Page 6 of Rogue Survivor
“I don’t think y’all should bother Jamie again,” I say, giving up on restraint and snagging the next to last piece of pizza. “If two people have disappeared, that’s a matter for the police.”
“Mom. Really. It’s not like we’re detectives or anything. We’re not gonna track Maryanne or Nelson down or force Jamie to talk to us. But we do want to see if Jamie knows who kept calling them.” She swipes a napkin over her lips and sits back with a contented half smile.
Reaching across the table, I grasp her hand. “Sweetheart, please be careful. I don’t like the idea of y’all getting mixed up in something…dangerous.”
“We’re just going to talk.” Her eyes hold such hope, I relax my grip. “Nothing’s going to happen to us, Mom. I promise.”
Chapter Two
Isabel
“What are you up to today?”I ask, leaning against the wall outside the conference room. Luke and Roger—Second Chances’ director—will be here any minute to go over the first draft of the grant proposal, but Veronica was still asleep when I left for work this morning.
When I was her age, Senior Cut Day meant hanging out at the mall and sneaking cigarettes behind the 7-11. But she’s nothing like I was at seventeen, and if I had to guess, she and Mitzi are spending their entire day off studying.
“After a coffee run, we’re going to the library,” she says on a yawn.
That’s my girl.
“Nowhere else?” Our conversation about the sober living house kept me up most of the night. I’d forbid her from going back there if I thought it would do any good.
A heavy sigh carries over the line. “Mom.” Veronica draws out the word, and I can imagine the eye roll.
She’s seventeen. She’s supposed to think I’m smothering her. If she didn’t, I’d be worried.
“I’m just asking.” Balancing my laptop and overstuffed file folder on my hip, I check my watch. Shit. I have to start setting up. “Coffee and the library. That’s it, right?”
“Yes, Mother. I promise.”
“I’m ‘Mother’ now?” Chuckling, I give Roger a quick wave as he strides down the hall toward me. “Don’t answer that. Just stay safe.”
“We’ll be fine. Love you.”
She ends the call before I can tell her I love her too. Despite her theatrics, I’m lucky. She’s a good kid. Always has been.
“Everything all right?” Roger asks when I follow him into the conference room and pocket my phone. Luke is already there, looking impatient as always.
“Fine. Just checking on my daughter. It’s Senior Cut Day so she’s not in school.” Opening my laptop and connecting to the A/V system, I meet Roger’s expectant gaze. “The grant proposal for the New Dawn Foundation is due in a week. I sent copies of the preliminary packet to both of y’all this morning, so if you’d like to follow along, you can. Remember, this is just a first draft, and we have plenty of time to make changes before the deadline. Ready for me to begin?”
At Roger’s nod, I start my presentation. If I’m lucky, I won’t have to workeverynight this week.
After the run-through,I close myself in my office and kick off my heels. Roger and Luke were thrilled with the draft, and while it’s far from done, I can take a few minutes to catch up on my email before I escape to the gym for my lunchtime workout.
At the top of my inbox? A message from our Client Coordinator. She’s responsible for pairing recovering addicts with our counselors, sober living homes, and jobs when they leave rehab.
Isabel, I checked the log files this morning and noticed something strange. Luke Overstreet accessed the client database four times in the past few months. He’s not authorized to view those records. I asked IT to reset his password and restrict his permissions, but could you remind him why we limit the people who can view our clients’ data? - Helen
Huh. There’s no reason for Luke to be in those files. Only Helen and our counselors use the client database regularly. As Second Chances’ Assistant Director, I have access, but whenever I need something—an address, a phone number, or demographics—I always go through Helen. Safer that way. My computer skills are only passable and I don’t want to screw anything up.
Glancing at the clock, I slip on my running shoes. The impending lunch hour is the perfect excuse to get in and out of Luke’s office quickly. The man leaves at 12:00 p.m. on the dot every single day.
He’s reclining in his chair with his feet up on the window sill when I knock. “Got a minute?” I ask.
With a quick gaze at his watch, he smiles. “For you, Isabel, I have five.”
It takes all I have not to cringe at his tone. At least he used my name this time.
Closing the door behind me, I adjust the strap of my gym bag on my shoulder. “Helen said you’ve been accessing client records. Any reason why?”
