Page 7 of Ground Zero (Lantern Beach Blackout: Detonation #3)

S heridan stared at the closed bedroom door, listening to the sound of movement from the other side.

Every instinct she’d developed over her years in federal law enforcement screamed at her to maintain visual contact with her suspect.

Because that’s what Maverick Adams still was—a suspect.

No matter how convincing his story about being framed. No matter how genuine his shock had seemed when those fake agents started shooting. And no matter how her pulse had kicked up when he’d looked at her with those intense green eyes.

This man could be a genius terrorist who only wanted to survive and was using her to do so.

Down the hall in the living room, the computer screen glowed, practically beckoning her.

She took one more glance at the door Maverick had disappeared behind before creeping closer to the desk.

As she stared at the screen, the cursor blinked.

She shouldn’t be thinking about accessing Maverick’s accounts. That would require a warrant under normal circumstances.

But these weren’t normal circumstances.

She and her FBI colleagues were investigating a terrorist attack. Imminent loss of life was a real possibility.

Danny’s voice echoed in her memory from their last conversation. Trust your gut, Sher. The book doesn’t always have the right answers.

Her gut told her that either Maverick Adams was the most convincing liar she’d ever encountered or someone had gone to extraordinary lengths to destroy his life.

The sound of running water came from down the hall—probably a shower. That would give her a few minutes.

She couldn’t waste this opportunity.

Sheridan noticed that Maverick had left several browser windows open that displayed folders labeled with various project names.

Had he left these open on purpose?

He seemed too careful to have done this accidentally.

Or maybe he had nothing to hide.

Either way, she hesitated, her finger hovering over the mouse.

This felt like a violation.

But Danny’s killer was still out there somewhere. If there was even a chance Maverick was involved . . .

She clicked on a folder marked “Sigma.”

Her breath caught as dozens of files appeared on screen. Communications logs. Encrypted message fragments.

Then a chat box opened at the bottom of the screen. Several older messages were there, saved from an earlier time.

Her blood ran cold as she read the words there.

Unknown User: The FBI is getting too close. We need to accelerate the timeline.

M_Adams_Secure: Understood. How do you want to handle the problem?

Unknown User: Permanently.

M_Adams_Secure: Consider it done.

The time stamp was from three days before Danny’s death. Had Danny been the problem they’d eliminated?

Sheridan’s hands trembled as she scrolled through more messages. References to “eliminating loose ends” and “maintaining operational security.” Plans for cyberattacks that matched perfectly with the incidents she’d been investigating.

Then there was the most recent message, the one that had just popped up on the screen a few moments ago.

Unknown User: First part of plan successful? Confirm you’ve earned Mendez’s trust.

Her vision blurred as rage warred in her chest.

She’d been right the first time.

Maverick Adams was exactly who he appeared to be—a terrorist hiding behind a noble facade.

And she’d been foolish enough to begin to trust him.

A soft footstep sounded behind her.

Sheridan’s training kicked in instantly. She spun around, drawing her weapon in one fluid motion.

She found herself face-to-face with Maverick.

He now wore jeans, a dark T-shirt, and some flip flops. His hair was still damp from the shower.

But his expression made her grip tighten on her gun.

He had the careful, calculating look of someone who’d been caught.

Maverick froze when he saw the Glock pointed at his chest.

Agent Mendez stood in front of the computer, her stance perfect, her brown eyes blazing with fury.

Whatever she’d found on that screen had convinced her he was guilty.

Which meant someone had planted evidence where she’d be sure to find it.

He thought about the files on the computer. He hadn’t shut it down. He had nothing to hide.

But the information there could have been misinterpreted.

“Easy.” He raised both hands slowly.

He’d found his friend’s gun in the bedroom. Now the weight of the .38 pressed against his lower back, tucked beneath his shirt. But he made no move to grab it.

Instead, he calmly asked, “What’s going on, Sheridan?”

“Don’t.” Mendez’s voice sounded steady, professional, but anger simmered underneath. “Don’t use my first name like we’re friends. Like you didn’t orchestrate my partner’s murder.”

Maverick’s stomach dropped. “What are you talking about? I’ve never even heard of your partner until today.”

“Your messages.” She gestured toward the computer screen without taking her eyes off him. “Talking about the FBI. Discussing acceleration of attack timelines. The newest message mentioned me by name. It’s all right there. This is a game to you, isn’t it?”

He glanced at the screen, and things clicked in place. “Those messages aren’t from me. Someone knew you might be with me and set me up.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m dumb. Those messages contain your username. Who else knows I might be with you right now?”

“Skidmore, to start with.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Then he went through extreme measures to make you look guilty.”

“Yes, he did.” He paused and sucked in a deep breath.

“Look, if I were really involved in this, do you think I’d be dumb enough to use my actual name?

Do you think I would leave that chat window up while I went to change?

Someone is trying to set me up and make you believe I’m guilty. It’s clearly working.”

Sheridan only stared at him.

“Those aren’t my messages.” The words sounded stiff as they left his lips, but they needed to be repeated. He knew how this looked for him—bad.

Sheridan’s jaw tightened. “How stupid do you think I am?”

“I think you’re brilliant—which is why I need you to think about this logically.

” Maverick kept his voice calm despite the adrenaline flooding his system.

“If I really killed your partner, why would I keep evidence of it in my cloud storage? Why would I leave those files accessible when I knew you might look?”

She shrugged off his questions. “Maybe because you’re arrogant. Because you think you’re untouchable.”

“Or because someone wanted you to find exactly what you found.” He took a careful step forward. “Someone wants you to doubt me and bring me in. Either I’m being framed, or they need my help to complete their mission. Either option is dangerous.”

Uncertainty flickered across her features, but her weapon remained steady. “That’s convenient.”

“It’s the truth.” Maverick studied her face.

He memorized the determined set of her jaw, the way her dark hair had escaped its bun during their flight from the beach. She’d taken off her jacket and flung it over a nearby chair.

The change made her look more relaxed. Or was it frazzled?

In the span of ten minutes, it was most likely both.

“I had nothing to do with your partner’s death,” he continued. “But someone sure wants to make it look like I did.”

Sheridan remained quiet a long moment, and Maverick saw her analytical mind working through the possibilities.

She wanted to believe him—he could see it in her eyes—but everything in her training told her not to trust him.

Maverick held his breath as he waited for her decision.

That would determine how exactly things played out over the next few minutes.