Page 15 of Ground Zero (Lantern Beach Blackout: Detonation #3)

M oving silently, Maverick picked up his friend’s revolver from where he’d left it on the desk. The weapon felt familiar in his hands—not his preferred sidearm, but it would do.

Another creak sounded from the front porch. Closer this time.

He moved to the front door and stood to the side of it.

If Sheridan had betrayed him, if she’d led a team of federal agents or Sigma operatives to this location, he was about to find out just how much trouble he was really in.

The doorknob turned slowly, almost imperceptibly.

Maverick raised the gun and took aim, his military training kicking in despite the sick feeling in his stomach.

He’d trusted Sheridan Mendez with his life, and she might be about to prove that trust was misplaced.

He continued to listen.

He hadn’t heard the sound of any approaching vehicle. He’d heard no radio chatter. No coordinated movement to suggest a tactical team.

But someone was definitely out there preparing to come inside.

Taking a deep breath, Maverick gripped the .38 tighter and threw the door open, stepping into the doorway with his weapon raised.

A figure stood on the front porch, silhouetted against the late afternoon sun.

But it wasn’t who he’d expected.

Sheridan’s heart nearly stopped when she saw Maverick standing in the doorway, gun pointed directly at her chest.

For a split second, she wondered if she’d made a terrible mistake coming back here alone.

Then she remembered the pizza box in her hands and held it up like a shield.

“I just thought you could use something to eat.” She tried to keep her voice steady despite the adrenaline flooding her system.

She watched the tension drain from Maverick’s shoulders as recognition dawned in his eyes.

He lowered the weapon, but his guard remained up. His gaze swept past her, scanning the area behind her.

“Get inside.” He stepped back to let her enter. “Quickly.”

Sheridan slipped through the doorway, and Maverick continued his visual sweep of the surrounding area for another thirty seconds before closing and locking the door behind her.

“How did you get here?” He set the gun on a side table. “I didn’t hear a car.”

“I rented a house a few streets over, parked my car there, and decided to walk here instead.” She set the pizza box on the kitchen counter. “Driving seemed too risky. Too easy to track.”

Maverick studied her face, and she saw him processing what that meant.

She’d abandoned her vehicle, walked at least a half a mile across side streets on the island, and brought him food.

None of which suggested she was leading a strike team to his location.

“Your colleagues are probably wondering where you went,” he finally said.

“They think I’m finding off-site accommodations.” Sheridan opened the pizza box, releasing the aroma of pepperoni and cheese into the small cottage. “I talked my boss into letting me stay on the island to monitor the situation.”

“How did you do that?” Maverick’s eyebrows rose.

“I told him someone needed to be in position if you tried to access the network again or made contact.”

She watched his expression as she spoke. Relief flickered across his features, followed quickly by something that looked like gratitude.

“Thank you,” he said.

A flutter of warmth swept through Sheridan at his words, but she pushed the feeling aside. It was too early for either of them to feel relieved.

They were still being hunted by unknown enemies, still trying to figure out who they could trust—even each other.

But for the moment, sitting down to share a pizza felt like the most normal thing that had happened to either of them all day.