Page 12 of Override

I leaned back in my chair, studying the screen. There were a dozen innocent explanations. Privacy. Media attention. Old family habits.

Women from powerful families learned early how to disappear when they wanted to.

It didn't automatically mean something was wrong. Still...

I created a new folder.

Maeve.

Not because I needed it. Because something told me I would. My phone buzzed against the desk.

I barely glanced at it before reaching over.

Callum Rizzoli:

We are a go.

A grin pulled at the corner of my mouth.

About fucking time.

My thumbs moved before I'd thought better of it.

Me:

About fucking time.

I hit send, my eyes drifting back toward the folder I'd just created.

Then, after another second, I clicked it open again.

Even though I don't understand why.

***

The Banks dining room table is technically too small for all of us. Rachel insists it “keeps everyone close.”

Wheels insists it’s a tactical hazard designed specifically to start elbow wars. Currently Bullet looks one accidental kick under the table away from homicide.

I sit at the end with my laptop cracked open beside my plate while noise rolls through the room in familiar overlapping layers. Matt at the head of the table. Rachel stealing fries off his plate despite the fact she has the exact same fries on hers. Wheels talking too loudly about a chase scene from the other day like he personally directed the operation.

And beside Rachel with a glass of wine in one hand and absolutely no patience left in her body—Sloane Bennett.

“Raymond,” she says flatly, “you almost drove through a Walgreens.”

Wheels points his fork at her. “In my defense, the turn came up fast.”

“You were going ninety.” I remind him.

“It was tactical.”

“It was a red light.” Matt says.

“Those are more like suggestions.” Wheels takes a bite of his pasta and rolls his eyes.

Bullet takes a drink. “That explains a lot about your driving history.”

Rachel laughs under her breath while reaching for the bowl of pasta. “Can we please have one family dinner where nobody admits to crimes?”