Page 18 of Until the End

All the real coding talent in her biological family had gone to her twin brother, Kyle. After what happened to him, Kit had formed the Outliers. She’d handpicked every lonesome, gifted white-hat hacker with skills far outshining hers, guided them with a vision, and gave them a purpose. A sense of belonging that Kyle had lacked.

Little good it’d done any of them. Now they were gone, just like her brother.

A hollow emptiness sank through her. Tears stung her eyes, but she beat them back, willed them not to fall. The weak cried, and these days, it was survival of the strongest.

There was one thing in her favor. Secret agent man didn’t know her name or the extent of the Outliers’ link to Z-1984. Whatever it was. She heard him searching her bag while they were on the road. But he wouldn’t find any clue to her identity in there. She’d ditched her cell phone, afraid Bravo might use it to track her, and had stashed her license along with the hard drives. Her credit cards were left behind at the loft, and she had subsisted off the limited cash in her bag. All for the best, really, because if she’d used any of her cards—swiped at a hotel for incidentals, an ATM machine, paying the bill at a restaurant—her digital trail could’ve been traced.

The Herculean effort was all for naught, considering Bravo had found her anyway and now she was zip-tied in the back of a government vehicle.

Anonymity was her sole protection against whatever supersecret organization she was dealing with at this point.

If the CIA, Homeland Security—whatever spooky agency the badass driving worked for—suspected she’d aided terrorists, there was no telling what could happen to her. This wasn’t guilt by association. The Outliers was her group. Her family. And she was the only one still breathing.

Responsibility for their actions fell on her.

There was also suspicious data stored on the hard drives, information regarding the other individuals and businesses they’d helped. Nothing illegal per se, but any of the apps and programs they used to circumvent the ever-invasive eyes and ears of the NSA could be twisted. Misconstrued. The hard drives needed to stay out of government hands.

She roped in a breath to quell her spiraling terror.

The dog had put his head in her lap shortly after Castle had bound and blindfolded her. She was already hot, and the mangy beast’s body heat was only making her legs sweat.

“We’re almost there,” Castle said.

They’d been driving about thirty minutes, give or take. A renewed fight kindled in her veins, but she needed to think before she spoke, choose each word carefully this time.

“It’s getting hard to breathe with this hood.” Sweat dripped down her temples, her lungs tight like there was a boulder on her chest, and her heart was beating so hard it ached. That was really bad. “Can you take it off?”

“In a minute.”

The dog lifted his head from her thighs and panted. Then he started whining as if vocalizing his empathy.

“Please. I need air.”

Their speed slowed and Castle stopped the car. He removed the hood and clipped the plastic ties binding her wrists. She put a hand over her eyes, adjusting to the light.

Castle sat back in his seat and threw the car in drive.

The mutt panted, tongue dangling, and then licked her face. She was grateful for his support but shied away from the excess of saliva and wiped her cheek.

They headed down an isolated road along a river, maybe the Potomac. A gated compound surrounded by a ten-foot brick fence came into view. They drove past a sign that read Helios Importing & Exporting and a few others warning against trespassers toward a stone gatehouse about the size of a tollbooth.

Her eyes fixed on the solid black gate straight ahead. What if she went in there and never came out? What if they locked her up until she cooperated? Tortured her for information?

Who would look for her? Who would miss her?

No one. If Kit died today, no one would care.

“This isn’t a black site,” Castle said as if reading her mind, “but the location is classified.”

The confines of the SUV seemed to magnify him. His neck, his heavily muscled arms, his hands, his tree-trunk thighs. Everything about him was big and thick and more than a little intimidating. And with that face—a jaw that could cut glass, straight nose, strong chin—he was also stupid hot.

“I’ll be with you the entire time.” His deep, calm voice was a surprising comfort, but she wasn’t idiotic enough to relax a single muscle. “I promise.”

She wasn’t going to allow this government thug to lull her into a false sense of security and have her spilling her guts. No sirree. Despite her current shabby appearance and the way she oozed desperation, she was not now, nor would she ever be, easy.

“If that’s supposed to make me feel better,” she said, “it doesn’t.” Half lie. “But the best lawyer money could buy would.” One hundred percent true.

“Unless you’re guilty of something, you have no reason not to cooperate. Be honest and everything will be fine.”