Plans, Perceptions, and Providence

By Felicia Ferguson

Shane/Oliver Engaged

Author's Note: Okay, so full disclosure I am the furthest thing from a hacker there is. Computer programming was just becoming a thing when I was in high school and didn't interest me in the least. That being said, I am a pretty good researcher. And, based on what I was able to find (and understand, lol), I think this works. If you are a hacker/computer programmer, or know someone who is, my humble apologies for any mistakes and read at your own risk.

As always, huge, abundant thanks to Martha Williamson, Eric Mabius, Kristin Booth, Valerie Bertinelli, and Mark Valley for creating characters who make my heart sing and inspire my writing muse. Kind of sad this one's almost over, but y'all enjoy!

Chapter 4

A familiar yet foreign ring pulled Oliver from his light sleep. Glancing down at his hand, he located the sound. Becky's face once again stared up at him from the screen of Shane's phone. He sat up and tapped the green button. "Is there any news?"

"Yes, thankfully." Relief flowed through Becky's voice. "John will be at your hotel room soon with an update."

A knock sounded on the door. Oliver glanced at the clock and, lips pursing, he climbed off the bed. Checking the peep hole, he found a suited man standing in the hallway. "Would he happen to be approximately six feet tall with salt and pepper hair and wearing a dark blue suit and red silk tie?"

Becky's voice warmed with love. "That's him. At least it was when he left the house this morning."

Oliver sniffed and stepped back. "I believe he has arrived."

"Then I'll let you go. You're in good hands, Oliver. God's and John's."

Oliver nodded then ended the call and opened the door. "John Robbins, I presume?"

John extended his hand. "You must be Oliver O'Toole."

Oliver shook the offered hand then glanced to his rumpled and mascara-stained shirt and wrinkled suit pants. "I apologize for my appearance."

John looked undisturbed, but glanced to the closet. "Would you like a few minutes to get cleaned up?"

Oliver's lips pinched in a moment of consideration, but concern for Shane overruled his dishevelment. "I would prefer to hear what's happened with Shane first." He stepped back, allowing John into the room then closed the door.

John bobbed his head and surveyed the surroundings. Oliver had the sense that nothing escaped the man's notice, including the Bible that lay still open on the bed. The briefest of smiles flickered across John's lips as he chose to sit on the loveseat. Oliver opted for the desk's chair and waited.

John crossed his legs and leaned back, his features relaxing and his eyes radiating compassion. "First of all, she's okay. I pulled a few strings, and, although she's still at FBI headquarters, she at least spent the night in a conference room rather than a holding cell or interview room. As soon as you get cleaned up, I'll take you to her."

Oliver's brow furrowed as he processed this news. "How? Are you an attorney? Becky only said you would have recommendations."

John's cheeks crinkled in a wry smile. "No, not an attorney. I work for a defense contracting company that has an extensive reach into the government. Let's just say, I know how the system works, and how to work the system. And the list of people who say no to me is fairly short."

Oliver had the disconcerting feeling of being scooped up by Dorothy's tornado and dropped in Oz. First, Shane dated a spy, and now one of her closest friends was married to a powerful D.C. insider? The magnitude and complexity of her connections made him long for the simple black and white of solving the mystery of the dead letter. But did Shane miss it as well? Or did she wish to return to this world of intrigue and shades of gray?

John's wrist watch lit up, and Oliver realized it wasn't a traditional timepiece. John tapped the screen and seemed to be reading something on it. "I'm sorry, Oliver. But I need to handle this. Why don't you get ready, and we'll go see Shane? I'll update you both at the same time—and I may have more information at that point."

"Then, I will attend to my morning ablutions and meet you in the lobby in thirty minutes."

John blinked then his lips pulled back in a wide, amused grin. "Becks said you were old school. Sure, that's perfect."

Oliver sniffed and escorted John from the room. He glanced down the hallway to Shane's room as an idea occurred to him. Grabbing her keycard, he opened her door and gathered a change of clothes from her suitcase, then attended to his own concerns.

