Page 32 of Until the End

There were moments when it seemed hard for her to expose her emotions, but she let go.

It worked, somewhat. She brought Doc to tears at one point, and Alistair showed a glimmer of sympathy. Willow took notes in her robotic way, marching to the beat of a different drummer. The one person who concerned Castle was Sanborn.

The boss sat focused without the distraction of sentiment.

“Did you look at what was on the drive?” Sanborn asked.

Kit repeated the rest of her story, once again no inconsistencies, no hiccups, bolstering Castle’s confidence she wasn’t lying.

“I’ve told you everything. My friends were murdered.” She sniffled without shedding tears, but Doc handed her a tissue anyway. “The last thing Jasper talked about was Z-1984. What is it?” Kit looked around the silent room. “I signed your NDAs. Someone killed them over this. Please.”

Sanborn was a seasoned operative, sharp as a blade, and even though he sat behind a desk these days, he could still slit a throat without blinking if necessary, so playing hardball by stonewalling Kit would be nothing. But Castle had learned from him that sometimes delicacy was stronger than brute force. If you gave a little, you could get a whole lot in return. The tactic had worked well when Castle had shared classified information with Kit in the bathroom. The gamble had paid off. She’d opened up and was starting to trust him. Castle knew Sanborn well. His boss would be inclined to make the same choice.

“Thirteen weeks ago,” Sanborn said, “a bioagent popped up for sale on the black market. Willow discovered the auction for weaponized smallpox on the dark web.”

The chief left out how the government-bioengineered weapon had been stolen from a hijacked shipment of deadly viruses en route to Fort Detrick.

“Thankfully, Maddox, another operative here, recovered the bioweapon. She prevented a pandemic and potentially saved millions of lives.”

It wasn’t coincidence that’d brought both Kinkade siblings to the Gray Box. Castle had led Sanborn to his younger sister. She’d been floundering at the CIA and found her niche here, which was both a blessing and a curse. This job demanded everything from an operative.

Sanborn was the beacon in the darkness, guiding them all. Ensured they had the proper resources and none of them were sucked bone-dry by this business.

The public was clueless about everything they did to protect America, and pride at a grueling job well done couldn’t keep you warm at night. At least love was possible for some—Willow and Reaper, Maddox and her fiancé, Cole.

But this line of work still extracted a heavy toll.

“She also apprehended a man who was number ten on the CIA’s most wanted list. A contract killer who purchased the bioagent.”

Smooth as butter spread across warm bread, the boss laid out the positives of the Gray Box’s success stories, selling the merits of their covert agency while omitting the glaring negatives. Like how they hadn’t apprehended the seller of the bioweapon, who’d pocketed five million dollars. Or how the government was scrambling to cover up their fucked-up mess. Sanborn was working overtime to pinpoint the individuals responsible and make them answer for this.

The worst part was that two more bioweapons were out there—a souped-up version of anthrax and Z-1984.

“In tracking down the origins of engineered smallpox, we discovered Z-1984. I’ll let Doc take it from here.” Sanborn looked at Doc, and even through the veil of professionalism, the light in his eyes was unmistakable.

The two had become a couple. A fact that still boggled Castle’s mind and had nothing to do with the twenty-year age difference between his boss and Doc.

Even in his early fifties, Sanborn was fitter than Castle, staying razor-sharp with MMA fighting and Krav Maga. He was what most women would probably consider handsome, but Doc was crazy to get involved with him if she expected a normal relationship. Sanborn was married to this job and any woman in his life would always be a mistress.

“Z-1984 is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. In some ways, it’s far worse than anthrax or the mutated strain of smallpox.” Doc flipped her reddish-blond hair over her shoulder, baby blues hitting everyone around the table except for Willow, who tended to avoid eye contact, and Ares.

Doc always steered clear of Ares as if he had a communicable disease. Maybe guys with dark hair, dark eyes, and a presence darker than a black hole simply scared her. Maybe it had something to do with the fact everyone knew Ares had a thing for her.

“It’s rumored the scientist who created Z-1984 added the z as a sick joke. Standing for zombie.”

A silent tension swept through the room.

Kit blanched. “You mean zombies as in The Walking Dead?”

“Not quite. It won’t animate the dead,” Doc said, “but it infects the brain of the living, specifically the prefrontal cortex, changing a person into…a rabid cannibal. All rationale, emotion, higher cognitive functions are gone, reducing the infected to a mindless beast.”

“Sounds peachy, doesn’t it, luv?” Alistair said with a wink.

Rather than appearing relieved to know, Kit looked ready to toss her cookies.

A trained operative would’ve fired off follow-up questions to fill in the holes Sanborn and Doc had left, but Kit was an overwhelmed civilian whose life was unraveling.

“Miss Westcott, we’re the good guys here. The unsung heroes who fight in the shadows to keep you and every American safe and unaware of the dangers that threaten our way of life,” Sanborn said, leveraging the foundation he’d laid. “Help us stop the people who murdered your friends. Where is the hard drive that you took?”