Page 78 of Peak’s Code

"I love you,” Wren said.

Tears spilled freely down Maeve's face. "I love you too."

"Tell Mom—” Maeve's breath caught because their mother had been gone for years. Wren caught herself, and a tiny, broken laugh escaped her. "Sorry, old habit.”

Maeve smiled through her tears. "Mom already knows what you want to say, Wren."

"I hope so." The call disconnected, and Maeve stared at the phone. The diner around her faded away.

Peak quietly took the phone from her trembling hand. "No trace."

She nodded. "I figured." Her voice barely worked. Peak reached for her hand, and this time, she held onto him like he was her only lifeline. It wasn’t because she was falling apart, but because she finally knew that Wren wasn't waiting to be rescued. She was fighting, just like she'd always believed, and for the first time since this nightmare began, Maeve wasn't chasing a ghost anymore. She was racing toward the finish line.

Peak squeezed her hand gently. "So, what now?” he asked.

She looked at him and nodded. "We end this." Maeve looked back toward the map at the old seafood plant and the hidden data center beneath it. That was where the Director believed he was untouchable—but he wasn’t.

A slow, determined smile spread across her face. "No."

Peak frowned. "What?"

She stood, sliding the coded strip into her pocket. "We don't end it." Her green eyes met his. "We bury it." For the first time since she'd walked into the Grave Prowlers' clubhouse, Maeve wasn't reacting. She had a plan, and the Director had just made the biggest mistake of his life. He'd let two hackers compare notes.

Peak

The drive from the diner to the eastern edge of Cambridge took just under twenty minutes. Peak hated every second of it, not because of the silence. He liked silence because it gave him room to think. What he hated was that every minute ticking off the dashboard clock brought Captain closer to whatever the Director had planned.

Beside him, Maeve sat with Wren's coded strip unfolded on her lap. Every few minutes she'd glance toward the marshes rolling past the truck window before looking back down at the paper as if willing another clue to appear. The answer was there; she just hadn't seen it yet.

Warden broke the silence from the back seat. "Are we there yet?"

“Sit back and shut up,” Peak growled.

"Ten more minutes,” Maeve said, smiling back at Warden.

"You sure?" Warden asked.

Peak glanced in the rearview mirror. "No, I have no idea how much longer it’s going to take.”

"I hate that answer,” Warden said as he sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. Peak looked him over in the rearview and laughed. His club’s big, bad enforcer looked like a petulant child who didn’t get his way.

The Eastern Shore slowly woke around them as watermen backed trailers toward the docks. Pickup trucks filled with crab pots rolled onto narrow county roads. A school bus stopped beside a mailbox as the first streaks of sunlight pushed through the clouds. To everyone else, it looked like another ordinary Maryland morning. Peak wondered how many people drove on these roads every day without realizing one of the largest trafficking operations on the East Coast might be operating beneath their feet. The Director had chosen well. The best hiding places weren't abandoned islands or underground bunkers. They were ordinary places people stopped noticing years ago.

Maeve suddenly sat forward. "Stop."

Peak hit the brakes, and the truck rolled onto the shoulder of the road. "What’s wrong?"

She pointed across the marsh. "There." Peak followed her finger and saw an old Coast Guard navigation tower that stood half-hidden among tall reeds. Its white paint had peeled away decades ago. Power lines stretched toward it from inland.

"What about it?" he asked. Maeve didn't answer immediately. Instead, she unfolded Wren's note again and read it aloud. “Tide Before Dawn.” Then, she looked back at the tower. "Peak, I know that tower."

He frowned. "You do?"

"Wren and I used to come out here." She smiled sadly. "We'd skip class and eat lunch on the rocks." Peak couldn't picture Maeve skipping anything. She must have seen the doubt on his face. "I wasn't always responsible."

"I believe you,” he said, smiling at her.

"No, you don't,” she grumbled.