"We're adults," she said finally, voice carefully neutral. "We can share a room without it being weird."
But as they stood at the door of room twelve, bags in hand, Griff wondered if that was true. Something had shifted since that first moment in her cabin. She wasn't just a witness to protect anymore. She was...
He didn't know what she was. And that was dangerous.
Because caring about people, really caring, was the surest way to lose them.
And he'd already lost too much.
Sarah eyed the stained carpet and grimaced. "So we're clear here, you get the floor."
"I've slept on worse."
"I was kidding. There are two beds." She paused. "But I might need... I mean, if I have nightmares..."
"I'll be here," he said simply.
She nodded, something easing in her shoulders. They were two broken people trying to survive something that might kill them both. But for tonight, at least, neither of them had to face it alone.
14
Arlington,Virginia. 2:07 AM
Sarah's ankle throbbed with each step across the empty parking lot, a sharp reminder that hiking boots and Griff's constant icing couldn't fix four days of accumulated damage. The massive FBI data facility loomed ahead, all concrete and small windows, designed to protect information rather than impress visitors.
Security lights carved harsh circles in the darkness, leaving deep shadows between them. Griff led, despite the exhaustion she could see in the set of his shoulders. They'd driven thirty-two hours with only four hours of sleep in that awful motel. Her eyes felt like someone had thrown sand in them. She could only imagine how bad his eyes hurt.
"Security camera, northeast corner," Griff murmured, his breath visible in the cold March air. "Sweeps every forty-five seconds."
Sarah counted it out, watching the camera's slow mechanical turn. In her pocket, her FBI badge sat useless—a piece of plastic that would trigger every alarm in the building if she tried to use it.
"Service entrance," she whispered, pointing to a door she'd used dozens of times when working late. "Maintenance crews use it after hours."
They waited for the camera sweep, then moved to a cluster of bushes near the entrance. Griff studied the door, the parking lot, the pattern of lights.
"Stay here," he said. "Don't move."
"What are you?—"
But he'd already melted into the shadows. Sarah crouched behind the evergreen shrubs, their needles pricking through her flannel. Her ankle screamed at the awkward position. Every sound made her heart race—a car on the distant highway, wind rattling a dumpster lid, her own breathing that seemed impossibly loud.
Three minutes. Four. Where was he?
A figure emerged from the darkness, and Sarah nearly yelped before recognizing Griff's walk. Except now he wore a janitor's uniform—navy blue coveralls with "District Maintenance Services" embroidered on the pocket. He carried a mop bucket and industrial keyring.
"How did you?—"
"You don't want to know." His expression was grim. "We've got maybe twenty minutes before the guy wakes up and raises the alarm."
"The guy? What guy? What did you?—"
He tapped his watch. "Tick tock. More moving. Less talking."
Sarah stood, brushing pine needles off her jeans. "What about me?"
Griff eyed her outfit. The truck stop casual wear that had helped them blend in on the road now looked out of place for a federal building at 2 AM.
"If we run into anyone, you're a ditzy bureaucrat who left her purse inside." He thought for a minute. "You gave me thisto let you back in. Play up the Connecticut accent, maybe cry a little. Your car keys were in the purse, you're supposed to fly home for your mother's birthday..."
