Page 11 of Ground Zero
His nostrils flared as he stared at her. “If I’m being framed for a crime I didn’t commit, then I need to figure out who did this to me. I need to go somewhere safe in order to do that. I can’t investigate while on the run. Besides, I assume you have your guys at the ferry dock, so I’m not getting off this island. Am I right?”
“You’re correct.” Eight other agents had come with her, including her boss.
Finding and obtaining Maverick had been their top priority. Six agents were at Blackout, two were at the docks, and then there was Sheridan, the lone ranger. The junior agent who was still building her reputation in a career that was still male-dominated, despite new efforts in recent years.
Maverick stared at her, waiting for her decision.
She finally let out a slow breath before saying, “You’re not under arrest right now. But I still reserve that right. Since you saved my life, you bought yourself a few more minutes. In the meantime, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
“Perfect,” he muttered.
Then they continued speeding down the road to an unknown destination.
As they did, Sheridan prayed this decision didn’t get her killed.
Maverick’s mind raced as he tried to figure out where to go—somewhere no one would find him.
Then the perfect place hit him.
He turned off Highway 12 and headed down a side street toward the Pamlico Sound. This road was located on a wider part of the island, but this particular area was fairly undeveloped.
A single old fishing cottage stood at the end of the lane.
The cottage belonged to a friend he’d met a few weeks ago while surfing. Tom Reynolds was a retired New York businessman who only came here a few times a year to catch some waves and to fish. The veteran had said Maverick could use the place whenever he needed.
Maverick pulled his truck out of sight between some tress, put the vehicle into Park, and stared at the house in front of him.
The fishing cottage had weathered gray shingles and peeling white trim that was a testament to decades of exposure to salt air and coastal storms. A covered porch wrapped around the front, furnished with mismatched chairs and a rusty glider that creaked in the breeze. Fishing nets draped one corner of the porch, and an old crab trap served as a makeshift table beside the front door.
He hadn’t told any of his friends or colleagues about Tom, so none of them should be able to trace him to this location.
Thankfully, Maverick’s truck was old enough that it didn’t have any type of built-in GPS or way of tracking it. And his phone was encrypted, so no one should be able to trace him to this location through that device either.
He should be safe here for a while.
And that was exactly what he needed.
He glanced at Agent Mendez beside him as she stared at the place. She still had her phone on her, which could lead her colleagues here. But he doubted anyone would trace her—not yet. They were too busy trying to track him down.
Those guys at the beach? They’d most likely followed her, maybe even put a tracker on her car.
Either way, they should have some time—for now.
Sheridan’s expression didn’t hold disdain as she stared at the cottage. Her gaze told him that she wasn’t snobby, nor did she think she was above staying somewhere so simple.
But caution still lined her eyes.
The reaction was only wise, considering this situation.
Maverick reached for the door handle. “You ready to get inside? We have a lot to talk about.”
He wasn’t so sure he wanted to be the one doing the talking. But he’d love to know what Sheridan knew.
There was clearly more going on than he’d ever anticipated, and his future depended on finding the answers—and maybe even some allies along the way.
CHAPTER 6
Sheridan glanced around the house.
