Page 77 of Undertow

They were going to win this. Cara had known it was possible, though she hadn’t quite believed it was probable.

Tom was downloading the log. Dr. Lafferty had the compound. Ten more minutes and the FBI agents in the parking lot would get the call.

Graham's eyes flicked past them to the door again.

It opened without a knock.

Graham's face did something Cara hadn’t expected. For the smallest fraction of a second, it lifted — relief, the involuntary reflex of a man who thought rescue had arrived.

Then he saw who it was.

And the relief curdled into something worse than fear.

Two men swooped in first. Big. Jackets too heavy for the weather, cut too loose at the waist. Cara saw the shapes under the jackets before she saw the hands.

Guns.

Between them, pushed forward into the center of the rug by a hand locked on the back of his neck, was Tom, computer bag still over his shoulder. His glasses were crooked, his cheek already starting to bruise.

Elena was not with them.

Another figure sauntered in. Derek Voss.

The ex-boyfriend who had sat in Cara’s bakery. The concerned bystander who started this all. He was smiling—the small, private smile of a man who had been ten moves ahead the whole time.

“Well,” Derek said pleasantly. “That was more work than I planned.”

He pulled the door closed behind him. The lock turned with a small, precise click.

Derek looked at Cara first. Then Gabe. Then Wade, who’d gone very still. Finally, almost as an afterthought, he eyed Whitfield. “Graham,” Derek said. “You look surprised to see me.”

Whitfield said nothing.

“That’s funny,” Derek said. “I’m not surprised to see any of you.”

42

Gabe heard the lock click and understood, with the cold clarity of a man who'd spent years walking into rooms that were about to go wrong, that this one just had.

Derek pocketed the key.

"Phones," he ordered. "On the desk."

Nobody moved. The man by the window opened his jacket wider. The gun underneath stopped being a suggestion.

Gabe put his phone on the desk. Cara followed. Scowling, Wade complied. With a nod from Derek, the man guarding Tom collected them, shoving them into a pocket as if they were loose change.

Cara thrust out a hand. “Derek. Whatever this is, we can talk about it. You came to us, remember? We’re on the same side here.”

Voss eyed her with contempt. “You were supposed to find Elena and bring her back here. I probably would have even paid you a couple bucks.” He shook his head. “But you kept digging.”

The anomalies hit Gabe all at once.

The Oakland lab, cleaned out before they got there. Not by Whitfield, by someone who knew they were coming. The Minneapolis surveillance firm trailing Piper. Not Whitfield’s people.

Every pathetic, self-pitying phone call. Every poor-me whine about the FBI and his reputation. Reconnaissance. All of it.

“The lab,” Gabe said. “You cleaned it.”