Page 9 of Blake

The smile lifting his lips softened. Yeah. Okay, fine. He liked her. A lot.

That wasn’t breaking news.

What Blake hadn’t figured out yet was when he’d gone from thinking Devon was an attractive and interesting woman to looking forward to seeing her name on his phone every damn day. It had started simply enough. A few texts after she’d gone home to St. Louis. Mostly from him checking in.

Then Devon had started sending him random things. Articles. Tech-related memes. Questions about software, or something else computer related.

One night she’d called because a piece of code was making her crazy. Two hours later, they’d still been on the phone bantering about the correct way to fix it. In the end, neither had figured it out, but they’d laughed a lot in the process.

After that night, talking with her became . . . normal. And Blake liked normal, especially for Devon.

His gaze shifted to the third monitor. The smile on his face disappeared. He sent Devon a quick text letting her know he had to get back to work before setting his phone down and turning his full attention to his computer.

Come on, come on. Give me something I can use.

The screen in front of him didn’t change.

He clicked into the latest search results. Dread knotted his gut when he saw the same lack of information as before.

There were no confirmed hits. No credible aliases. No facial-recognition matches meeting the specific parameters he’d set.

There was nothing. Again.

With a growl, Blake gave a hard shake of his head. “A man doesn’t just vanish into thin air.”

Someone cleared his throat. Blake glanced toward the doorway to find Emmett Shaw standing there with a folder in one hand.

“Talking to your computer again?” Echo’s team leader grinned as he made his way to Blake and tossed the folder onto his desk.

“It listens better than the rest of you most days,” Blake quipped. He glanced at the folder and frowned. “What’s that?”

“The next applicant.”

Blake picked it up, flipped it open, and read the name at the top of the resume. “Claire Sullivan.”

“She’s thirty-four.” Emmett stepped closer. “Managed a medical office for three years. Before that, she spent five years at a law firm.”

Blake scanned the woman’s list of skills. “Scheduling, billing . . . bookkeeping.” He looked up at his teammate. “Sounds like she understands how to handle confidential records. How are her references?”

He flipped to the next page in the file.

“Good. Really good, actually.”

“Any drug use?” His gaze met Emmett’s confused stare.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He smiled to himself.

“Do I want to know?”

Blake chuckled. “Probably not.” He glanced toward the third monitor.

A second later, Emmett was looking over his shoulder.

“You’re still running that?”

“Yep.”