Page 33 of Ground Zero
“They went toward the road,” a voice called out, maybe twenty yards away.
“Split up,” another voice commanded. “Jensen, cross the street and check the houses on the other side. Martinez, head north along the tree line. I’ll go south.”
Maverick counted silently as the footsteps dispersed in different directions.
One set crossed the road with heavy, deliberate steps. Another moved north through the forest. The third headed south, the sound gradually fading.
They waited another five minutes in absolute silence before Maverick finally allowed himself to breathe normally.
“How did they find us?” he whispered. “I mean, how did they find us so quickly at the cottage?”
Sheridan shifted beside him in the cramped space. “I don’t know. It’s not like we advertised our location.”
“Someone’s tracking you,” Maverick said quietly. “It’s the only explanation that makes sense.”
“That’s impossible. I followed protocol?—”
“Check your clothes,” he interrupted. “All of them. Thoroughly. You’ve got to do it now before it’s too late.”
CHAPTER 19
The 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.
