The bottommost drawer had a lock, giving Wyatt the most hope of finding what he needed inside. He went through the ring of keys, fumbling through them until he reached the last one. The key slipped into the lock and turned, and he held his breath as he opened it.
Had to be, it had to be in the—
Nothing. Nothing but some sensitive tax documents and a couple of other emails, appearing to be way too private for Wyatt to rummage through.
Damn it. Nothing.
He did a slow circle, not spotting many more hiding places. He looked at the computer, a picture of her son smiling from the corner of the blank screen. Wyatt cocked his head. Could she have…
He pulled out the chair and rolled his neck, loud pops filling the tiny room. He tapped the keyboard, and the screen lit up, showing a smiling Amelia with an arm over her son, a password prompt underneath.
Simple stuff.
It took Wyatt a total of five minutes to boot the computer back up in administrator mode and finagle through the different screens, going past the log-in screen and directly to the desktop. It was a cluttered mess of useless screenshots and programs that hadn’t seen the light of day since they were installed. He sorted through them, looking for anything that seemed off or different. If she was hiding the page on her computer, it would likely be inside of a folder inside of another folder inside of one more.
He did a preliminary search, looking for obviously dumb keywords and finding none of them. A sound on the other side of the door made him freeze, nearly unplugging the computer from the wall in a blind panic. A health and safety inspector would have a lot of explaining to do if they were caught looking through the dead owner’s computer.
Whoever made the sound disappeared down the hall. Wyatt breathed out a sigh of relief and got back to work. This was his territory; it was his gig. He considered himself a cyber bloodhound, and now was his chance to prove his skills.
He clicked through on a folder titled “For Tomorrow” and was instantly greeted with another password prompt.
Interesting development. Sounds a lot like the Tome of Tomorrow.
This one was a little harder to crack. Whatever program she used to secure her folders was pretty advanced but not advanced enough to evade Wyatt’s digital detective skills. He cracked through and found himself on the other side without even breaking a sweat.
“Yes!” he said, catching himself and keeping his voice low, even though his excitement was off the charts.
He’d done it. On the screen, stretching from edge to edge, was a single scanned document. The page they were after. Right there, in front of him. And he’d been the one to find it.
He downloaded the scan and sent it to himself. With the page in hand, he shut the computer down and slipped back out of the office, a grin stretching from ear to ear. He walked back out into the front of the bakery, where Roman was inspecting the underside of a macaron tray while Mimic shouted about how many social media followers she had.
Roman looked at Wyatt and spotted the grin, getting up off his knees and going over to meet him. All Wyatt had to say was “Got it,” and Roman nearly did the Flintstones leap. Mimic must have heard as she wrapped up her conversation with “You know what, it’s fine. I don’t like sweets anyway,” before turning around and leaving the befuddled employees watching the three disappear out of the bakery.
“What in the world was that about?” the manager asked.
One of the employees shrugged and said, “I don’t know. These days you get a thousand followers and a few candle sponsorships and you think you’re a celebrity. Ridiculous.”
Chapter 23
Wyatt Hernandez
The mood on the plane was celebratory, champagne bottles being popped and loud music being played. Even Phantom, who was lying back in a seat with his legs up on another, was raising a glass to Wyatt’s success. They may have been a mile high into the sky, but Wyatt felt like they were flying much higher than that.
He’d done it. He proved his worth, carried his weight. There was no longer any doubt that he deserved the prize at the end of this job, if there ever was any to begin with.
He drank the last bit of champagne in his glass before Bang Bang poured him another, telling him to open his mouth and pouring some directly down his throat. It fizzed around his lips, bubbles popping on his tongue. He wiped his mouth with the back of a hand, Bang Bang taking him into a side hug and chugging some of the champagne himself before setting the bottle down and letting out a plane-shaking burp.