Chapter 14

Dylan

I didn't fall into bed until the night was nearly over, my time divided between actual work that I get paid for and the research I've been doing into Matt's attack. There's something in that code… I'd swear I've seen it before or… something. I don't know, but my brain won't let it go. It's a niggling thought that won't fully form.

Matt woke me at the crack of dawn—though he insisted it was after seven—for a round of sweaty good-morning sex, then I went back to sleep while he got up to do his daytime-person stuff. When I finally drift awake again, it's to the blessed aroma of coffee wafting toward me from the breakfast tray my man is holding.

"Are you awake?" he asks.

"My eyes are open, aren't they?" I lever myself to a sitting position. This is just one of the things I love about Matt—if he's here, he not only doesn't bitch about me working at night and sleeping for most of the morning, but he almost always wakes me with breakfast.

How was I ever supposed to resist a man that sweet and thoughtful? Who looks like a god naked and literally slays demons for a living? It's the trifecta of perfection, and that's before you consider how much he loves me.

The man who loves me so, so much snorts as he lowers the tray to the mattress and crawls onto the bed beside it. "Dude, trust me, your eyes being open means diddly squat."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I frown as I pick up my mug—I know it's mine and not his because it has the word "mine" in binary code on it. Plus I drink my coffee black, whereas he dilutes his with fancy creamers and syrups. It's a travesty.

"It means that sometimes you sleep with your eyes open, which is creepy enough, but you also talk in your sleep. And if I ask you a question, you'll answer it like you're awake, so we've had whole fucking conversations where I thought you were awake, but you were sleeping the whole time."

My mug is frozen halfway to my mouth, and I slowly lower it. "Excuse me?" He's joking. He has to be. Now he's going to laugh and say "Gotcha!" and I'll laugh, too, because it's a pretty good one.

Shaking his head, he sips his coffee. "I wish. Creepy zombie boyfriend wasn't what I signed up for. Lucky for you that you're so amazing when you're actually awake."

I gulp a mouthful of coffee in a desperate attempt to wake up my brain. "How come you've never mentioned this before?" I sleep with my eyes open ? That's fucking weird!

I already knew about the sleep talking part. It's why I only do sleepovers with people I trust—once I start talking, I genuinely will answer questions and hold a full conversation without ever waking up, and I have no memory of it in the morning.

Matt shrugs. "What was I going to say? ‘Babe, I love you, but when you sleep, you're like one of those possessed dolls'?"

The chuckle bubbles up from deep inside. "A possessed doll? Like in a horror movie? Or that really old episode of The Twilight Zone where the doll pushes the dad down the stairs and kills him so it can control the rest of the family?"

He blinks at me. "Thank fuck there are no stairs in your apartment. I'm going to have nightmares about that."

That sets me off laughing again, and when it finally subsides, Matt's wearing a happy smile. "What?"

He shrugs. "Nothing. I just like your laugh. Have your bacon sandwich before it gets cold."

I eat my breakfast while he has his third coffee of the day and fills me in on what he's been doing—workout, run, call with Ian, working on the list of enemies we asked him to make. Then, as I wipe my mouth with a napkin, he asks, "So what are your plans for the day?"

"Grocery shopping," I say prosaically. We hit the convenience store on the corner when we first got back to get some stopgap stuff, but it's been two days, and a real shop is needed.

Matt nods. "Cool, cool. I'll come with." The first time he heard that I go to the grocery store, he was surprised I don't just get stuff delivered. And sure, that's what I'd prefer. But I live (mostly) alone and work full-time from home—if I didn't go out for things like groceries and the occasional run, I'd turn into an official hermit. Humans need fresh air and sunlight… or so I'm told.

"Great. I just need another cup of coffee first, and…" I trail off as I realize he's watching me expectantly. "What?"

"What?"

"Matt," I warn. I'm still on coffee number one. This is not the time for word games.

"No, seriously. What? As in, what's had you so preoccupied over the past two days, and when are you going to tell me about it?"

Dammit. I should have known he'd guess. That's the problem when you fall in love with someone who's been a friend for twenty years. They know all your quirks from the beginning.

"Aren't the facts that someone tried to kill you, breached our security, and my regular workload enough to preoccupy me?"

He snorts and gives me a "Seriously, bitch?" look, and I sigh.

"I didn't want to mention it yet," I admit. "It might not be anything. I don't even know what it is, really."

He's still looking at me expectantly.

"Your phone."

Expectation changes to bewilderment. "My phone?"

"Yeah. Your phone and smartwatch."

Matt looks at the watch on his wrist, then back at me. "What about them?"

"They left them on you. They stole your cash and credit cards, but left the electronics behind."

"They stole my kit too," he reminds me bitterly. "Bastards. But they left the car."

