Page 112 of Override

Taibhse:

I like him.

And for some reason, staring at those three words makes my chest ache. In a good way.

Chapter 22

Keaton (Skee)

The inside of the surveillance van smells like coffee, electronics, and poor life choices.

Which, honestly, describes most of Grayline's operations.

Monitors glow blue in the dim interior. Satellite feeds, traffic cameras, financial records, and cellphone data scroll across various screens while we wait.

Patience has never been my problem. People assume it isn't because I fidget. Because I tap. Because I count. But I can sit on a target for sixteen hours without moving if I need to.

The problem is my brain. It doesn't know how to stop.

A voice crackles over the comms. "Still nothing." Bullet. Calm as always.

"He's late," Wheels says from somewhere down the street. The low rumble of his motorcycle filters faintly through the mic. "I don't trust people who are late."

"That's because you're always late," Bullet replies.

"I arrive exactly when the situation needs me."

"You arrive whenever you feel like it."

"Semantics."

I tune them out. Not because they're wrong. Because my attention is elsewhere.

The operation files sit open on one monitor. A charity director. Children's cancer foundation. Millions of dollars missing. Money meant for sick kids redirected into shell accounts and luxury purchases.

The moment Badger brought us the case, nobody even discussed payment.

We were doing it. Period. Across from me, Badger studies another screen.

Focused. Patient. Waiting. The same way he always does.

My phone buzzes with the reminder I absolutely did not set to check the Gallagher kitchen.

I glance at the time. Then open the Gallagher system.

Badger notices. Unfortunately.

"What are you doing?"

"Making coffee." The answer leaves automatically.

He slowly looks up from his monitor. "You want to try that again?"

I sigh. The kitchen feed appears. Empty. Good. Exactly what I was waiting for. A few clicks later the coffee maker begins its morning cycle. The new bottle of French vanilla creamer sits exactly where it should beside it.

I stare at the screen for a second. Then close the feed.

Badger continues staring. "Keaton."