Page 78 of Duty Compromised
“What? That we’d have your back? Come on, Ty. You know us better than that.” He pulled out his phone. “Now, tell me everything. Start from the beginning. What’s the threat, who’s the enemy, and what do we need to do to keep Dr. Gifford alive?”
I started talking. George’s visit to the gym. Vertex Dynamics. The Cascade Protocol that could turn every lithium-ion battery into a weapon. Charlotte’s race to create a countermeasure. The sabotage at the lab. The car accident that wasn’t an accident. The chase through St. Louis. The mole in the FBI. The safe house that had turned into a deathtrap.
Ethan listened without interrupting, his expression growing darker with each detail. His fingers drummed against the table when I described the explosion, the only sign of his agitation.
“This Cascade Protocol,” he said when I finished. “If it’s deployed?—”
“Every phone, laptop, tablet, electric vehicle, anything with a lithium-ion battery becomes a potential bomb. Coordinated attack could take out infrastructure, first responders, government facilities. Thousands dead in the first wave.”
“Jesus.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “And Charlotte’s the only one who can stop it?”
“She and her team created it. She’s the only one who understands it well enough to build a countermeasure. And we’re running out of time. The black-market auction is in three days.”
“What does she need?”
“Time. Safety. Access to her equipment.” I gestured toward the makeshift workstation. “She’s been working nonstop, but it’s complex. Every time she thinks she has it, something goes wrong. And now with the mole in the FBI, we don’t know who to trust.”
“You trust George?”
“I thought I could trust him with my life. But now? Fuck if I know. Somebody for sure was trying to kill us at that safe house.”
My phone buzzed again. Text from Donovan.
Inbound.
I stood, hand moving to my weapon. “Donovan’s coming.”
“Good. I want to talk to him about Kenya anyway.” Ethan rose too, all casual demeanor gone. “How many exits from this place?”
“Front door, back door through the bedroom, windows if necessary.” I moved toward the front door. “Ben’s covering the tree line to the east, best vantage point for?—”
Three knocks interrupted me. Donovan’s pattern this time.
I opened the door, ready to brief him on Ethan’s arrival. The words died in my throat.
Donovan stood on the porch, his expression carved from stone. And he had a sweaty George Mercer at gunpoint.
Chapter 23
Ty
Donovan shoved George through the door hard enough that the man stumbled, catching himself on the back of the couch. My hand moved to my weapon before I even processed what I was seeing. George Mercer—my Army buddy, the FBI agent who’d gotten me into this whole mess—stood in the living room, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool morning air.
“Found him creeping around the gym,” Donovan said, his Glock still trained on George’s center mass. That deadly calm in my brother’s voice—the tone that meant violence was imminent—signified George had about ten seconds before Donovan decided talking was overrated and removed the problem permanently.
“Look, it’s not what you—” George started, hands raised.
“Shut up.” I stepped forward, putting myself between Charlotte’s bedroom door and George. Everything about this screamed trap. “You’ve got thirty seconds to explain about that goddamned safe house before my brother decides you’re too much trouble to keep breathing.”
George’s eyes darted between us, then landed on Ethan. “Cross? What are you doing here? Can you talk some sense into them?”
“Actually, they already sound pretty sensible to me,” Ethan said, stepping closer to George with the fluid grace of someone ready for violence. “Especially since I just found out Ty and Charlotte are supposed to be dead right now.”
The blood drained from George’s face. “Dead? What the hell—what are you talking about? I couldn’t reach Ty. Alex Richards has been in absolute panic mode since the stabilizer code was stolen from the building yesterday. Ty told me he was doing that, but then crickets.” His words tumbled out faster, desperation bleeding through. “Radio silence.”
“Bullshit.” The word came out harsh, anger building in my chest. “I left you three voicemails last night. Then I got your text with the safe house address. If I hadn’t had the forethought to check it out first, I’d be sitting here talking to you in roughly 1.7 million pieces.”
George’s confusion looked genuine, but I’d been fooled before. His brow furrowed, mouth opening and closing like he was trying to process impossible information.
