Page 35 of Broken Trust
“Ever been asked to hold something for someone? Store data? Forward messages without reading them?”
“I don’t—no!”
“Your oldest son’s middle name?”
She heard the catch in Silverton’s voice as he answered. For the first time ever, she doubted that her information was correct. Not because there were gray areas—because this man’s humanity was tugging at her.
“I haven’t done anything,” Silverton insisted on the feed, his voice cracking with fear.
Mason’s response was calm, measured. Elin noted the tension in his shoulders, like he wasn’t buying any excuses when the evidence said otherwise.
She’d seen it once before, years ago, when some guy had bumped into her on a crowded street and kept walking without acknowledging it. Mason had called out to him, voice deadly quiet, and ordered him to apologize. The man had taken one look at Mason’s expression and stammered out an apology before practically running away.
That same coiled readiness vibrated through him now, barely contained beneath his professional facade.
A shiver ran through her, and she suppressed it, keeping her expression neutral for Sophie’s benefit. She didn’t need Sophie to know that watching Mason work was doing things to her that were entirely inappropriate for the situation.
“Some Pentagon work for national security reasons, but it’s just—” Silverton’s words made Elin’s hands freeze over the keyboard.
“Did he just say Pentagon?” The words escaped her in a rough rasp.
Then she attacked the keys with renewed intensity, fingers flying as she incorporated this new information into her search. She used everything—the security questions Mason had extracted.
The data streamed across her screens, building a complete picture of Charles Silverton’s life. Boring, predictable and normal.
Except for one thing.
“Found something.” Her voice was tight with focus as she pulled up a series of emails. “Daily messages to a Pentagon server. Started six months ago.”
Sophie crowded closer.
The interrogation on the live feed faded to background noise as Elin realized this was it.
“All clear,” Sophie read the email in a whisper.
“All clear,” Elin repeated, her mind racing. It was too simple not to be something meaningful. “What happens if he doesn’t send the all clear?”
Her foot tapped against the floor. Her body demanded movement while her mind demanded she stay seated, stay focused. The emails formed a pattern, as predictable as breathing. A check-in every. Single. Day.
“When those check-ins don’t happen…” She spoke to herself, pieces clicking together in her mind. “Someone notices. Someone acts.”
The realization hit her like ice water. “Oh God. He’s a dead man’s switch.”
Sophie jolted. “What?”
“Look at the pattern.” She pulled up a calendar view, showing six months of identical messages. “Every day, same time, same message. It’s not communication—it’s confirmation. As long as he sends it, nothing happens. But if he misses one?”
“Someone higher up moves pieces,” Sophie finished, understanding dawning on her face. “He doesn’t even know what he’s doing. He thinks he’s just checking in for some security project, but really—”
“He’s keeping a bomb in play.” Elin’s stomach churned. “Cipher turned him into an unwitting handler. He has no idea what happens if he stops sending those messages, but someone else does. Someone who’s watching, waiting for that check-in to stop.”
On the screen, Mason pushed to his feet, following Con and Dante to the door, clearly wrapping up the interrogation. Silverton slumped in his chair, exhausted and confused, with no idea how deeply he’d been played.
“We need to tell Con.” Sophie was already moving toward the door. “This changes everything. Silverton’s not a terrorist—he’s a tool.”
Elin remained frozen, watching the video feed. The three SEALs filed out of the interrogation room, and she stole one last glimpse of Mason’s broad shoulders before he disappeared from view.
Her insides clenched with a mixture of desire and dread. He was coming. Not to the lab, not right away, but eventually. They were in the same house, breathing the same air, and after last night, the space between them crackled with unfinished business.
