He cut the engine, letting the truck drift into the shadows behind the structure. “Hang here,” he ordered. “I’ll check this out.”
He was back in less than three minutes, but it was enough time for her to run too many ugly scenarios through her brain. Was her supervisor in on this? His boss’s boss? Someone in the Bureau—or at least someone with access to Bureau personnel—arranged to have her eliminated. The realization made her want to retch.
“Hey.” Griff appeared at her side of the truck, pulling the door open. “We’ll figure this out,” he added, as if he could read her mind. “But first, we sleep.”
Lips trembling, she bit down on another surge of terror. “Okay,” was all she could manage.
He stepped aside, ushering her out. “Okay.” He led the way to the entry door.
Griff examined the locked panel beside the door. "You know the code?"
"Not exactly. But I know Garofalo." She thought back to the trial, to the man's arrogance. "Try 0-7-0-4-7-6."
"Significance?"
"July 4th, 1776. He used it for half his passwords. Thought he was a patriot." She watched Griff input the numbers. "He also thought a sixty-thousand-dollar wine collection was a business expense."
The lock clicked open.
Inside, the bunker was exactly as the evidence photos had shown. Luxury disguised as necessity. The main room opened into a space that could have been featured in Architectural Digest—if the magazine did a "Doomsday Prepper Chic" issue.
"Generator's automatic," Sarah said, finding the control panel where the schematics said it would be. "Solar backup, water filtration, satellite internet that's completely isolated from standard ISP tracking."
She moved through the space on autopilot, cataloging systems she'd only seen in PDFs and spreadsheets. Her ankle screamed with each step, but she pushed through. Had to keep moving. Had to keep her mind occupied. Because if she stopped...
"Food stores are through here," she said, pushing open another door. "He had them labeled as 'emergency supplies,' but—" Her voice caught as the room spun slightly.
"Sarah."
She gripped the doorframe. "I'm fine. Just... the kitchen should be fully stocked. Garofalo had very specific tastes. There's probably enough authentic Italian espresso to?—"
Griff's hand touched her shoulder, gentle but firm. "You need to sit."
"I need to check the communications array. Make sure we're really off grid. The specifications showed?—"
"Now."
Something in his tone broke through her manic energy. She let him guide her to the leather couch, her legs suddenly shaky. The backpack slipped from her numb fingers.
"I should..." She tried to open her laptop, needing something familiar, something that made sense. But her hands were shaking too badly to work the lock.
"Delayed shock," Griff said quietly, disappearing into what must be the kitchen. She heard water running, cabinets opening. "Your body's been running on adrenaline for way too long. Now that you're safe, it's catching up."
Safe. Was she safe? Was anywhere safe now?
Griff returned with a mug of something hot—tea, not coffee. Smart. Caffeine would make the shaking worse.
"Your ankle needs ice and elevation," he said, setting the mug on the coffee table. "May I?"
She nodded, not trusting her voice. His hands were surprisingly gentle as he unlaced her boot, his face carefully neutral when she couldn't suppress a whimper as it came off.
"Definitely sprained." He propped her foot on the coffee table, then disappeared again, returning with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a dish towel. "Twenty minutes on, twenty off."
The cold hurt at first, then numbed into relief. Sarah wrapped her hands around the tea mug, trying to absorb its warmth. Across from her, Griff rubbed at the corner of one eye, lids puffed and angry. He ignored it, but she caught the wince he tried to hide every time the burn flared.
The sight madeher stomach twist. She’d done that. She’d panicked and unloaded half a can of bear spray into the face of the one man who’d risked himself to save her.
“Let me see,”she blurted before she could think better of it.
