Page 77 of Ground Zero

But what did he want? And whose side was he really on?

They stared at each other across the empty conference room, the weight of unspoken knowledge hanging between them.

Whatever was about to happen would change everything.

Her fingers found the grip of her gun as she wondered if she was about to face an ally or an enemy.

CHAPTER 42

Maverick hauled himself into the helicopter, water streaming from his clothes onto the pristine leather interior. As the aircraft lifted off, he twisted to look back at the beach.

Those gunmen stood watching his escape, weapons lowered.

He was safe from them—for now.

But he had other problems to worry about.

He glanced at the helicopter’s occupants.

The pilot sat behind the controls, and the man who’d helped him into the copter now sat up front beside the pilot. He didn’t recognize the guy.

But it was the woman beside him who caught his attention.

Late thirties, with auburn hair pulled back in a sleek chignon that looked too perfect for someone who’d just participated in a beach extraction.

Her suit was charcoal gray, expensive, and tailored to accentuate her athletic build. She was undeniably attractive. But her beauty had a sharp edge to it—like a blade polished to deadly perfection. Her eyes, an unsettling pale green, studied him with the detached interest of a scientist examining a specimen.

“Who are you?” Maverick’s hand instinctively moved toward where his weapon should have been.

Of course, it was gone, lost somewhere in the ocean.

The woman smirked, the cold expression not reaching her calculated eyes. “You don’t know?”

“I have no idea.”

The smirk widened. “How disappointing. And here I thought I’d made more of an impression.”

“Should I know you?”

“Oh, absolutely.” She crossed her legs, perfectly at ease despite the situation. “We’ve been dancing around each other for quite some time. Your work, my work. Your successes, my . . . adjustments.”

Tension embedded itself in his back muscles. “Stop playing games. Tell me who you are.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” She tilted her head, studying him like a cat with a mouse. “Besides, the fact that you came with us—with complete strangers—while running from gunmen . . . it’s only going to make you look more guilty.”

The helicopter banked sharply, heading inland, and Maverick realized the magnitude of his mistake. He’d just handed his enemies the perfect narrative: Suspected terrorist flees with unknown conspirators, possibly selling secrets, definitely confirming his guilt.

“Why?” His gaze latched onto the woman’s. “Why would you do this to me?”

“Because sometimes, Mr. Adams, the only way to prove your innocence is to look absolutely guilty first.” The woman laughed, a sound like ice cracking. “Or maybe we just wanted to see how desperate you really were. And now we know. You’re desperate enough to climb into a helicopter with people you don’t even recognize.”

Maverick looked out the window again. Below, he saw vehicles converging on the beach. The FBI? Sigma?

He wasn’t sure.

He turned back to the woman beside him.

“You’re Sigma.” His voice sounded flat and without emotion. “You sent those men after me, knowing it was the only way I’d get in this copter.”