Page 19 of Ground Zero (Lantern Beach Blackout: Detonation #3)

T he chill Sheridan felt had nothing to do with the damp earth beneath the abandoned boat. “You think someone planted a tracker on me?”

The idea was appalling. It meant someone she worked with, someone she trusted, had deliberately put her in danger. Had marked her for death.

“Check,” Maverick said again, his voice gentle but insistent.

With growing dread, Sheridan ran her hands over her jacket, her pants, checking every pocket and seam. Her fingers found nothing unusual . . .

Until she reached the small inner pocket of her blazer—the pocket she never used because it was too small for anything practical.

Something hard and flat, no bigger than a quarter, was nestled there.

“No . . .” she breathed, pulling out the small electronic device.

Even in the dim sunlight filtering through the gaps in the boat’s hull, she could see it clearly.

A GPS tracker, military grade, exactly like the ones the FBI used for surveillance operations.

“What if someone on my team did this?” she whispered. “Someone I work with every day, someone who knows me, someone I trust? What if they planted this on me?”

The betrayal hit her like a physical blow. One of her colleagues may have literally handed her over to killers.

“When?” Maverick asked. “When could someone have gotten close enough?”

Sheridan thought back through the day. She’d split ways with her colleagues that morning. But she’d been around her entire team before that as they’d traveled to Lantern Beach. They’d left from Norfolk before sunrise, taking four different vehicles after getting the lead about Adams.

“Probably this morning . . .” Her voice trailed off as the implications sank in.

“We need to destroy it,” Maverick said.

She thought through the possibilities. The men who were chasing them appeared to be gone—for now. Were they not the ones tracking this device? It seemed like, if they were, they would have found her by now.

Either way, she needed to get rid of this.

She peered out from under the boat just to make sure.

Those men had definitely scattered—but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t be back.

Then she heard something. A truck beeping in the distance. A garbage truck.

An idea lit inside her.

She turned to Maverick. “I have a better idea.”

As the truck started down the lane, Sheridan peered from their cover. She checked once again to make sure no one was there.

Then she rushed from their cover and wedged the device into a crevice on the truck’s back bumper. As quickly as she’d left, she ducked back under the boat again.

“That should keep them busy for a while,” Sheridan told him, unable to keep the satisfaction from her voice.

He grinned. “Smart thinking.”

It was. However, the damage was already done.

Someone had betrayed her, and she had no idea who.

“Maverick . . .” She suddenly noticed the dark stain spreading across his shirt in the dim light. “You’re bleeding.”

He glanced down at his arm with the detached calm of someone accustomed to combat injuries. “Must have caught a branch while we were running. It’s not deep.”

“That needs to be cleaned and bandaged.”

“We need to get back to your place,” Maverick replied. “But I don’t know how long we’ll be safe there. The cottage is compromised. The men might assume you’ll go back to your rental, but . . . I’m not sure.”

“Those men should be on that wild goose chase for a while longer. We probably have a little time before they double-back to my rental.”

However, nowhere felt safe anymore.

Not when the enemy could be anyone. Not when the enemy could be someone sitting across from her at a briefing table or someone who’d shaken her hand and looked her in the eye while planning her death.

“Let’s go,” she said. “And pray we can stay ahead of whoever’s hunting us.”

Sheridan and Maverick darted back to her rental.

The compact beach house perched on sturdy pilings, its natural wood siding weathered to a warm honey color that blended seamlessly with the maritime forest behind it.

Large windows dominated the front, and a generous deck wrapped around two sides of the structure. A metal roof gleamed silver in the afternoon sun, and hurricane shutters were neatly folded back against the siding, ready to be deployed when needed.

Once inside, Sheridan collapsed against the wall, gasping for breath. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.”

But when Maverick turned toward her, she got a better look at the dark stains spreading across the left sleeve of his shirt. “That’s worse than I thought.”

He glanced down at his arm. “It will be fine.”

But Sheridan could see his wound was more than a scratch. A jagged cut ran from his elbow to his bicep, deep enough to need attention.

“Let me look at that.” She moved toward him.

But Maverick held up his hand. “In a minute. First, we need to make sure they didn’t follow us here.”

They positioned themselves near the doors, backs pressed against the warm wood siding, both breathing hard from their sprint.

Maverick peered out the small window atop the door, scanning the access road they’d just used, while Sheridan covered the approach from the sound side.

The minutes crawled by with agonizing slowness. Every sound made them tense—the rustle of sea grass in the wind, the distant cry of gulls, the crashing of waves against a nearby bulkhead.

“Anything?” Sheridan whispered after what felt like an eternity.

Maverick shook his head but didn’t relax his vigilance. “Professional teams know how to move without making noise.”

She couldn’t argue with that.

A car door slammed somewhere in the distance, and both of them froze. Sheridan’s hand moved instinctively to her weapon while Maverick strained to determine the direction of the sound.

They waited, muscles coiled, ready to run or fight.

The sound of an engine starting up drifted on the breeze then faded as the vehicle moved away from their location.

Probably just neighbors, but neither of them lowered their guard.

“How long do we wait?” Sheridan brushed a stray hair out of her face.

“Long enough to be sure.” Maverick checked his watch. “Another five minutes.”

Those five minutes stretched like hours. A fishing boat moved slowly across the sound. Cars sounded on the highway in the distance.

Normal life continuing while theirs had been turned completely upside down.

When no attack came, Sheridan finally allowed herself to breathe. “Maybe they won’t find us here. I booked this place myself and paid cash. There’s no paper trail.”

Maverick moved away from the front door and nearly collapsed on the couch, finally letting exhaustion show on his face. “Someone was tracking you. They may have tracked you here earlier and taken note of this location. Plus, your car is out front. We need to keep that in mind.”

It was true. There was nothing to stop those men from finding this location too.

“The truth is, right now this is the safest place we have,” she murmured.

Sheridan just hoped it would be safe enough for long enough.