Page 2 of Ground Zero (Lantern Beach Blackout: Detonation #3)

S heridan dug her heels deeper into the sand as she pushed herself harder. Her lungs burned as she closed the distance.

Twenty yards. Fifteen. Ten.

Obvious tension stretched across the hard lines of Maverick’s shoulders.

Just as he neared the sand dune, Sheridan launched herself through the air in a tackle that would have made her college soccer coach proud.

They went down hard on the sand, a tangle of limbs and fury.

Adams tried to roll away, but Sheridan used his momentum against him. She pinned him face down with one knee pressed firmly between his shoulder blades.

“Maverick Adams,” she panted, “you’re under arrest for cyberterrorism, treason, and the murder of Federal Agent Danny Cameron.”

He went rigid beneath her. When he turned his head to look at her, his eyes weren’t filled with the guilt she’d expected.

Genuine shock stretched there instead.

“What are you talking about?” His voice carried a slight Southern drawl that his file hadn’t mentioned. “I didn’t kill anyone. And I sure haven’t committed treason.”

Sheridan pulled out her handcuffs, fighting the tiny voice in her head that whispered he sounded sincere. Criminals always sounded sincere when they got caught.

“Save it for your lawyer.” She snapped the cuffs around his wrists. “You have the right to remain silent . . .”

But as she read him his rights, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Maverick Adams was either the best actor she’d ever encountered, or she’d just made a terrible mistake.

This had to be some kind of mix-up.

Maverick knew he should have run faster. But the optimist in him had screamed that a reasonable conversation could work out this misunderstanding and clear things up.

He’d been wrong.

Not only should he have run faster, but the woman had been a surprisingly fast sprinter. She’d caught up with him in no time.

And that tackle? Where had that come from?

Not standard FBI training, that was for sure.

Maverick mentally kicked himself for not being more on the ball.

His mistake might put him in prison for a very long time—if not for the rest of his life.

No more surfing for him. Not only that, but he’d abandoned his father’s surfboard when he’d seen the agent coming for him. Carrying it with him slowed him down too much.

Maverick tested the handcuffs—standard FBI issue, locked tight.

He spit the sand from his mouth before saying, “Lady, you’ve got the wrong person. I’m one of the good guys.”

The agent—Latina, maybe five-foot-six, with dark hair pulled back in a severe bun and intense brown eyes—rose to her feet, wiped the sand from her knees, and stared down at him with contempt.

“The evidence says otherwise, Mr. Adams.”

“What evidence?” Maverick struggled to sit up, which was harder than expected with his hands cuffed behind his back. “I work cyber security , not cyber terrorism .”

“Your digital fingerprints are all over the attacks on the Eastern Seaboard power grid. The same attacks that got my partner killed when he was investigating the source.”

The Eastern Seaboard attack two weeks ago had been a masterpiece of cyberterrorism. Three power grids had been taken down simultaneously, plunging millions into darkness for eighteen hours.

Maverick had been brought in by the FBI and had worked nonstop to restore power as hospitals struggled with backup generators and people were trapped in elevators.

And somewhere in that chaos, her partner had apparently died.

The thought that anyone could believe Maverick was responsible for that devastation made him physically ill.

However, the pain in the agent’s voice was real. Raw and fresh.

Whoever her partner had been, she’d cared about him.

Which made this whole situation infinitely worse.

“I’m sorry about your partner,” Maverick said. “But I didn’t kill him. I’ve been trying to prevent attacks like that, not cause them.”

The agent crouched beside him, close enough that he could smell her perfume—something light and floral that seemed at odds with her tough-as-nails federal agent persona. Then she pulled him upright as if ready to lead him to her car and straight to prison.

He stood and found his balance, keeping his eyes wide open as he considered his options.

“The attack code contained algorithms that match your personal programming signature.” Her voice sounded hard as she said the words. “Code that’s never been published, never been shared. The only way someone could have that code is if you wrote it yourself.”

Maverick’s blood ran cold.

His personal signature was embedded in every piece of software he’d ever created—a digital DNA that was supposedly impossible to forge.

Unless . . .

“Someone’s been in my systems.” The pieces clicked together with horrible clarity. “Someone with high-level access copied my code and used it to frame me.”

The agent—he really needed to get her name—crossed her arms. “That’s a convenient story.”

“It’s the truth.” Maverick stared at her, willing her to see the sincerity in his eyes. “Think about it—if I was really behind these attacks, would I be out here surfing half a mile from my workplace? Wouldn’t I have run?”

She cocked an eyebrow skeptically. “Criminals make stupid mistakes all the time.”

“But hackers don’t,” Maverick countered. “Real hackers always have an exit strategy. They don’t hang around playing in the waves. They also don’t add their personal digital signature to the malicious code if they don’t want to get caught.”

For just a second, uncertainty flickered across the agent’s features. Then the professional mask slammed back into place. She studied Maverick a long moment, and he found himself memorizing details about her face.

The tiny scar above her left eyebrow. The way her lower lip was slightly fuller than her upper one. The fact that, despite her obvious anger, her hands had been gentle when she’d cuffed him.

Focus, Adams. This woman wants to put you in federal prison for the rest of your life. This is no time to admire her beauty.

He took a deep breath before asking, “What’s your name?”

“Special Agent Sheridan Mendez.” The words came out clipped, professional.

“Well, Agent Mendez, I’m innocent. You have the wrong guy.” He tugged at the cuffs behind him, upset with himself for letting things get this far.

“Oh, really? Then who’s the right guy?”

“Most likely it’s someone with Sigma.”

Sigma was a terrorist organization that had formed in the States. The people involved thought they were being recruited by the US government when, in fact, they were working for criminals who wanted to destroy the United States.

Recognition fluttered through her eyes. “Sigma?”

“If I had to guess, they set me up to take the fall for your partner’s death.”

Sheridan Mendez stared at him like he’d started speaking in tongues.

As if summoned by their conversation, the distinctive whine of approaching engines cut through the morning air. Two black SUVs raced down the beach access road in front of them, moving way too fast for a casual morning drive.

“They with you?” Maverick asked.

A frown tugged at the corner of her lips. “Not necessarily.”

“Then I suggest, for both of our sakes, you proceed with caution.”