Page 69 of Peak’s Code

Until she froze. "That's it." Peak looked closely at the abandoned seafood processing plant. It was perfect—privately owned, direct water access, old railroad tracks, warehouse space, and three roads leading out.

Maeve tapped the screen. "Look who owns it." The name had been transferred through three shell companies before ending with one corporate holding group. Bayview Logistics.

Warden swore. "Dr. Voss."

Peak nodded. "Or somebody working with her."

Maeve leaned back against the bed. "We finally found something real." Peak looked at her. She looked exhausted. Dark circles rested beneath her eyes, and her hair was still damp from the storm. A tiny cut marked her forearm where flying glass had caught her. Without thinking, he reached over and brushed a shard of glass from her sleeve. She looked up, and their eyes met. For just a second, the war disappeared. All of it faded beneath the simple relief that they were both still alive.

Warden cleared his throat loudly. "So—” Both of them looked over at him, and the Enforcer's mouth twitched. "You two gonna keep staring at each other, or are we gonna save our president?"

Heat crept into Maeve's cheeks, and Peak smirked. "We can do both."

Warden rolled his eyes. "I've officially become the third wheel in the apocalypse." Despite everything that had happened, Maeve laughed, and Peak realized then that he'd do just about anything to hear it again.

His phone vibrated. It wasn’t the burner this time, but his own. He frowned. "I pulled the battery."

"So did I," Maeve said. Peak slowly looked down and found that the screen was lit anyway. Three words appeared in bright white letters. YOU'RE TOO LATE. Before either of them could react, the screen changed again. A live video feed filled the display. Captain sat tied to a metal chair beneath harsh fluorescent lights—bruised, bleeding, but very much alive.

He looked directly into the camera, and then said one word that made every hair on the back of Peak's neck stand up. "Run." The video cut to black.

Run. The word echoed through the motel room long after the screen went black. Peak stared at the dead display, his pulse pounding in his ears. Captain hadn't looked afraid, and that bothered him more than the bruises. His Prez had been beaten and restrained. He probably knew he wasn't getting out on his own, yet the only thing he'd said was one word. Not help me. Not find me. Just—run.

Warden snatched the phone from Peak's hand. "What the hell was that?"

Peak shook his head. "I don't know."

Maeve moved closer. "Play it again."

"I can't." He tapped the screen, but nothing happened. The phone had gone completely dead. There was no battery indicator, no lock screen—nothing except a dark screen.

Maeve frowned. "That wasn't a video."

Peak looked at her. "What?"

"It was a livestream." She folded her arms over her chest, already thinking three steps ahead. She shook her head. "It wasn't recorded. They wanted us to see Captain in real time."

Warden cursed. "So they know where we are."

Peak nodded. "They know we're watching." Silence settled over the room. Rain continued pouring through the shattered window. Peak grabbed one of the motel towels and shoved it against the broken glass to keep the water from soaking everything. His mind refused to slow down. Captain never wasted words, and if he used the word “Run,” there was a reason.

Maeve walked over beside him. "You've got that look."

Peak glanced sideways. "What look?"

"The one where you're solving something."

"I don't have a look,” Peak insisted.

"You absolutely have a look. I’ve only known you for two days now, and I’ve seen that look over a dozen times already.”

Warden snorted. "He does have a look." Peak ignored both of them. He replayed the video in his head, and something felt off.

He turned toward Warden. "When Captain gets serious, does he ever waste movement?"

The Enforcer frowned. "What?"

"Answer the question,” Peak growled.