Page 31 of Ground Zero

The weight of responsibility settled on Sheridan’s shoulders like a lead blanket.

Two people against a terrorist organization that had infiltrated the highest levels of both military contracting and federal law enforcement.

“We need help,” she said.

Maverick rubbed his jaw, his motions stiff. “But from whom? Everyone we should be able to trust might be working for the enemy. There’s a traitor in your organization and mine.”

Sheridan twisted in her seat in order to look him dead in the eye. “Maverick, for all we know, there could be multiple traitors.”

Maverick leaned back, his motions suddenly heavier and his gaze more exhausted. “Then it’s just us. You and me against whatever Sigma has planned.”

Sheridan stared at the decrypted messages again, her mind racing through possibilities.

Somewhere out there, people she’d worked with for years, people she’d trusted with her life, were planning a domestic terrorist attack.

She straightened as resolve hardened in her gut. “We have to stop them.”

“I know.” Maverick closed the laptop and looked at her with those intense green eyes. “The question is how.”

Maverick was about to suggest their next move when he heard it—the soft crunch of footsteps on gravel outside.

His entire body went rigid, every nerve ending suddenly on high alert.

Last time, the noise had been Sheridan arriving at this house. This time, he knew it wasn’t.

Someone else was here.

Sheridan heard it too. Her head snapped toward the front of the cottage, and her hand instinctively moved to her service weapon.

“You’re sure no one followed you here?” Maverick whispered, already knowing the answer but needing to ask. “Sure no one is tracking your phone?”

“Positive,” she breathed back. “I was careful, and my phone can’t be traced.”

Maverick moved silently to the front window and peered through a gap in the curtains. Three dark shapes moved through the shadows between the trees, approaching the cottage with the practiced stealth of professional operators.

“There are three of them,” he whispered to Sheridan. “They’re moving in from the north side.”

She nodded, her Glock already in her hands. “Back door?”

“Back door.”

They moved through the cottage like ghosts, gathering only the essentials—the laptop with the decrypted messages and Maverick’s gun. Everything else would have to be left behind.

Maverick eased open the sliding glass door that led to the back deck, listening for any sound that might indicate the cottage was completely surrounded.

The maritime forest stretched out behind them, dense with live oaks and palmetto undergrowth that could provide cover.

If they could make it to the tree line.

“We do this quietly,” he whispered.

“Got it.” Sheridan positioned herself beside him.

A soft thud from the front porch suggested someone was testing the door.

He and Sheridan stepped outside and crept toward a section of trees behind the house.

Their lives depended on their ability to be silent.