Page 35 of Ground Zero
“Anything?” Sheridan whispered after what felt like an eternity.
Maverick shook his head but didn’t relax his vigilance. “Professional teams know how to move without making noise.”
She couldn’t argue with that.
A car door slammed somewhere in the distance, and both of them froze. Sheridan’s hand moved instinctively to her weapon while Maverick strained to determine the direction of the sound.
They waited, muscles coiled, ready to run or fight.
The sound of an engine starting up drifted on the breeze then faded as the vehicle moved away from their location.
Probably just neighbors, but neither of them lowered their guard.
“How long do we wait?” Sheridan brushed a stray hair out of her face.
“Long enough to be sure.” Maverick checked his watch. “Another five minutes.”
Those five minutes stretched like hours. A fishing boat moved slowly across the sound. Cars sounded on the highway in the distance.
Normal life continuing while theirs had been turned completely upside down.
When no attack came, Sheridan finally allowed herself to breathe. “Maybe they won’t find us here. I booked this place myself and paid cash. There’s no paper trail.”
Maverick moved away from the front door and nearly collapsed on the couch, finally letting exhaustion show on his face. “Someone was tracking you. They may have tracked you here earlier and taken note of this location. Plus, your car is out front. We need to keep that in mind.”
It was true. There was nothing to stop those men from finding this location too.
“The truth is, right now this is the safest place we have,” she murmured.
Sheridan just hoped it would be safe enough for long enough.
CHAPTER 20
For the first time since arriving in this house, Maverick glanced around Sheridan’s rental.
The compact beach house maximized its small footprint with a smart design. Vaulted ceilings soared overhead, painted crisp white and crossed with natural wood beams that matched the exterior siding.
The living area was furnished simply but comfortably—a sectional sofa in soft blue faced a flat-screen TV mounted above a small electric fireplace. The kitchen occupied one corner with white cabinets, butcher-block countertops, and stainless-steel appliances that looked new but not ostentatious. A small dining table sat positioned to take advantage of the sound-side windows.
Built-in shelving lined one wall, filled with books, beach finds, and a few personal photos. The décor was coastal but not kitschy—weathered wood accents, rope details, and a color palette of whites, blues, and natural tones that echoed the ocean and sky visible through every window.
Everything was designed for efficiency and comfort.
Despite its compact size, the house felt airy and welcoming—the kind of place designed for peaceful retreats and simple pleasures.
Not hideouts from killers.
Sheridan squinted as she sat beside Maverick on the couch. “Let me take a look at that cut.”
Maverick rolled up his sleeve to expose the wound.
It was deeper than he’d initially thought. Blood had soaked through his shirt and was beginning to drip onto the floor.
“This needs stitches.” Sheridan examined the cut with professional detachment. “I’ve got a first aid kit in my bag.”
She disappeared into the bedroom and returned with a medical kit.
“Always prepared?” Maverick asked as she laid out supplies on the coffee table.
