She stifled a cry but noticed something soft against her lips. Cloth.
She opened her eyes, blinking like an owl into the blackness, too aware of the heavy pounding of her heart to think she was dead.
But she couldn’t see.
She was hooded. Just like when Angelo took her to the Blackout base.
Her hands were bound too. And—
Oh god. She was naked.
No, not naked. She still felt the slight pressure of her bra around her ribs and the cloth of her panties under her butt.
The son of a bitch chloroformed me.
He’d stripped her too—probably to search her for wires or trackers. But he’d never find the device he was looking for.
A low whisper of air came from beside her.
She turned her head toward the sound. Her senses were short-circuiting, but she forced herself to think clearly despite the hood and her bonds and the fear crawling up her throat.
Cipher wouldn’t be sitting here with her, breathing like a man trying not to be heard.
This person wasn’t her captor. Which meant he was a prisoner too.
“Hello?” Her whisper was a rough rasp.
“Shh.” A male voice, low and even rougher than hers.
She waited a beat. “Where are we?”
“Shh.”
“Who are you?”
“Shh.”
Endless minutes passed, then she tried again. “How long have you been in here?”
“A while.” Then: “Shh.”
She tried twice more and got the same thing—that single syllable, almost reflexive, like he’d been saying it so long it was the only response he had left. She listened to the quality of the silence.
This person wasn’t angry. He wasn’t threatening.
He had to be a prisoner.
She turned her head toward the sound of his breathing. “I have a plan,” she said quietly.
He didn’t shush her that time.
SIXTEEN
“Clear!”
Ash didn’t slow as he moved past the first room. The house smelled like stale coffee and overheated electronics. That wasn’t new. Neither was the pregnant silence ringing in their ears.
It was what raids sounded like just before hell broke loose.
