Page 8 of Ground Zero
Sheridan saw the exact moment Maverick’s world shifted. The betrayal that crossed his features wasn’t about some distant terrorist organization.
It was about the people he worked with every day. The people he trusted.
One of them was dirty.
“Mav—” she started.
“We need to move.” He cut her off, his voice suddenly flat and professional. “Now.”
“But—”
Before she could argue, Maverick was up and sprinting toward the construction site.
Thankfully, she was a fast runner. She had to stay close—had to stay on his heels.
For more than one reason.
They dashed across the sand, bullets kicking up sprays around their feet.
The construction site in front of them was a maze of half-built beach houses in various stages of completion. Two-by-four frames, stacks of lumber, cement mixers, and construction debris provided perfect cover as they rushed through the development.
Sheridan ducked and rolled just as splinters exploded from a wooden frame post inches from her head.
She quickly jumped to her feet, rocks and gravel pricking her bare feet. That was the least of her worries right now.
She continued running after Maverick, providing covering fire as weapons chattered behind them.
She finally caught up to Maverick behind a partially framed house, both of them breathing hard.
She paused, still on alert as she sucked in several deep breaths. “Are you okay?”
When Maverick looked at her, she noted how his eyes had gone cold and distant. “Define okay.”
Fair point. In the last ten minutes, he’d been arrested for treason, attacked by fake federal agents, and told his parents’ deaths might have been murder.
That would be a lot for anyone.
“We’ll figure it out.” She peered around the corner, searching for the shooters. “But, first, we need to get out of here alive.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” He peered around the corner also.
With her gun drawn and ready, they both watched as the fake agents moved with stealth around the houses, searching for them. Their attackers weren’t aware which direction they’d gone. Not yet.
They needed to use that to their advantage.
Maverick picked up a rock and, aiming carefully, threw it inside one of the nearby homes.
The men shouted and scrambled toward the sound, assuming Sheridan and Maverick were inside.
Just what Maverick had wanted.
He nodded toward the access road visible beyond the last framed house. “My truck’s just ahead. Stay low and watch for my signal.”
Despite everything Sheridan’s training told her about maintaining professional distance, she found herself hopingthey’d both survive long enough for her to find the truth about this situation.
Even if that truth destroyed everything she believed about the people she trusted most.
They reached Maverick’s truck—a beat-up Ford F-150 that had seen better decades—without taking any more bullets.
