Page 94 of Ground Zero
No, Sheridan hadn’t done that.
Maverick’s gaze jerked from Sheridan to the shadowed figure that emerged behind him.
Kyle Harrell stood in the doorway behind where Rebecca had been. His Glock was still raised, and smoke wisped from the barrel.
“Kyle?” Maverick kept his weapon raised, not sure if he was facing rescue or another threat. “Did you follow us? How did you?—?”
He stopped as he realized the truth.
Kyle was the mole.
He was the traitor.
Rebecca let out a desperate gasp, and Maverick glanced down at her. Her face had gone ashen, lips already taking on a bluish tinge. The blood spreading across her white blouse looked almost black in the warehouse lighting.
Her hands clutched the wound in her abdomen, fingers slick with red. Her eyes—wide with shock and pain—darted between them, unfocused, as if she couldn’t quite process what had happened.
The woman was still breathing but barely—shallow, rapid gasps that suggested a punctured lung.
Blood pooled beneath her as she struggled to speak. “You . . . don’t understand . . . they promised . . .”
“Who promised?” Sheridan came out of her shock and dropped beside Rebecca, using her hands to apply pressure to the wound. “Who’s really behind this, Rebecca?”
Before Rebecca could answer, Kyle lifted his gun. “Sorry it had to end this way, Maverick. But I can’t let you two stop our plan. We’ve worked too hard to get to where we are.”
Sheridan’s heart continued to pump in her ears as she processed what was going on.
“I can’t believe you’d do this.” Disbelief and betrayal stretched through Maverick’s voice as he stared at Kyle.
“You think you’re working for the right side.” Kyle’s gaze gleamed with anger. “But what if you’re actually working for the enemy?”
“I should ask you that since that’s exactly what you’re doing with Sigma.”
His eyes lit. “Exactly! That’s what they want you to believe. But you’re the one who has this all turned around, not me.”
“You might have just killed a woman.” Sheridan gestured to where Rebecca lay crumpled on the concrete floor.
The pool of blood beneath her had stopped spreading—her heart no longer strong enough to pump it out. Rebecca’s hand had fallen away from her wound, lying limp at her side. Her chest barely moved now, each breath a monumental struggle.
“Rebecca was always a weak link,” Kyle said dismissively, not even glancing at the dying woman. “Too emotional, too unpredictable. She was only going to get in the way.”
“You can’t do this.” Sheridan’s voice cracked with emotion.
“Of course, I can.” He smirked, still holding his gun.
Sheridan kept her hand on Rebecca’s wound while her mind raced.
Kyle’s expression hardened. “Now, step away from the explosives.”
Sheridan was keenly aware of the phone in her pocket. While Kyle had been distracted, she’d turned it on and begun recording this conversation. She would send it to Cook. She’d clear their names and provide needed evidence.
But, first, she needed Kyle to make more incriminating confessions.
“We know what you’re planning.” She stood slowly, Rebecca’s blood covering her hands.
The warmth of it made her stomach turn, and Sheridan fought the urge to wipe them on her pants. Rebecca’s breathing had become barely audible—she had maybe minutes left, if that.
Every instinct screamed at Sheridan to keep applying pressure, to try to save this woman who’d been destroyed by grief. But if she didn’t get Kyle talking now, hundreds more would die.
