Page 62 of Ground Zero

They’d picked the lock and gone inside. Their suspicions had been correct—the place was empty. It would offer them a temporary shelter for the evening.

Trey had finally texted back. He’d asked questions that Maverick had tried to answer.

Finally, Trey had told Maverick that he would see what he could do.

Maverick prayed his friend would be able to help, that he would come through for him.

The sound of waves crashing against the shore should have been soothing, but something had awoken him.

A voice.

Sheridan’s voice, but it wasn’t close.

He slipped out of bed, automatically checking his weapon before moving toward the door. The house was dark, withmoonlight streaming through the large windows that faced the Atlantic.

Sheridan wasn’t at her watch position by the front window. They were taking turns standing guard. Her shift had been first.

Then he heard it—Sheridan’s voice, muffled but distinct, coming from the deck outside.

Maverick moved silently through the living room, staying in the shadows as he approached the sliding glass door. It was cracked open, letting in the salt breeze and fragments of conversation.

“I know you deserve answers, but I need to know if you’ve noticed anything unusual at the office . . .” Sheridan’s voice sounded soft and careful.

Who was she talking to at one o’clock in the morning? The whole situation seemed suspicious.

He edged closer, catching more pieces of their conversation.

“Yes, I know where he is.” Pause. “No, not yet. I need more time to be certain . . .”

Maverick’s blood turned to ice.

Sheridan was talking abouthim. Telling someone she knewhislocation.

“The evidence is substantial.” Pause. “I understand what you’ve been through. Yes, I know what’s at stake.”

Another pause, then, “I promise you’ll get justice. The person responsible . . . I know how much you need this.”

Everything in Maverick wanted to deny what he was hearing, but the words were unmistakable.

After everything they’d been through, everything they’d shared, Sheridan was preparing to turn him in.

Betrayal stabbed him in the chest until he winced.

How could she?

Maverick must have made a sound—a breath, a shifted weight—because suddenly Sheridan spun around. Her eyes widened as she saw him through the glass.

“I have to go,” she quickly said into the phone, ending the call.

She stepped back inside, and the two of them stood facing each other in the moonlit living room. The sound of waves filled the silence between them.

“Maverick—”

“You were talking about me.” His voice came out flat, emotionless, even as rage and betrayal churned in his chest. “After everything, you’re still planning to bring me in.”

“That’s not?—”

“I heard you, Sheridan. ‘I know where he is.’ ‘The evidence is substantial.’ What else could that mean?”