Page 35 of Ground Zero (Lantern Beach Blackout: Detonation #3)
M averick jolted awake in the unfamiliar bedroom.
He glanced at the time.
It was one a.m.
He and Sheridan had switched locations again and found another empty rental house. This one was on the ocean and stretched three stories high with a pool out back.
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, with moonlight 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 about him . Telling someone she knew his location.
“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?”
She set her phone on the kitchen counter, her movements careful, deliberate. “You heard what you wanted to hear. Or maybe what you expected to hear.”
“Don’t.” The word came out sharp. “Don’t try to spin this. You were talking to Cook about me.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Then who? Who requires a one a.m. phone call that you had to hide from me?”
Sheridan crossed her arms, her posture defensive. “I wasn’t hiding. You were asleep. I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Convenient.” Maverick moved closer, noting how she didn’t back away. “You know what I think? I think you’ve been playing both sides this whole time. Keeping me close to see what I know, who I might contact. Building your case.”
“That’s ridiculous?—”
“Is it? You’re FBI, Sheridan. Duty, honor, protocol—it’s in your DNA. You really expect me to believe you’d throw all that away for someone you arrested for terrorism?”
Her eyes flashed with anger. “I expect you to trust me. The same way I’ve been trusting you.”
“Trust?” Maverick laughed bitterly. “You were just on the phone discussing my whereabouts with someone.”
“You don’t know what you heard.”
“Then explain it. Make me understand.”
They stood there, barely three feet apart, the accusation hanging between them like a blade. Outside, the ocean continued its relentless rhythm, indifferent to the human drama playing out above its shore.
Maverick waited, watching Sheridan’s face in the moonlight, searching for the truth. Part of him—the part that had started to care for her, maybe even fall for her—desperately wanted her to have an explanation. The other part, the soldier trained to survive, was already calculating escape routes.
“Well?” he demanded when she remained silent. “Who were you talking to?”
Then he waited for her answer.