Page 36 of Every Last Breath

Un-freaking-believable. After getting what she wanted, she had tried to dump him on the curb like a bag of trash. Insult to injury.

The only thing more unbelievable was the big-ass truck she was driving.

They exited the George Washington Memorial Parkway and hit a service road. A quarter mile through an isolated area along the Potomac River, a gated compound came into view. By the time they drove past a sign that read Helios Importing and Exporting, Cole was ready to spit battery acid.

Maddox stopped beside a stone gatehouse the size of a Metro station booth, perched in front of the gated compound. He idled behind her, taking in the perimeter. Nothing drew unwanted attention—no guard towers, no razor wire atop the ten-foot brick fence. Smart.

Yet odd. This wasn’t the massive, in-your-face, overt CIA complex at Langley.

Maddox rolled down the tinted window of her Toyota Tundra and hiked a thumb back at him as she spoke to a guard in plain clothes. He was definitely packing heat.

The guy threw a quick glance at Cole and gave her a nod. She swiped a badge or card on an identification reader and punched in a PIN. The solid black gate slid open. From the thickness, Cole gathered it was armored.

She drove in at a snail’s pace and he trailed behind. Six-foot concrete barriers with reinforced rebar edged the path for the first four hundred yards. A posted sign warned against exceeding thirty-five miles per hour.

Twelve-inch-diameter shiny silver disks dotted the road in a familiar pattern. Those were retractable pneumatic bollards—electrohydraulic stainless-steel pillars—that’d pop up from the ground if triggered by high-speed velocity. Or, he guessed, a security lockdown protocol. Enough of them could stop a tank. And there were a buttload.

Trees shrouded the road after the barriers—giant sycamores, sweeping oaks, dense willows, and a bunch of others. The drive in under the thick canopy of greenery was quite idyllic.

He knew this location—or about it anyway. This had been the planned site for a swanky housing complex. He’d been impressed as hell by the online renderings as a teenager with a budding love for architecture. Designed around a verdant park, the compound had been intended as the quintessential suburban community, with necessities at residents’ fingertips. The project lost funding and someone anonymous scooped it up a few years after 9/11.

Around the bend on the asphalt path sat a large building, shaped like a giant gray box with massive stone columns. Down the road behind it was a smaller-sized hangar. Trees broke up the parking lot in front of the gray building, giving it a helter-skelter look. The limited aerial exposure made the setup a covert agent’s wet dream.

He followed her to the far end of the lot and parked next to her. As he removed his helmet, tucking it under his arm, she climbed out of her truck.

“Never figured you for a truck gal.”

“I’m not. That’s mine.” She pointed to a red Hyundai SUV. “It didn’t start. I think it’s my alternator, but I haven’t had a chance to deal with it. This”—she gestured to the pickup—“belongs to Knox. He’s deployed.”

“Are you sure your boyfriend won’t mind you driving his wheels?”

She stepped up close, a tease of a smile on her full lips. “Knox is better than a boyfriend. More reliable too. He’s the deputy here, like a brother to me. And I’m sure he won’t mind.”

Something in her silken tone, the gleam in her eyes as she talked about the dude had Cole disliking Knox no matter what the nature of their relationship.

“You can’t bring your cell phone inside.” She held out her hand. “Well, you could, but you’d have to leave it at the security desk. The elevators won’t work if an unauthorized cell is detected. Also, no weapons allowed for you.”

Narrowing his eyes, the questions in his head mounted. He put his phone, knives, and gun in his backpack and handed it over but hung on to his helmet.

“Bruiser beads too.”

After he proffered his necklace, she tossed it in her car and strode off at a clipped pace.

“Care to explain?” He swept an arm at the compound, strolling beside her.

“What?”

“This isn’t Langley, baby.”

Her eyes cut to him. “I hate it when you call me baby.”

Still? Good. “Yeah, I remember. Baby.”

She looked straight ahead and kept walking. Hips swaying in a pair of painted-on jeans, she wore a sexy V-neck that spelled all woman, despite the boots made for stomping in heads and a lightweight jacket covering her weapon. Maddox packing heat still boggled his mind. And from the bulge, hers was bigger than his. Go figure.

He snatched her arm, forcing her to a jerky stop. “Explain, or I don’t go in.”

“Technically, I’m not CIA anymore. I’m this.” She pointed a finger at the gray building. “We’re an off-book outfit designed to do what other agencies can’t and to give plausible deniability to higher-ups.”