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Ava

My eyes flitted between the rain-slicked D.C. skyline outside my office window and the neon-blue horizontal progress bar moving at a snail’s pace on my laptop screen. It was nonsensical, but some part of my brain seemed to reason that if I averted my attention every now and again, the encrypted file would download faster. Yet, the bar seemed intent on staying at eighty-eight percent and not moving any further.

My heart lodged in my throat, and not for the first time today.

I was alone in my corner office. The only sounds came from the heavy rainfall outside the building and the low, systematic hum of the HVAC system pushing air through the vents. Blood pounded in my ears, and yet the muted background noise seemed even louder. A blaring, damning reminder that if I got caught right now, I’d have no excuse. Mainly because it was way past midnight oil hours, and I had no reason to still be here.

Except, of course, unless I was doing something that I wasn’t supposed to be doing.

Eighty-nine percent.

I exhaled slowly, trying to steady my fraying nerves.

To distract myself from the impending heart attack, I quickly pulled up the private browser tab I’d left minimized. An image of a rustic wooden log cabin popped up on the screen. The weathered shingles left much to be desired, as did the ropes of moss and vines spilling over the gutters. But there was potential. Even in its rundown state, the lakeside cabin was better than prison. Or a coffin.

No, coffins didn’t come with wrap-around decks supported by square pillars that still seemed strong more than eighty years after they were built.

There was a narrow, rickety pier that extended from the grassy shoreline to the calm water. The lake marking its namesake was tranquil, mysterious, with tendrils of mist and low-lying fog blanketing the area.

But the best part of the picture was two very important factors. The first was the bold “SOLD” sticker plastered right across the image of the lake house. The second was the address typed beneath it: Lot 402, Blackwood Lake, WA. An obscure, nondescript blip on the map that no one could trace back to me.

It was the perfect hole to duck into and disappear.

“Ava?”

I was so deep in thought that Julia’s quiet voice startled me. My head snapped to the half-open doorway where my friend stood waiting, her dark hair bundled up in a messy bun and a weary look on her face. Her gaze passed over my laptop, her eyes flashing with acknowledgement. The frown she wore pulled tighter. She didn’t throw out any final warnings—we both knew that there were ears and eyes all over the office, even at this hour. There was no need for any of that, anyway.

She cleared her throat and stepped inside, making a beeline for my desk. “Thomas has you working like crazy. You need to take a break one of these days, spend some time taking care of yourself. Speaking of which, I wrote down the name of that stylist you asked for. She’s booked out, but I’m sure you can pull some strings.”

She casually slid a folded piece of paper across my desk. I stared at it, a lump forming in my throat.

“Trust me, the woman knows what you want. Not too bad a price point, either. It’s probably the best you’re gonna get,” she finished.

Julia’s voice remained even, and if someone could overhear us, there’d have been nothing suspicious at all about the delivery. But the look in her eyes told a different story.

I pocketed the piece of paper without reading it and shot one final glance over at my laptop.

One hundred percent.

“Well, let’s hope she’s worth the hype,” was all I could muster the courage to say. Anything else and I would’ve given myself away to whatever hidden cameras were stashed around my office. This was it.

I snapped my laptop shut, stuffed it into my briefcase, and slid out of my seat. Julia and I shared a look that gave more away than our words ever could have, and I rounded my desk to pull her into a tight hug.

She squeezed me back, taking a deep breath.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice wavering.

“Anytime.”

I hesitated, still holding onto her. “I… you should—”

“Go.” She let go of me with a light sniffle, her hands clamping on my arms. Her face was somber, a wall of resolve. “Get out of here, Ava. Don’t worry about me.”

I blinked rapidly, forcing back tears. And the scariest part wasn’t that I was on the verge of them, but that Julia, calm and collected Julia, was holding them back too.

There weren’t enough words to thank her for what she had done for me. I hadn’t convinced her to let me stay and help her deal with the fallout in the morning when what we did was inevitably discovered by the security analysts. She insisted I leave and let her deal with it alone. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t bring her with me.