Shane stretched and yawned on the couch in the conference room where she'd spent the night. How she'd managed to sleep—and somewhat peacefully—after the events of yesterday, she had no idea.

Well, maybe I do.

An awed smile tickled her lips as the unusual peace that had slipped through her as she prayed warmed her heart. Marveling at the sensation, she sat up and stared around the room. Everything was the same. Same couch. Same coffee table. Same desk chairs. Same windowless room.

And yet, it all felt incredibly different.

The door opened revealing a new female agent, still bearing the same stoic expression. Wonder if they teach that at Quantico? Chuckling, Shane followed her to the restroom, grateful for the break, but wishing she could do more than what was necessary.

A few minutes later, face rinsed and hair finger combed and plaited into a loose braid, she at least felt more like herself. "When can I go home?" she asked the agent as they returned to the conference room.

The agent ignored her question, but when she opened the door, Shane couldn't have cared less. Oliver stood in the middle of the room, cup of coffee in one hand and a granola bar in the other. Looped over his arm was her purse carrying what appeared to be the silk blouse and black pants she'd brought for their flight home.

Eyes watering, her lips curved as her heart turned over. Ignoring the coffee, her purse, and the agent as she closed the door, Shane wrapped her arms around Oliver's neck and pressed her lips to his. Her new found peace deepened, centering her, strengthening her for the day ahead. At length, she pulled back, then tucking her nose alongside his, she whispered, "Good morning."

Oliver leaned his forehead against hers, then pulled back and placed a quick kiss on her cheekbone. "How did you fare last night?"

"Better than I imagined. But, I'm still very glad to see you this morning. You?"

"The same." He held up the coffee and granola bar. "I'm not certain how edible these are. I wasn't allowed to bring anything in, so they're from the FBI's concession area."

Shane took a long a sip of the coffee. Though he'd added cream and sugar, it was still swill, but she would take it a thousand times over the best brew out of Seattle since it came with Oliver. "And you brought me clothes?"

"I thought you might appreciate the opportunity to freshen up."

Shane tugged her purse off his arm and glanced inside. She smiled as she realized he brought a change of everything. Her eyes lifted to his and gratitude, love, and amazement at his thoughtfulness radiated from her gaze.

Oliver's eyes warmed and a delighted smile wreathed his lips. "John will be here in a few minutes. He wanted to give us some time first."

"I liked him before." Shane's grin turned teasing. "But now, I really like him."

"So do I." Oliver glanced to the door then around the room. "Would you like to return to the ladies' convenience?"

Shane bit her lip. The last thing she wanted to do was leave now that Oliver was there, but would he be uncomfortable if she didn't?

"What is it, love?"

Shane shook her head then took his hand in hers and gave it a pleading squeeze. "Would you mind horribly if I just asked you to turn around? You just got here, and after yesterday, I don't … " Her gaze fell to their hands, and she squeezed his again.

Oliver lifted her chin with his finger. His eyes softened with understanding and shared pain. "I'll stand by the door. And close my eyes."

Shane placed a soft kiss on his cheek. "Thank you." She made quick work of changing, and within minutes they sat together on the couch. Rejuvenated by the company and fresh clothes, Shane devoured her granola bar, savoring the sweet, soothing contentment that surrounded her.

Breakfast finished, she tossed the cup and wrapper in the wastebasket and turned to study Oliver. Though his eyes were rimmed with fatigue, he still possessed the same air of serenity he'd had when they were locked in the bank vault two years ago. She opened her mouth to tell him of her prayer, of the new peace she felt, but a loud knock silenced her.

The door opened revealing the female agent and John. Oliver moved to stand, but John held out a staying hand. Giving Shane an appraising look, he said, "You look better than when I left yesterday."

Shane gripped Oliver's hand and smiled. "You sent the perfect remedy."

