capacity he or she has for obtaining information? I can’t work within the Omega system. If this mole is as good as we think, he’ll realize it if I’m inside.”
The last thing either of them wanted to do was cause the traitor to go to ground. They’d never be able to catch him then. And that would make apprehending Freihof that much harder.
“The only people who will know what I’m doing will be you, Ren McClement in the DC office and me.”
Steve nodded. They both wanted to trust more people but keeping this circle as small as possible was the best scenario. McClement worked in the highest levels of Omega Sector, bringing together multiple departments when needed. The man was all but a legend. Cain trusted Ren just as much as he trusted Steve.
With his life.
“You just be careful,” Steve said. “Going dark can have some hard consequences.”
“I’m willing to pay that price if it means we get this traitor out of our midst.”
“I know you are.” Steve studied him. “But sometimes we are not the only person to pay the price. Hayley might have been guilty of whatever crime she committed years ago, but dragging her into this could be even worse.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll protect Hayley.” Believe it or not, even if she couldn’t see it, he’d always been trying to protect her. From the day he met her in high school until today. “I’ll make sure it’s cleared through the state so that she won’t be violating her parole by helping us. I won’t let anybody hurt her.”
Steve moved toward the door, nodding. “I hope she sees it that way.”
So did Cain.
Hayley loaded the dirty dishes and wiped down the booth that had just been vacated by Bluewater Grill patrons. She slid along the soft gray leather of the seat to wipe a far corner of the table. She swiped at a few strands of dirty-blond hair that had escaped her long braid with the back of her hand, then hoped the moisture left on her forehead wasn’t cleaning solution.
She almost moaned in relief at how good it felt to be off her feet for just a second as she wiped. It was two o’clock in the afternoon. She’d already been working six hours and still had another eight to go. Just like yesterday.
And the day before that.
It was the only way she could make ends meet when she earned only minimum wage. Less than that, actually. But she didn’t argue, because at least she had a job.
Not many people were willing to hire a convicted felon, she’d found when she left the Georgia Women’s Correctional Institution four months ago. She’d been fortunate that the restaurant she worked at in high school part-time, still owned by the same family and now managed by their son, Timothy Smittle, a high school classmate of Hayley’s, had been willing to take a chance on her.
They hadn’t let her wait tables, explaining that they couldn’t allow an ex-felon to interact with customers or handle money. But Timothy had graciously offered to allow Hayley to bus the tables, wash dishes and clean the entire restaurant.
The same Timothy who was looking over at her now, eyebrow raised, since she was no longer wiping the table, just resting. Hayley quickly jumped up, not wanting to risk another lecture about how lucky she was to have a job at such a respectable establishment.
Hayley didn’t think too hard about her future. About the fact that she was twenty-eight years old, had no college degree, was an ex-felon and would probably still be working fourteen-hour days at the Bluewater twenty years from now.
Or the fact that she might have to start running for her life as soon as she was legally able to access a computer.
As she carried the bus pan back to the dishwashing area—thankful that some customer had come in and cut Timothy off from the route that had led straight to her and a lecture—she tried to count her blessings.
As a part of her parole she wasn’t allowed to go anywhere near a computer. The anklet she couldn’t remove ensured she had no interaction with a computer that lasted longer than two minutes every six hours. Not even social media. Although maybe she could manage a tweet in under two minutes.
It was a prototype. She should probably feel honored that she was one of the first batch of cyber criminals it was being tested on. This was what happened when you were part of a high-profile crime that even grabbed the attention of US senators. Everybody wanted to make sure you didn’t do it again.
Hayley had to admit her fingers itched for a keyboard. She yearned to get back into a world that involved no dishes or people like Smittle. She had a gift. When it came to computers and coding, she knew she had a gift.
Too bad she had let those gifts get her in trouble and cut her off from what could’ve been a very comfortable future. No one to blame but herself for that.
Well, maybe someone else to blame. But she didn’t expect she would ever see Cain Bennett again, so there was no point in targeting any anger toward him.
She rubbed at an ache in the general vicinity of her heart at the thought of Cain. Then cursed herself not only for getting her shirt damp with her wet fingers, but for even thinking about him at all.
Plus, being away from computers was what was keeping her safe right now. As long as she couldn’t go near a computer, she was not a threat to the people behind the situation that had led to her arrest and going to jail. Once they knew she could get near a computer and had the ability to trace their identities, Hayley had no doubt her life would become much more complicated.
But she couldn’t touch a computer for another two years at least, so she would run screaming over that bridge when she got to it. She had more than enough trouble to deal with today.
Which led to her most important blessing. She could hear him entering the restaurant right now, even from the back.
“Mama Hay-lay!”
Hayley dried her hands on her apron and ripped it off, dropping it next to the dishwasher. She walked out into the front of the restaurant, strolling by Timothy without even pausing.
“I’m taking my hour break.”
Timothy didn’t argue. It was the one measure Hayley had demanded when she came to work here. That she would be given a break once a day, during the lull in the afternoon, when her cousin Ariel came by with little Mason.
Mason, Hayley’s three-and-a-half-year-old son.
She grabbed Mason up in a hug, tickling him, breathing in his scent that meant so much to her, that calmed her and the tight spot inside her that grew whenever they were apart.
She and her son were together. They were both healthy, they were both happy, they were both free. A piece of paper signed while Hayley was in prison had made Ariel Mason’s legal guardian hours after his birth, but her cousin had made sure that Mason always knew Hayley was his mom.
Hayley wrapped her arm around Ariel also. “Hey, coz. Thanks again.”
Hayley knew it had to be difficult
