Page 97 of Crash Course
Instead, it appeared he’d been lying. Brittany Tate became the catalyst Cilla needed to recognize the line she wouldn’t cross. For anyone.
Now she needed to do something. But what?
Lying in bed with Cruz-the-hottie in the middle of the night and fantasizing about him inside her wouldn’t solve her problems.
She didn’t knowwhatwould solve her problems. And when that happened, when mental paralysis set in, she got moving.
Data.
That’s what she needed.
She eased from under the covers, slipped into the T-shirt Cruz had thrown on the chair next to the bed, and tiptoed from the room, gently closing the door behind her. Earlier, she’d brought her tote with her laptop from the guest suite and had set it by the door.
Now, guided by the lit lamps, she grabbed the tote and settled onto the man-sized sectional. Unless her father had changed his password, she still had access to his files and could hunt around. For what, she wasn’t sure, but she might find something that would confirm whether Randolph Industries was unleashing toxic levels of forever chemicals on the environment.
Firing up the laptop, she logged in and opened an incognito browser window. Who knew if that would keep her from getting caught, but couldn’t hurt, right?
Once there, using Dad’s credentials, she remotely logged into the server and found his files. Tons of them.
Literally years of work, right there in front of her.
She’d have to be methodical. Start at the root folders and work her way through.
First, she searched for PFAS and PFOA . . . wow . . . a lot of folders there. Her heart slammed and moisture flooded her palms. Whether it was guilt or fear or both she couldn’t think too hard about it.
She skimmed the folders. Contract, financials, OSHA, legal.
Legal. Right up her alley. She clicked on it and another row of sub-folders popped up. All with what looked like surnames. Another click opened the one named Cartwright.
"Cilla?"
She lurched backward, the sound of Cruz’s voice startling her and sending her pulse slamming.
Curly hair a raging and adorable mess of frizz, he stood in the bedroom doorway wearing only boxer briefs and the sight of him—all broad shoulders and cut muscles with that smattering of chest hair right down the middle—might be enough to lure her back to bed.
"Ooff." She forced out a breath. "You scared me."
"Sorry. It’s three in the morning. What are you doing?"
"I couldn’t sleep." She whirled a finger around her ear. "It happens sometimes. I wake up and my brain starts going."
"I get it. That happens to me. Zeke gets on me about it. What am I supposed to do? Lie in bed frustrated that I can’t sleep?"
"Exactly."
He lowered himself into the spot next to her and pointed at the laptop. "If Rohan were here, he’d be in full security mode."
"Why?"
"He has software that blocks our IP address. He’s a freak about it."
Cilla glanced back at the laptop. "Oh no. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think about it."
"It’s okay. You didn’t know. But if you’re good with it, we’ll have him install the software."
"Of course. That’s fine. Whatever you need."
"What are you working on?"