Oliver's lips twitched, then he sobered. Gesturing to one of the desk chairs, he said, "You mentioned you had new information earlier?"

John nodded and settled into the chair. "You're not in the clear yet. But suffice it to say a few details we've been waiting on miraculously fell into place, and we're on our way to getting you there. Whatever prayers the two of you prayed last night, I think you managed to move Heaven."

Shane glanced to Oliver, her gaze searching his. What did you pray for? All I did was decide to turn to God. Would he move Heaven just because I really believe in him now?

Oliver's brow wrinkled, and his eyes sharpened with awareness as if somehow he could see a change in her.

Another knock and the agent opened the door again. Curious who could be joining them, Shane and Oliver turned in their seats. Oliver stiffened and Shane ran her thumb across the back of his hand as Steve Marek walked in.

He stopped short as he spied John still seated. "Robbins." The word was bitten off, a blend of curse and resignation.

John nodded, his cheeks blanching and lips pursing as if he'd suddenly sucked on a lemon. "Marek."

Neither he nor Oliver rose.

Shane blinked at the banked animosity between Steve and John. Their swords had obviously crossed before and neither seemed pleased with the outcome. John glanced over to her, and his shoulders shifted. His features eased as if remembering the reason for his presence, and Shane breathed a sigh of relief.

Steve pulled a laptop out of his briefcase and handed it to Shane. "I believe this is yours."

Her lips flickered in a grateful smile even as she wondered if there was anything left on her hard drive.

"And here's this." He held out the lipstick thumb drive. "I wanted you to take a look since it's your code to see if there's anything else you recognize that can help us."

Shane took the drive and plugged it into the laptop. Once again code began scrolling across her screen. "I use mostly exploratory programming to build my algorithms, so that would make my code easy enough for someone to adapt to their own." Shane paused the scroll and pointed to a series of letters and numbers. "You can actually see their edits and backtracks to my original code here." She glanced over to John. "You said you had your team working on this? What did they find when they checked the code history?"

John leaned forward. "That's where we hit pay dirt. The first round of edits to your code matched up with a hacker we've been tracking for most of the last year."

Shane's brow furrowed as she tugged at the pendant on her necklace. "But how did they get my code?"

The lines around John's eyes tightened, and his lips flattened. Shane glanced from him to Steve, who stood silently watching and absorbing the conversation.

John frowned. "It was an inside job—probably someone on your team when you were out of the country."

Oliver shifted beside her, no doubt at sea with the technical lingo, but still ready to investigate the issue. "Has a person of interest been identified?"

John nodded his head and flicked a quick glance toward Steve. "We don't have a name yet, only a handle, Perfide."

"From the Latin, meaning rogue," Oliver offered. "Fitting."

Another tense look passed between John and Steve. John turned his gaze to Shane, eyes softening with urgency. "Is there anyone you remember in particular? Anything that struck you as odd or just not quite right?"

Shane's hand clenched around Oliver's as she looked at Steve and tried to read his impassive stare. "I don't want Oliver to leave, but how much can I say in front of him without violating my confidentiality agreement? I'm in enough trouble as it is."

Steve leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. "No people or place names, and you'll be fine."

Shane nodded and took in a deep breath, turning her thoughts back to those three months on Steve's cyber team. One particular situation rose to the top of her memory. She flicked her eyes to Steve and bit her lip, trying to determine how to broach it in his presence.

Steve's cell phone dinged, pulling him off the wall. With a flick of his thumb, he read the screen then, grimacing, he scanned the room. "I need to take care of this. But I'll be back in a few minutes."

Shane closed her eyes and sent a silent prayer of thanks toward Heaven.

Oliver's muscles unclenched and relief eased through him as Steve left the room. While he tried to always see the good first in people, his visceral reaction of loathing for the agent could not be quenched. At first, Oliver admitted it formed out of jealousy of Shane's history with him. How could he, an odd fellow who loved books and words, possibly compete for her interest with a living version of James Bond?

