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Jonas’s personal alarm system was still working overtime.

“It’s too easy,” he muttered.

Bethan made a noise of agreement. “The front door was unlocked.”

That didn’t sit right. Jonas considered as they went into the kitchen, then nodded toward the basement door. “I guess we know we’re in the right place.”

And there was no choice. That was the way missions like this went. It wasn’t about identifying the threat. It was about neutralizing it.

They stood at the door to the basement, and the look they shared seemed to swell in him—

Later, he told himself sternly. He would deal with all this, somehow, later.

Bethan nodded jerkily, like she was in his head. Then she went and put her hand on the doorknob.

At the same moment, the comm units went wild.

“Abort!” came Isaac’s voice, louder than usual. “Warehouse, abort! Bomb set to detonate.Repeat, abort!”

Two hours north, Jonas and Bethan froze. No one on their team spoke, and still, Jonas was sure he could hear their agony, loud and clear.

They could hear their friends and colleagues shout to one another down in that warehouse, a state away.

Then thirty seconds later, everything went silent.

Another thirty seconds passed, but Jonas stayed where he was, frozen in place. Watching all the shock and sickness in him wash over Bethan’s face, though she didn’t let them land. And he had the stray thought that there were some intimacies no one should have to share.

“One minute since detonation,” he bit out in the comm unit, his voice flat and commanding, because that was all he had. That was all there was. “Warehouse, report.”

But there was nothing.

Another whole minute dragged by.

“The blast could’ve taken out communication in all directions,” Blue growled from his position.

“Two minutes out,” Jonas replied. And there were protocols. Their line of work required it. He shut his eyes for a moment, but only a moment. “We have to move. Rory, get Oz on tracking duty and proof of life. Blue and August, maintain your positions. Griffin—”

“Anything so much as breathes too loud,” came the sniper’s voice, even colder than usual, “and I’ll drop it.”

When Jonas’s gaze found Bethan again, she swallowed. Making him wonder what look was on his face. He didn’t know, which was telling enough.

She reached out and touched his arm. Briefly. And then, before he could comment on that or lash out at her or grab her tight, she turned to the basement door again. She eased it open with no visible shake in her hand, then stepped inside.

Bethan slapped on the light switch and moved double-time down the stairs. Jonas was at her back, taking in the situation as she moved. They made it to the foot of the old unfinished stairs without incident, then paused. He looked around, finding the place cramped and damp, with a musty smell thick in the air.

It looked like every basement he’d ever bothered to imagine.

It was also a lie, he realized in the next instant.

“This basement is the wrong dimensions,” Bethan said in an undertone.

“Check,” Jonas replied. “Also, no dust or cobwebs.”

She was already moving, skirting the wall that held an old sink, laundry facilities, and an open cabinet packed tight with what looked like gardening supplies. The wall next to the cabinet was smoother than it should have been. Out of place. She squatted down, and Jonas came up behind her to look over her shoulder.

On the ground, there were clear signs of a door swinging open and closed.

It took her only moments to look around and find the lever, almost hidden behind the cabinet.