Tox glanced around the room at the funky dining table, the array of art, the uncleared breakfast dish, that damned balance ball. “Sounds about right.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway.”
“He couldn’t have killed Phipps though. If the loud blast I heard in the elevator was the gunshot, that guy was too far away from the office to get there.”
“You’re sure.”
“Positive. He stopped. I don’t know, maybe he saw the shooter or something, but just as the doors closed, I saw him stop in the main reception area. Then, maybe a few seconds later, bang. That poor guy must have been so freaked out. He called 911, right?”
No, he hadn’t.Tox shot a text off to Twitch. Even if this mystery man wasn’t the shooter, he was a witness—a witness who had left the scene without reporting it.
“All right. Let’s get back to Van Gent’s office and the computer.” She had already informed Tox about downloading the client list and the strange file that had caused the system to crash.
“After that, I got the heck outta Dodge. That’s when you crashed into me.”
“When I crashed into you?”
“You heard me,” Calliope deadpanned.
Tox gifted her with a magnificent grin, a perfect dimple punctuating each side of his mouth—not slashes, but little round indents, like God had poked his cheeks.
Calliope turned to the laptop and indicated the flash drive and printed files.
“This is what I found.”
Tox stretched a long arm across the table and snagged the papers.
“Looks like a client list. What are these numbers?”
Calliope craned her neck to look at the page.
“Accounts? Transaction identification numbers?” She lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Above my pay grade.”
“Are any of these the document that triggered the system wipe?”
“No. Trying to move another document is what initiated the shutdown. It was a single page document named Golf Scores, but the ‘S’ in Scores was a dollar sign.”
“Be sure to let Twitch know. Who knows what magical recovery techniques she has up her sleeve?”
“I’ll copy the flash drive for her as well.”
“I’m texting Nathan to see how he wants to handle this. The flash drive needs to get turned over to the Feds, but Twitch’ll want to get a look at it first.”
“What can Twitch do that the Feds can’t?”
“Plenty. She’s not hampered by pesky things like warrants and due process.” The text reply was immediate. “Nathan wants you to hang onto it. No point in adding unnecessary links to the chain of evidence.” Tox moved around the table and grabbed her empty cereal bowl and spoon. “Sorry, old habits.”
“Wait.” Calliope grabbed the bowl and swallowed the milk sitting in the bottom. “Best part.” She gave him a milk-mustache smile.
He swiped at the milk on her lip with his bear paw of a hand and strode into the kitchen. Calliope followed him to the entrance where two heavy wooden pocket doors separated the two rooms. She leaned against the door jamb and observed him. At the sink, he shoved up the sleeves of his black tee. His dilapidated 501s highlighted a toned haunch, the frayed cuffs brushed soft-soled military boots. He soaped the sponge, cleaned and rinsed the bowl, and set it in the dish drainer. The entire bowl fit in his hand. Calliope had a momentary flight of fancy: Tox in her kitchen each morning, complaining good-naturedly about her mess, the two of them a couple.
“Let’s take a walk.” Calliope shot up straight.
“You sure? It’s gonna rain.”
“Positive. Big, bad soldier afraid of a little rain?”
“Sailor, not soldier. And I prefer water of any kind.”
Calliope knew Tox was a SEAL, but she also knew he never mentioned it. “Well, that’s one thing we have in common.”