But as time passed and he became further acquainted with the man and his indeterminate goals, jealousy was replaced with true mistrust and a guarded wariness. And none of Steve's recent actions had changed Oliver's assessment. Oliver turned his attention to John, who seemed equally relieved at Steve's departure, and wondered at his past with Steve.

John peered at Shane with patient intrigue. "You've thought of something?"

Shane gave a slow, considering nod. "And not something I wanted to say in front of Steve."

"Because it concerns him?" Oliver asked.

Shane nodded again and lowered her voice. "For the first two months, everything seemed above board. Yes, I was scared. And on more than one occasion I wondered if I would survive to come back home. But the work was the work. I hacked, I analyzed, I programmed—everything Steve said I would be doing when I was briefed on the plane after I signed my confidentiality agreement."

She flashed an apologetic look toward Oliver and suddenly her reasons for not sending a post card or calling from a burner phone became abundantly clear. They had all been sworn to secrecy at the Randy Lynn Amidon hearings. Given what activities Shane was tasked to undertake, much more than an oath would have been required. And would have held greater ramifications if that confidentiality had been broken—as they were now experiencing. Oliver felt his eyes well with remorse, and he squeezed her hand, silently apologizing for his sharp words to her at Langley.

Shane's lips twisted and she nodded, extending forgiveness and unconditional love. Clearing her throat, she returned her gaze to John. "But then, something changed. Steve pulled me off pure hacking, and had me start watching drone footage to help scout targets. At the time, he said he needed all hands on deck, and, after talking with him once we were back in the States, I figured that was just his way of trying to woo me away from my life in Denver, from Oliver.

"Steve and I dated when I lived in D.C., and he is nothing if not competitive. So, once I decided that was the reason for his delaying my release from the mission, I didn't give it any more thought. But what if he pulled me off of hacking and kept me in D.C. for another reason? Like to hide something from me?"

Oliver tensed as a memory flitted through him. "And then there is the lipstick itself."

Shane turned on the couch, confusion lacing her words. "What about it?"

Oliver lifted a finger as he pursed his lips. "Myrna Rogers, the postal carrier who found it, said the color resembled the same one you wore at the McInerney House opening. And I believe she is correct. Given your previous relationship with Mr. Marek, would he know your preferences as well?"

Shane tilted her head in consideration, then finally nodded. "It's possible. But I can't believe Steve would be the one framing me. I mean, why would he do that?"

Oliver's gaze sharpened. "I'm sorry to say this, Shane, but Mr. Marek is not a man to be trusted."

Shane grimaced and glancing away, nodded. "I'm beginning to see that. I was just hoping he was better than this—that my judgment really wasn't that off."

"Steve Marek is a man who enjoys living in the gray areas of life." John leaned forward and, placing his elbows on his knees, clasped his hands in front of him. Eyes narrowed as if evaluating his next words, he took in a quick breath. "I can't give any specifics, obviously, but when I was doing contract work with a certain agency, I watched him cultivate assets. He was probably one of the best I've ever seen at it, too."

His gaze grew distant and sorrow pursed his lips. "One in particular was actually someone I brought in seeking asylum. Marek saw this person as a perfect opportunity for gaining intel. He flipped them, and sent them right back to where they escaped from, all gung ho about whatever he had planted in their head. They didn't make it a week back in country, but the intel he got from them jumped him up the ranks. And, I will admit, made an impact on our security."

A loaded silence permeated the room as they each absorbed John's experience. Oliver's estimation of Mr. Marek sank another degree, nearly hitting rock bottom, despite his commitment to serving the country and his professed patriotism.

After a few minutes, John shook his head and refocused. "Shane, can you think of anything else? Anyone other than you he paid close attention to?"

Lifting her eyebrows, Shane sighed. "There was one woman on my team he seemed to work with more closely, but I got the sense she was new in general—like she'd just been promoted, so it would make sense he'd be more hands-on, right?"