I nod. "They stole your kit—the sword, daggers, herbs, all of it. Plus they searched you for other weapons and took all of those too. Basically, anything that would make you memorable to the police."

"Fuck you, I'm very memorable." The offense in his tone would be funny if we were talking about anything else.

"Of course you are," I soothe. "But think like a cop who sees victims of beatings and robberies all the time. Eventually, they probably all blur together… unless one of them had a freaking crystal-inlaid sword in his car."

"Good point. And yeah, I agree it's weird that they'd leave the car and the electronics behind, but I don't get why this is bugging you so much."

I ignore the implied question and keep following my train of thought. I'm hoping if I say it out loud, something will click into place. "The code was written to delete the job sheet. They didn't want us to know exactly what had happened or who they are. They want to remain invisible."

"That makes sense, though."

I nod slowly. "Yeah, but then why not make you invisible too?"

Confusion vanishes. "If I had died, I would have missed my required check-in. The Collective would have traced my phone and smartwatch."

"The police couldn't identify you from the car because it's registered to the Collective," I continue. "But as soon as morning hit and the office was open, they could have called, reported what had happened with the car, and asked for information about the driver."

"It was Reno." Matt's filling in the gaps fast now. "If it was someone who hated me and wanted to kill me, why let me be found? They could have taken me out to the desert and buried me. Or just let the animals get to me."

"Exactly." I put down my half-drunk coffee. "Instead they left you somewhere you'd be found, with clues there to help identify you. Or at least to help us find you." I shake my head. "This isn't personal to you. They didn't want you dead because of a grudge against you."

"I'll stop working on my enemies list, then," he says dryly. "It was depressing me, anyway." Grimacing, he adds, "So this was a message, then? They used me to carry out a grudge against someone else?"

I shrug helplessly. "I don't know. They know enough about the Collective to know how the cars are registered and how we manage jobs. Did they know all that before or after they hacked into our servers? If it was after, how did they even know we existed to hack into? I know Norval's working on the whole grudge angle, but something about that feels… off. Like, if you were holding a grudge against someone that was so intense you murdered—or tried to murder—their loved one and finally got your vengeance, wouldn't you want them to know it wasn't an accident?"

Matt seesaws his hand. "Meh. Maybe. If you're cold-blooded enough to plan out a murder with this level of detail, you're also probably cold enough to get satisfaction from knowing your enemy is miserable and suffering. But murder as vengeance is a big tit-for-tat. Whatever grudge they're holding would have to be for something hardcore."

"Or they're seriously disturbed," I counter. "Either way, this just raises more questions. And why would they go so far out of their way to remain hidden but make sure you could be found so easily? Making you disappear would cause just as much angst—if not more. It wouldn't be easy for any of us to go on not knowing whether you were alive or dead, safe or being hurt. The pain would be ongoing, with no chance of closure."

"I didn't think of that." Matt purses his lips, and I resist the urge to lean in and kiss that pucker. "Could it have been an accident?"

Huh? "You being bashed nearly to death after they lured you there? No, I'm pretty sure it was deliberate, babe."

"No, I mean leaving my tech behind. Maybe they were supposed to take it—and the car—but they forgot. Or got interrupted."

I stare at him, my mind racing. "That could be it. I—" Pushing aside the breakfast tray, I crawl out of bed. "Let's go see if the police report's been updated."

Matt trails behind me. "Why?"

"Because last time I checked it, there was a note that they'd asked for any witnesses to come forward. The warehouse you were found in is a known make-out place—there's even a sign so people know if it's occupied already. I want to see if the cops found anyone to talk to. Maybe we can get a better timeframe." I'm already into the Reno PDs files before I finish talking. Having done it a few times already, it's easier than the first time.

Matt looks over my shoulder. "Dude, did you hack the police ?"

"How else am I supposed to look at the report for an ongoing investigation?" I ask absently, scrolling through notes. "Here we are… Okay, so somebody admitted to being there earlier that night. The guy—Chad, oh my god, why would you call your kid that when you know it's a stereotype—he said his girlfriend's curfew is ten, so they left about fifteen minutes before."

"What time was I found?"

"The 911 call was logged at 11:27." I chew on my lip, trying to do the math, and scroll back to the interview notes for the couple who found him. "Let's say the kids got there at eleven fifteen-ish. Your car was parked around the back, so they wouldn't have seen it, and they say the flag wasn't up to show the place was occupied. The detective says that was mentioned more three times, that they never would have gone in if the flag was up."

"So either they didn't know about the flag, which seems unlikely given the amount of detail they'd already covered, or they had time to put it down before they left," Matt concludes. "Which I guess means they weren't interrupted, and they planned to leave the electronics all along."

"More questions. No answers." Fuck.