Page 40 of Ground Zero

“She’s not here . . .”

“Probably tried to leave the island . . . if only we hadn’t wasted so much time chasing that stupid garbage truck.”

“We have to find her.” One voice rose above the others. “Boss wants her eliminated. Says she knows too much.”

Sheridan’s blood turned to ice. Not captured.

Eliminated.

“Expand the search perimeter. Check the ferry terminal. Check around town to see if anyone’s seen her.”

The voices faded as the men dispersed, disappearing back into the darkness as silently as they’d come.

Sheridan realized she’d been gripping Maverick’s arm without realizing it.

She released him, her hands shaking slightly.

“They’re trying to kill us,” she whispered.

“I know.” Maverick sounded grim. “Which means we’re definitely on the right track about Ground Zero.”

Maverick watched the last of the operatives disappear into the night before turning his attention back to their immediate problem.

They had less than seventy-two hours to stop a terrorist attack, and they were completely cut off from any official support. Anyone they thought they could trust might be an enemy.

“We need a plan.” He stood and leaned against the wall next to the window, remaining vigilant.

Sheridan turned and did the same on the opposite side, her face pale but determined in the moonlight streaming through the window. “I’ve been thinking about that. Right now, no one knows that I realize there’s a traitor in the FBI.”

He stared at her profile. “What are you suggesting?”

She let out a long breath. “I’m suggesting that I go back. Act like nothing has happened. Tell my colleagues that I’ve been searching for you and came up empty, but I’m still on the case.”

“What?” Maverick’s voice rose with the question.

She met his eyes. “It would give me access to information. A chance to figure out who the traitor is. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Maverick’s stomach clenched at the thought of Sheridan walking back into danger. “That’s incredibly risky. If this traitor begins to suspect you know something . . .”

“Then I’ll have to make sure they don’t suspect anything.” She turned to face him fully. “Think about it, Maverick. This might be our only chance to get inside their operation and find out the specifics of the Ground Zero attack.”

His jaw clenched. He didn’t want to admit how opposed to her plan he was.

There was no good reason for his opposition.

Unless he cared about her. And he couldn’t care about her.

They hadn’t even known each other that long.

They didn’t even know each other that well.

The last time he’d let himself care about a colleague, she’d died in Kandahar. Sarah Lowe—sharpshooter, explosive specialist, the only person who could make him laugh after defusing seventeen IEDs in one day.

The two of them had broken every rule about fraternization, stolen moments between missions, plans for after deployment.

Then came Operation Storm. She’d volunteered for the rescue team when their convoy was hit. Another teammate, Brass, had been with her.

The official report said the helicopter went down in enemy territory with no survivors.