John pondered the information. "What about later?"

Shane shook her head, lips twisting with consternation. "Once we got back to the States, we were separated even more. That woman was reassigned somewhere—I don't know why, we weren't close. But the last day I saw her, she was excited about something, maybe about her new assignment? And the rest of my team must have gone back to their regular duties because I only saw them in the halls or in the dining room every so often. I was stuck in an office with a computer and attended the occasional briefing with Steve."

Oliver's heart clenched. She had told him when she returned that she had been lonely, but he hadn't fully appreciated the extent of her isolation, at Steve's instigation, until now. Bile bubbled in the back of his throat, and he wished for ten minutes alone with the man in a dark alley.

The door opened and Steve walked back in, his eyes surveying each of them as if searching for secrets or weaknesses. When none were volunteered, he said, "Okay, then, obviously, I've missed something. But if no one is willing to share, I'll just go with what I've got to work with. Shane, I need your laptop and the thumb drive back."

Oliver bristled at Steve's highhanded announcement. "I understand confiscating the thumb drive, but the laptop is Shane's personal property."

Steve offered a wide gesture and a helpless shrug. "It's …"

Oliver's nose flared and his lips pinched as he bit out, "Out of your hands. Yes. I'm sure it is." He was beginning to wonder what exactly was in Steve's hands, figuratively.

"Look, it's going to be a while before we know anything. Why don't you go back to the hotel, Oliver? Shane will have to stay in FBI custody, of course."

Shane's quick inhale and reflexive grip to Oliver's hand had him leaning forward and opening his mouth, a strenuous objection on his lips.

John stood and lifted a staying hand toward Oliver. "I see no need for that, Marek. If Oliver wants to stay, he should stay. I'm sure Shane would appreciate the company." He stared at Steve, eyes narrowed as if daring Steve to counter him.

At length, Steve shrugged. "Fine. Stay. Just be prepared to be here a while." Taking the laptop and thumb drive Steve turned on his heel and left.

Shane took in a deep, steadying breath. "Thank you, John."

"No problem. But he's right about one thing. It may be a while. Can I get you a newspaper or some magazines? Obviously, I can't get you a phone."

Oliver nodded. "Magazines would be appreciated. And perhaps something to drink?"

Shane sank back onto the couch as John left with promises to have someone bring both drinks and magazines. A dry chuckle slipped between her lips. "I don't suppose they have Yoo-Hoo here."

Oliver's lips twisted into a wry grin. "I'll survive."

Her head lolled on the back rest, and she watched Oliver in silence. After a moment, she murmured, "Thank you."

"For what?"

She smiled, feeling her gaze warm with a deep, unshakable love. "For being here. For being you. For so many other things I can't think of right now."

Oliver tugged her into his arms. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

Shane closed her eyes and listened to Oliver's heartbeat, savoring the steady thrum. "I never knew where I stood with Steve when we were dating. And after you came to Langley to find me, I confronted him and discovered that yes, he could and did lie to me. But I never would have thought he could use me like this."

Oliver was silent and Shane appreciated his quiet support. Shifting her cheek on his chest, she toyed with one of his suspenders, slipping the smooth elastic between her thumb and fingers as her thoughts drifted to the conversation with John.

"Oliver, there's something bothering me. I can't put my finger on it, but something John said about his past with Steve."

"The gray areas?"

She pressed her lips into a thin line and shook her head. "Yes, but no. More along the lines of the flipping of John's asylum seeker." Shane's teeth worried her lower lip as she stared blankly at the wall. "What was it? Something I heard, or saw, right around the time we got back to the States…"

"He mentioned the asset was gung ho to return—"

Shane shot off the couch, eyes gleaming with satisfaction, she clapped her hands together. "That's it! She was gung ho, wasn't she?" She rushed to the door and pounded on it, then called to the agent on the other side. "I need to see John Robbins. Now!"