Page 39 of Shadow Secrets
“Rank,” Sebastian said.
“That’s my read, too.” The sound of shuffling papers came from Claire’s end. “The bicep placement is standard—visible to other members during physical contact, but concealable under a sleeve. The neck placement, hidden under hair, suggests a higher position in the hierarchy. Someone who doesn’t need to display membership. Someone who’s known by role, not by mark.”
Vivi tilted her head. “The more hidden the tattoo, the higher the rank. Penn designed a system that communicates status through concealment. That’s remarkably sophisticated.”
“That’s Penn,” Sutton said from the corner of the room. She paced quietly, still keyed up. Her voice was steady, but her hands were fisted.
Sebastian looked at her. She met his eyes, held them. He saw exhaustion, fear, the residual tremor of adrenaline. But underneath all of it, the same stubborn clarity that had carried her through everything since the night she’d shown up on his porch.
“Is Booker talking?” Garrett asked.
“Not yet,” Claire said. “He lawyered up immediately. But we’re building the case independent of his cooperation. His background, and now this NSA connection, the tattoo placement—it appears Booker isn’t just a member of this organization. He’s a recruiter. Possibly the recruiter.”
Sebastian watched Sutton’s face as the implication landed. If Booker was a recruiter—if he was the man who identified assets, cultivated them, pulled them into the network—then he was likely the man who’d done that with Penn.
Sutton stopped pacing, narrowed her eyes at his picture.
“We’re working to establish a direct connection between Booker and Penn,” Claire continued. “But the tattoo is strong circumstantial evidence.”
“No one but Penn could have done it,” Sutton said, as much to herself as the room.
“In the meantime,” Claire said, “Booker’s not going anywhere. But I want to be clear—until we know the full scope of this network, until we understand who he reports to and whether there are additional operatives in play—Sutton remains under protection. Booker may be their cleanup man, but that doesn’t mean he’s the only one.”
Sutton’s gaze swung to his, her eyes wide. She’d thought it was over. Thought she might get to sleep in her own bed tonight.
Was it wrong that he was glad he got another night with her?
An hour later, Vivi found the two of them in the kitchen, Sutton turning one of her pens over and over. Sebastian was at the table across from her, pretending to read a security brief on his tablet. He wasn’t reading—he was monitoring his principal.
“Sutton.” Vivi leaned against the doorframe, casual, unhurried. She’d changed from her blazer into a cardigan—a deliberate softening Sebastian recognized. “Would you come sit with me for a bit? My office is more comfortable than this kitchen, and I’d like to talk. Just talk. No agenda.”
Sutton’s gaze flicked to Sebastian. He saw the instant wariness—the resistance to therapy warring with the fact that she’d nearly been shot three hours ago, Dom was in a hospital bed, and the walls of this compound were closing in.
“Only if Sebastian comes,” Sutton said.
Vivi’s eyebrows rose a fraction. Sebastian kept his face neutral. Vivi had been trying to get him into her office since he’d arrived at SPS, and he’d dodged every attempt with the practiced evasion of a man who’d rather take another bullet than sit on a couch and discuss his feelings.
“That’s not—” he started.
“I need you there.” Sutton’s eyes locked on his. A woman who’d been through too much in too few days, asking the one person she trusted to sit in a room with her while someone tried to help. “Please.”
The please did it. Just like at the parlor—the word she dragged out against her will, the one that cost her something to say. He couldn’t refuse it then. He couldn’t refuse it now. “Sure.”
Vivi’s office was warm. Not physically—the HVAC kept every room in the compound at the same regulated sixty-eight degrees—but in the way the space was arranged. Bookshelves filled with volumes that had been read. A framed photograph of Vivi and Ian on what looked like a hiking trail, both of them laughing at something off-camera. The famous Costco couch. The sound machine, mercifully silent. Her pet birds sat in the cage in the corner, chirping quietly.
Sutton sat on the couch. She patted the cushion next to her, and Sebastian eased down on it.
Vivi settled into her desk chair and picked up a mug of tea. “First things first,” she said. She fixed them both with a look that managed to be stern and amused simultaneously. “The notebook.”
Sutton went still. Sebastian felt a flicker of guilt.
“You two raided my office like a pair of teenagers,” Vivi said. “All you needed to do was ask.”
Sutton bit her lip. “In our defense, you weren’t here.”
“I’m always reachable.”
“It was his idea.” Sutton pointed at Sebastian.
