Page 8 of Cyclone

My gut twisted. “Who’s ‘them,’ Sister Jude?” I knew she wasn’t a nun, but I didn’t think she wanted anyone else to know.

But she was already gone again—eyes closed, breathing shallow, hand slipping from mine.

The medic touched my shoulder. “She’ll live. She’s lucky you got her here in time.”

Lucky.

Damn right she was lucky. If it had been her and the nuns, she would have died.

I felt like I’d just opened a door to something bigger than either of us. I glanced at Faron. We won’t say anything about her not being a nun, I think this is a hell of a lot bigger than we even know.”

“I agree,” Faron said.

And I had no idea what the hell I’d just stepped into.

I should’ve been resting.

Instead, I was pacing the floor of a dimly lit safe house, arms crossed, brain on fire. Faron had already crashed on a cot in the corner, snoring like a lumberjack.

But me?

I couldn’t stop replaying her voice in my head.

Don’t let them take me back.

I’m not a nun.

What the hell was Jude mixed up in?

I looked at the medic’s tablet they’d left behind. Her vitals were stabilizing. The antivenom had worked. She’d pulled through.

But her file? Practically blank.

No ID. No medical history. Nothing but the nameSister Jude Avery—which I was now 99.9% sure was as fake as Faron’s “I don’t snore” claim.

I tapped into the radio and connected with base ops.

“Cyclone. Clearance level eight. I need a background check.”

“Name?”

“Jude Avery. Possibly fake. Claimed to be with a traveling mission group out of Johannesburg.”

A pause. Then, “Stand by.”

Two minutes later: “You’re right. No Sister Jude Avery with that mission team. But… thereisa Jude Avery. CIA asset. Last flagged location: northern Mozambique. Then she disappeared.”

My stomach dropped.

“Disappeared?”

“Presumed compromised. But not confirmed dead. Last ping was eighteen months ago.”

I leaned back, dragging a hand through my hair.

A CIA asset.

Undercover. Missing. Embedded in anunnery.

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