Page 29 of Until the End

“Need a Kleenex or…something?” he asked, like the sight of a weepy woman cracking to pieces might be more than he could stomach.

“I’m not crying.” Misty-eyed, maybe, but she was far from sobbing. “I’m angry. My friends were murdered. I want to beat the men who killed them and see those bastards locked behind bars.”

“Violence and justice I can handle.” His voice was quiet and deceptively soothing. He rubbed her shoulders, and against her better judgment, she accepted the small comfort. “You’re in trouble. I want to help you, but you have to tell me what you know.”

She pulled away. “Why do you want to help me? I pose a grave risk to national security.”

“The Outliers posed a risk. I don’t think you’re the enemy. Something about you screams hostile but innocent. And if what happened in the park is any indication, you’re caught up in a nasty mess that’s going to get you killed. I’m your best chance at surviving. So prove you’re not a coconspirator. Cooperate. I swore to protect you and I will, so long as you’re not guilty of working with terrorists. You have to trust me on that.”

Kit was desperate to believe him, but common sense kicked in. Maybe this was a good cop, bad cop tactic and he was playing her. “You haven’t proven you’re a white hat.”

He grimaced. “What do you want, me to take a bullet for you? If you need more proof, let me get you out of here. But in order for me to do that, you have to work with me.” He glanced at the door. “We don’t have forever to quibble. Tell me how you know about Z-1984. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

His sexy, calm demeanor didn’t minimize her frustration or her annoyance.

“Trust is a two-way street,” she said. “I’m the one stuck against my will in a classified hidey-hole six stories below ground. And now I’m also facing the prospect of incarceration in a black site or torture at the hands of your esteemed colleague, Reaper.” A scary-sounding dude she never wanted to meet. “I still don’t know who you guys are or what this place is. None of this inspires me to divulge secrets.”

CIA and FBI had been ruled out, but they were some tentacle of the intelligence octopus and she wanted to know which one before saying anything that might incriminate her further.

“You’ll sign the NDAs?” Castle asked.

“Of course I’ll sign them.” Not as if she had a choice. They’d probably threaten to hack off one of her hands if she didn’t.

“We’re an independent covert agency, sanctioned to operate on domestic or foreign soil. This place is called the Gray Box. Sanborn’s boss is the president. Once you sign the NDAs, only POTUS and the director of national intelligence will see the paperwork.” He crossed his strong arms over his massive chest. “Z-1984. What do you know?”

She’d have to share enough for him to believe her. No question she needed help, and he was her best option, but how much could she risk telling him without getting herself locked up?

“What I just told you is classified top secret,” he said in the wake of her silence. “Most people in the intelligence community don’t know we exist. I’m putting my neck on the line here. Talk to me. We can’t stay in this bathroom forever, and you can’t run through quicksand.”

Swallowing her qualms, she decided. “I usually picked the jobs for the Outliers. Never anything illegal. Four months ago, a guy named Jasper infiltrated our group. He convinced the Outliers that they weren’t reaching their full potential under my leadership and could make real money following him instead.”

Despite the cushy lifestyle she’d provided and steady paychecks from solid jobs, that weasel had brought the whole thing down. It was her fault and her greatest shame. Idiot. She had the worst luck with men. They were always using her for something.

“How did Jasper infiltrate your group?”

Deets about Jasper were classified none of Castle’s business.

“What’s important is Jasper accepted a cryptic job from a man calling himself Bravo. First, the Outliers had to pass a test, cracking some security system to prove they had the chops for the job. Two million dollars for two days of work. They jumped at it.”

“Two million is a lot of money to turn down. Enough to tempt a saint.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you expect me to believe that’s what you are?”

“Principles should trump cash, but I’m no saint. What I am is wealthy, thanks to a robust trust fund.”

“So robust you don’t bat a lash at two million?”

“I have more than I can spend in two lifetimes.” She would’ve traded every cent to have those she loved back. “The whole thing felt wrong. I warned them, but they wouldn’t listen.”

“What was the job?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

He dropped his hands and backed away. His expression went stone-cold, eyes solid ice.

Eerie how he did that.

“I swear on my life, that’s the truth.” Kit pressed her hands to his chest, and for a delirious moment, she enjoyed the ripple of his muscles beneath her palms. “The last thing I want is for my friends’ deaths to be in vain and for those bastards to get away with it.”

“You said everyone was killed. How?”