Page 49 of Ground Zero
A USB drive, small and unmarked, hidden somewhere clever—but not that clever.
Ty stepped closer, his eyes narrowed. “What’s that?”
Sheridan held up the drive, her heart sinking. “Possibly more evidence against your friend.”
Or possibly the smoking gun that would prove someone had been setting Maverick Adams up for months.
CHAPTER 27
Maverick watched the two agents finish their search of Sheridan’s rental and step back outside. He didn’t recognize them. They could actually be FBI, but if so, he hadn’t worked with them.
He’d worked with many agents before—but none were here now.
There were too many people with too many secrets for him to feel sure about anything.
Thinking the men were leaving, he started to relax when one of them pointed directly at the house where he hid.
Maverick’s blood turned to ice.
“What about that one?” The man’s voice carried across the narrow space between the houses. “Looks empty, but we should check it out. Can’t be too careful.”
“Agreed. Mendez is at Blackout right now. But for all we know, Adams heard us coming and hid over there. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”
Maverick’s heart hammered against his ribs.
The men moved toward the front door with the same purposeful strides they’d used at Sheridan’s place.
He had sixty seconds before they reached the house.
Running wasn’t an option—they’d see him the moment he stepped outside. The back door was too far away, and the windows faced directions that would expose him to their line of sight.
Thankfully, he’d cleaned up this place earlier. There shouldn’t be any signs he’d been here—except for the laptop he’d borrowed from his friend’s place.
He grabbed the computer and stuffed it under his shirt. Then he frantically looked around the living room for somewhere to hide. The furniture offered limited options.
At once, he remembered something from his teenage years.
The couch.
It was an old sofa bed, the kind his grandmother used to have. If the mechanism still worked . . .
Maverick pulled off the seat cushions as quietly as possible, revealing the metal frame and springs underneath. Just like he’d hoped—there was a narrow space between the frame and the fold-out bed mechanism, barely wide enough for a person if they could stay absolutely flat.
He squeezed himself into the cramped space, pulling the laptop tight against his chest. Then he reached an arm out and carefully replaced the cushions above him. He hoped they were all back in place. Thankfully, there were only two stiff cushions.
The weight of the bed pressed on him uncomfortably, but the hiding spot had worked when he was fifteen and playing hide and seek with his cousins.
It had to work now.
He prayed it would.
The front door rattled as someone tested the handle.
“Locked,” a voice said.
“Keys should work on this model too,” the second man replied.
The unmistakable sound of an electronic key sounded, then the door swung open with a creak that seemed impossibly loud in the silence.
