision.

He needed what was on this drive. I needed room to move, my laptop, my phone, access to something beyond the four walls I'd been circling for days and sitting on leverage while Vargas mapped the perimeter outside was starting to feel less like being smart and more like stupidity.

I closed my fingers around the drive, stood up, and went to find his office.

He was behind the desk when I walked in, jacket off, sleeves rolled, three monitors running and a phone pressed between his ear and shoulder. He looked up when I entered and held up one finger without breaking his conversation, making me roll my eyes as I walked straight to his desk and dropped the drive directly onto the papers in front of him.

He looked at it. Then at me.

He said something into the phone then hung up.

"Where did you hide that?"

"I didn't hide it. I just kept what’s mine." Then added, "it was in my car. Your people missed it."

A brief expression flashed across his face, like irrotation that his men had missed somethng so vital. "You've had it this entire time but waited for me to ask."

"Yes."

"And you didn't say anything."

"You didn't ask until yesterday."

He looked at me for a long moment and I looked back neither of us blinking and then he said, "What do you want?"

"My laptop, phone and access to everywhere I've been restricted from entering." I crossed my arms. "In exchange I'll share what's on the drive, walk you through the full file structure, and tell you what my source told me off the record."

He sat back in his chair. "You could have had all of that if you'd asked."

"I know."

"Then why the negotiation?"

"Because I don't want anything for free from you," I said, "even if it's my right to have my own belongings. I want a transaction. Clean, clear, nothing owed on either side."

He studied me for a second then reached out and picked up the drive, turning it over once before inserting it into the port on his laptop.

I stayed on my side of the desk, watching his face as the files loaded.

He was good at being guarded, I'd give him that, but I'd spent five years learning to read the spaces between what people showed and what they felt but as I watched his eyes move across the screen I couldn't read anything but… he wasn’t surprised by what he was seeing so that contradicts the picture of having limited knowledge he was trying to paint earlier.

"You know some of this," I said.

He didn't answer.

"Not all of it," I continued, "but some. The Eastern European accounts, maybe. The shipping routes." I waited. "The Grant family."

He looked up fast at that, making me smile. "There it is."

"Where did you get the Grant information?"

"Same source as everything else, a person inside Vargas's operation who decided they'd rather talk to a journalist than end up at the bottom of a river." I leaned forward slightly. "What's your connection to them?"

"That's not part of our transaction."

"It is now."

"No," he said, "it isn't. Not yet." He looked back at the screen and I watched him read for another minute while the only sound was the faint click of him scrolling and the rain that had started up again outside. "Your source gave you more than they should have been able to access."

"My source was motivated."

"Your source is probably dead."

I knew that but hearing it made it hit different but I kept my face even. "I know."

He looked up at that, briefly, like the admission surprised him, then back to the screen. He read for another few minutes while I waited. Why? I wasn't sure.

When he reached the end of the files he sat back and was quiet for a moment.

"This is good work," he said.

"I know that too."

He almost smiled then pulled open his desk drawer and set my laptop on the desk, then my phone beside it but as I reached for them he said, "Both have monitoring software installed. I'm telling you that outright."

I stopped with my hand on the laptop, eyes slowly lifting to look at him.

"You could have not told me," I said.

"I could have."

"Why did you?"

He held my gaze. "Because you'd have found it anyway and I'd rather you know I was watching than find out I was hiding it."

I picked up the laptop. "There's a version of you that's almost reasonable, you know that."

"Don't push it."

"I'm serious, it appears occasionally, usually right before you do something insufferable." I tucked the phone into my pocket. "Like rotating guards off pool duty."

"That was a security decision."

"Marcus was devastated."

"Marcus was distracted."

"Marcus was human," I said, "which is more than I can say for most people in this building."

He looked at me with an expression that was working very hard not to be amusement. "Are you done?"

"Probably not." I picked up the phone and held it against my chest. "Resrictions to the rest of the house?."

"Cleared as of this morning."

I nodded, turning toward the door and I was almost through it when he spoke.

"You're the best journalist I've ever watched work."

I stopped.

Turning around slowly.

He was looking at the monitor again, not at me, chin slightly down, expression even, like he hadn't just said something that rearranged my traitorous heart.

He hadn't seen me in action so how…

Unless…

It all clicked.

"You've been watching me work," I said slowly, "for five years."

He said nothing.

"My stories," I said, "my bylines, my process, you've been watching all of it."

Still nothing.

I looked at him for a long moment as he kept his eyes on the screen and I shook my head slowly in exhaustion, annoyance and they resurfacing feelings I had for him. "You're sick, Ryder."

I left before he could respond and I heard nothing behind me, no footstep, no voice, just silence but I knew without turning around that he was staring at the door.

Sitting on my bed, I decide to distract myself by going through my laptop to make sure everything was intact. As I opened it the monitoring software was visible immediately, a small icon in the corner that he hadn't bothered to hide. I looked at it for a second then opened the file browser.

The drive contents were copied to the desktop, he'd given me access to my own files which was good at least. I started clicking through folders to check what was there and what wasn't. Thankfully, most of it was intact. I was halfway through checking the document files when I saw it.

A folder I hadn't made.

It had just my name written on it.

I moved the cursor over it and stopped.

My finger hovered above the trackpad because I was afraid to open it