Page 19 of Until the End

Honest? Ha. Easy to preach honesty when you had a badge and gun. She had five valid reasons not to cooperate, and each one had worked on something that’d gotten them killed.

She glanced around. “What’s with the civilian business front?” she asked, gesturing to the sign that read Helios Importing & Exporting.

“It’s our cover.” He rolled down his window, waved to the guard in the gatehouse, swiped a card through an identification reader, and entered a PIN. “You won’t find any record of it after you leave, no matter how deeply you dig. And the compound doesn’t show up on Google Earth if you try to do aerial recon. So don’t waste your time looking for it.”

One thing registered: after you leave. Like she had a shot of being released. But government shadows were shady and probably did whatever was necessary to elicit cooperation.

Even lie.

The black gate slid open slowly like it was heavy, possibly armored. Castle drove in, adhering to the posted sign warning against exceeding thirty-five miles per hour. Concrete barriers bordered the road a few hundred yards, giving way to giant shade trees. Shiny, circular metal disks dotted the tree-lined road in a zigzag pattern.

“We’re not CIA or Homeland Security. We’re not affiliated with any of the other agencies,” he said, offering more unprompted information.

She opened her mouth to ask the questions whirling in her mind, but he held up a hand.

“Before you ask, I can’t tell you who we are. Not yet. Need you to sign an NDA first.”

The concept of a nondisclosure agreement wasn’t new. Some clients used those to protect sensitive, personal information. Shouldn’t surprise her the government would as well, but maybe it was a sign they intended to let her go. Provided they didn’t learn about her connection to the Outliers and whatever they’d been involved in that’d gotten them all killed.

The serene landscape of the compound looked like a community college campus, with giant old trees, mature shrubs, and what appeared to be several acres of lawn. Barring common sense, she would’ve relaxed at the picturesque setting.

“If I had questions for the FBI or CIA, I know exactly where to find them, including a hotline number to call. Why hide who you are? Go to the extreme of masking your location from satellite coverage?”

“What we do is dangerous,” he said. “We put our lives on the line to keep this country safe, handling operations too tough or politically sensitive for other agencies to tackle. Exposure of any kind, like putting a big sign out front advertising who and what we really are, would endanger us and our families and limit our ability to do our job. Which some days feels impossible. Understand?”

She hated not knowing exactly who or what she was dealing with, much less not having geocoordinates. But she understood the low-profile precautions necessary for the Mission: Impossible gang to do their job.

It’d been the same for the Outliers. The critical difference was that the government routinely abused its power.

“I don’t like it, but I get it.” Her voice was raspy, her throat dry as sandpaper. “Do you have anything to drink?”

“I’ll get you water inside.”

The asphalt path curved, leading to a giant gray box-shaped building with pillars along the front. He pulled into the oddest parking lot, as if the asymmetrical spots had been planned around the trees.

He parked close to the entrance and killed the engine.

After letting the dog out of the car, he strode around to her side and opened the door. A chilly breeze perked her up. Shivering, she threw her feet on the ground and stood. Dizziness waylaid her and she swayed, grasping the door. Starved, exhausted, in dire need of a shower, now dehydrated…things were taking a toll.

“You okay?” he asked in that calm, commanding voice and curled a gentle hand on her shoulder, steadying her. “I can carry you if necessary.”

He stepped in, caging her between the open car door and his jaw-dropping wall of muscle. Not in a threatening way. More in a make-her-knees-weak sort of way.

“Do you want me to carry you?” he repeated.

Oh gosh. She was staring, tingling…

“No.” Her cheeks burned from the lie and she bit her lip. No should’ve been the truth. Bald, brawny, Big- Brother kidnappers weren’t her type. Not now. Not in a million years. “I’d rather crawl than be carried by some G-man.” She hoped the razor-sharp disdain was enough to cut and knocked his hand from her shoulder.

His perfect superhero jaw went so taut, it didn’t look real.

She clenched her hands, snapping to her full height of five feet eight inches. Ten including the chunky heels.

Still, she had to tilt her head back to get closer to a face-to-face position of strength.

He lowered his head, bringing them nearly nose-to-nose, sunglasses shielding his eyes.

The barely-there contact, the proximity, should’ve roused her hackles. It didn’t.