“You assume a lot for a data-oriented person.” His face is back to being unreadable, and we’re back to uncomfortable silence. There’s a dull ache in my chest at how deep the chasm between us feels.
I force myself to keep making conversation, knowing he’s right and we need to sell this friendship.
“Almost seventeen years as a SEAL, huh?” I make an impressed face as I swirl a fry in ketchup, then mayo, and toss it into my mouth.
“Yeah, sounds like a lifetime. It went by faster than I could blink, though.” Sawyer pauses to take another sip of his beer. “Time flies when you’re having fun, I guess.”
“Why’d you leave, then?” I look him over with interest, realizing we never went deep in our week together. It was all new and exciting, we were just starting to get to know each other and our conversations were always lighthearted and full of laughter. “Sounds like you loved it.”
“I had other places to be.” Sawyer shrugs before leaning forward and lowering his voice so no one around us will hear. “So, care to share how you got yourself involved with a nameless, faceless crime lord that has every agency in the world on its toes?”
“Well, I was hired to upgrade the cybersecurity system for a big bank in DC. I did my routine sweep-through to eliminate any existing threats and stumbled across a code in the bank’s system. Not the usual fraud and embezzlement kind you’d expect to find, though it was made to look like it.” I pause to think, dwelling on the pestering feeling that I’m constantly looking at the case through a dirty window, the muck blurring a vital piece of information I just know I’m missing. It’s driving me crazy that so many things still aren’t adding up. “Someone less experienced may have overlooked it or reported it as what it seems. An investigation would have ensued, someone would have taken the fall and gone to jail, and no one would have been the wiser as to what wasreallygoing on.”
“But not you,” Sawyer says, in a tone I swear sounds almost proud, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. I adore the way he gets fully invested in my stories, it was one of his strongest allures last year, his ability to seem all-in at the most mundane of conversations. “What was the code for?”
“It was a mule disguised as a worm,” I explain. “Instead of skimming off unsuspecting people, it was moving money from one large account, a master account, to hundreds of private accounts inside the bank. Those small, private accounts were opened on the social security numbers of deceased people, most of them have been dead longer than the accounts were open, probably to avoid any family finding out and claiming ownership. Then, when the private accounts reached a certain balance, the deposits would stop entirely and they’d just sit there, waiting. The entire process was slow, patient, and internal to the DC branch.”
“Less chance of raising a red flag.” Sawyer’s face lights up with realization,
Having someone I can talk to about the case is a relief. I’ve been chasing down leads and seeking out clues as to Harlow’s whereabouts alone for over a month, moving from city to city while trying to stay off his radar.
“It took me a while, but eventually I managed to track down an older private account that was emptied and follow the withdrawal trail, and from that point it got much easier to unravel the web. It took me to a shell corporation here in the states, one out of about a dozen. From there, the funds were being slowly moved to a Swiss account owned by a Cyprus Offshore, which eventually led me to the name Daniel Harlow.”
“Money laundering.” Sawyer’s brow furrows, and I can see the wheels turn in his head. “But why didn’t you report it and move on?”
“There’s a strong indication of high-level inside involvement. I didn’t know who to trust, so I went to my uncle.” I pick another fry and repeat my ritual—dunk it in ketchup, then swirl it through mayonnaise—before I take a bite, my thin metal bracelets jingling with every move. Sawyer’s gaze is immediately drawn to them, his pupils slightly dilating, and I clear my throat against the sudden dryness, snapping Sawyer’s focus back to my face. “He made sure the info got to the right people, and since I was already involved and a known, trusted asset, I was asked to keep digging under the radar.”
“Huh.” Sawyer seems to ponder for a second, then looks at my double-dipped fry. “Why don’t you just mix the ketchup and mayo?”
“It doesn’t taste the same.”
“Okay.” He looks me up and down. Not in the sexy, slow way guys do, but with his eyebrows drawn together in a frown as if he’s waiting for me to elaborate.
I chew the second half of my fry slowly and sip on my stout, avoiding his penetrating gaze.
“You’re being very intense,” I say after a few seconds, lifting my gaze to meet his night-sky blues. “It doesn’t exactly exude friendly beer vibes.”
Sawyer’s eyes grow wide, and he slumps back in his chair, taking a long swig from his beer.
“You added a charm to your bracelets.” He points his beer bottle in the general direction of my wrist. “It looks kind of like a hamza.”
“It’s kind of connected, actually.” I slide off my bracelets and hand the one with the charm to Sawyer so he can take in the details carved over it. “It’s called the Mano Pantea, or Hand-of-the-All-Goddess, but in ancient Egypt it was called the Two Fingers.”
“Ah, Egyptian heirloom, I should have known.” I raise an eyebrow at his statement, but he’s too busy squinting at the small frog on the back side. “What does it symbolize?”
“The Two Fingers represent Isis and Osiris and the thumb represents their child Horus.” I point at each digit, my own fingers brushing lightly against Sawyer’s as I do. “It was used to invoke the protective spirits of parents over their child.” Sawyer looks up at me, understanding blooming in his eyes, but I don’t feel like opening the why’s of me choosing this specific emblem. “It’s just a silly superstition, but it’s pretty.”
“Okay.” He hands me back the bracelets and watches as I slide them back on. “So, how long have you been hacking?”
“Since I was thirteen. I, uh… I was always good with computers,” I say before sucking in a deep breath. “You know how some kids like taking appliances apart to see how they work?” Sawyer smiles ruefully, indicating himself with both thumbs, and I laugh at the image painted in my head of a little toddler Sawyer pulling an old radio apart with his chubby little fingers.
“What’s so funny, Techy?” Sawyer asks with an amused smile.
“You were one of those adorably chubby babies that everyone wanted to cuddle all the time, weren’t you?”
Something lost and sad passes through his eyes, gone in a flash.
“Are you trying to change the subject, Madeline?” he teases me with an easy smile, dialing up the charm to try and distract me from pursuing the answer to a question that must have made him uncomfortable. “Don’t hold out on me, I want to know everything about you.”