Chapter 8
The hidden access road was exactly where her memory placed it—behind a rusted Forest Service gate.
A small surge of vindication lightened her mood for half a second.
All those hours studying property records, mapping software, utility company filings.
Her colleagues had called her obsessive.
Turned out obsessive might save their lives.
"There," she pointed through the windshield. "That utility pole. Garofalo had to upgrade the power lines to handle his systems. Cost him eighty thousand dollars that he tried to categorize as 'routine maintenance.'"
Griff gave her a look she couldn't quite read in the darkness. "You remember the cost of utility poles from a two-year-old case?"
"I remember everything about financial crimes. It's..." She paused, unsure why she was explaining herself to this stranger who'd saved her life. "It's how my brain works. Numbers, patterns, discrepancies. They stick."
Like how she'd noticed his sat phone had a Knight Tactical inventory tag. Serial number starting with KT-7.
The access road wound through thick forest. Sarah gripped the door handle as her ankle throbbed with each bump.
The building materialized from the darkness. What looked like a rustic ranger station from the outside was actually architectural deception at its finest.
"Garoffalo’s seriously paranoid," she explained as Griff studied the structure. "Ex-Silicon Valley. Thought the government was spying on him. Ironic, considering he ended up in federal prison anyway."
"Security?"
"State of the art, or it was two years ago. Biometric locks, motion sensors, cameras." She closed her eyes, pulling up the mental blueprints she'd studied so long. "But he made a mistake. The security system has a maintenance override. Building code requirement—emergency services need access."
He cut the engine, letting the truck drift into the shadows behind the structure. “Hang here,” he ordered. “I’ll check this out.”
He was back in less than three minutes, but it was enough time for her to run too many ugly scenarios through her brain.
Was her supervisor in on this? His boss’s boss?
Someone in the Bureau—or at least someone with access to Bureau personnel—arranged to have her eliminated. The realization made her want to retch.
“Hey.” Griff appeared at her side of the truck, pulling the door open. “We’ll figure this out,” he added, as if he could read her mind. “But first, we sleep.”
Lips trembling, she bit down on another surge of terror. “Okay,” was all she could manage.
He stepped aside, ushering her out. “Okay.” He led the way to the entry door.
Griff examined the locked panel beside the door. "You know the code?"
"Not exactly. But I know Garofalo." She thought back to the trial, to the man's arrogance. "Try 0-7-0-4-7-6."
"Significance?"
"July 4th, 1776. He used it for half his passwords. Thought he was a patriot." She watched Griff input the numbers. "He also thought a sixty-thousand-dollar wine collection was a business expense."
The lock clicked open.
Inside, the bunker was exactly as the evidence photos had shown. Luxury disguised as necessity. The main room opened into a space that could have been featured in Architectural Digest—if the magazine did a "Doomsday Prepper Chic" issue.
"Generator's automatic," Sarah said, finding the control panel where the schematics said it would be. "Solar backup, water filtration, satellite internet that's completely isolated from standard ISP tracking."
She moved through the space on autopilot, cataloging systems she'd only seen in PDFs and spreadsheets. Her ankle screamed with each step, but she pushed through. Had to keep moving. Had to keep her mind occupied. Because if she stopped...
"Food stores are through here," she said, pushing open another door. "He had them labeled as 'emergency supplies,' but—" Her voice caught as the room spun slightly.
"Sarah."
She gripped the doorframe. "I'm fine. Just... the kitchen should be fully stocked. Garofalo had very specific tastes. There's probably enough authentic Italian espresso to—"
Griff's hand touched her shoulder, gentle but firm. "You need to sit."
"I need to check the communications array. Make sure we're really off grid. The specifications showed—"
"Now."
Something in his tone broke through her manic energy. She let him guide her to the leather couch, her legs suddenly shaky. The backpack slipped from her numb fingers.
"I should..." She tried to open her laptop, needing something familiar, something that made sense. But her hands were shaking too badly to work the lock.
"Delayed shock," Griff said quietly, disappearing into what must be the kitchen. She heard water running, cabinets opening. "Your body's been running on adrenaline for way too long. Now that you're safe, it's catching up."
Safe. Was she safe? Was anywhere safe now?
Griff returned with a mug of something hot—tea, not coffee. Smart. Caffeine would make the shaking worse.
"Your ankle needs ice and elevation," he said, setting the mug on the coffee table. "May I?"
She nodded, not trusting her voice. His hands were surprisingly gentle as he unlaced her boot, his face carefully neutral when she couldn't suppress a whimper as it came off.
"Definitely sprained." He propped her foot on the coffee table, then disappeared again, returning with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a dish towel. "Twenty minutes on, twenty off."
The cold hurt at first, then numbed into relief. Sarah wrapped her hands around the tea mug, trying to absorb its warmth. Across from her, Griff rubbed at the corner of one eye, lids puffed and angry. He ignored it, but she caught the wince he tried to hide every time the burn flared.
The sight made her stomach twist. She’d done that. She’d panicked and unloaded half a can of bear spray into the face of the one man who’d risked himself to save her.
“Let me see,” she blurted before she could think better of it.
He froze, then gave her a wary look. “I’m fine.”
“Nice try.” She forced herself to meet his eyes—raw, bloodshot, rimmed with pain he refused to admit. “I should never have—”
“You should have,” he cut in gently. “If I’d been the wrong guy, you’d be alive, and he wouldn’t. That’s the right call, Sarah.”
Her throat tightened. “Still. I hate that I hurt you.”
“You’d be surprised what I’ve lived through.”
"This is what you do, isn't it?" she asked. "Take care of people after... after things like this."
They sat in silence for a moment. Sarah could feel the weight of everything waiting to crash down on her—the attack, the chase, the mine, the reality that her life as she knew it was over. But for now, in this stolen moment in a criminal's bunker, she held it at bay.
"I should call someone," she said finally. "My supervisor, or—"
"With what?" Griff's voice was gentle. "I ditched your phone at the mine. It was compromised."
The last piece of her normal life, gone. "I can't call anyone?"
"Not until we know who we can trust."
That was going to be a while.
As if he knew what she was thinking, Griff smiled, the merest tilt of his lips, but it made him even more handsome. Which totally didn’t help the situation.
At this point, she wasn’t sure anything but prayer would do.