Page 27 of Critical Mass
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
The main buildingwas nothing like what Natalie had expected.
From the outside, it looked like an upscale beach resort—weathered cedar siding, large windows, a wrap-around porch with rocking chairs.
Even the lobby looked homey with a tall fireplace and leather couches.
But as she was led down a corridor, everything changed, and the illusion shattered.
This was a command center.
One room she passed held banks of computer monitors along one wall, displaying what looked like satellite imagery and tactical maps.
A large conference table dominated the center of another room, covered with folders and laptops. Whiteboards filled with notes and diagrams hung on every available wall space.
And the people. At least a dozen men and women moved through the space. They stood differently than civilians—straighter, more alert, their eyes constantly scanning. Several of them looked up as she walked past, their gazes assessing her.
Her eyes stopped on one man. Why did he look familiar, like someone she’d seen before? Did he just have one of those faces?
She frowned. She wasn’t sure.
Natalie pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, suddenly aware of how she must look—soaking wet, disheveled, mascara probably running down her face. She felt every one of their eyes on her, weighing and measuring.
The place was surprisingly large. Hallways branched in multiple directions, stairs led to a second floor, and what looked like a fully equipped kitchen was visible through an open doorway.
How many people worked here? What exactly did they do?
A man stepped out of one of the hallways, and Natalie knew immediately he was in charge. Although in his mid-thirties, he had that same commanding presence as her father—a hard jaw, steely eyes, and confidence that came from years of making decisions.
“Ms. Ravenscroft.” His voice was surprisingly gentle. “I’m Colton Locke, one of the founders here at Blackout. I know you’ve had a difficult evening. Why don’t we get you some coffee to warm you up, and then we can talk.”
“Thank you,” Natalie managed, her voice still hoarse.
Colton gestured toward a hallway. “Conference room’s this way. We can?—”
“Could I use the restroom first? I need to clean up a little. And could I get some dry clothes?” The words came out more desperate than she’d intended.
She needed a moment alone, needed to collect herself before facing whatever interrogation was coming.
“Of course.” Colton’s expression softened slightly. “Bathroom is the second door on the left. I’ll have someone bring a sweatshirt to the conference room. Would that work for now?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Natalie followed his directions, acutely aware of Hudson’s presence behind her. To her surprise, he remained silent.
It was better that way.
When she reached the bathroom, she slipped inside quickly and locked the door, finally alone for the first time since the marina.
Natalie caught her reflection in the mirror and flinched. The fluorescent lights above her were harsh and unforgiving.
Her hair hung in wet tangles around her face. Her makeup had indeed run, leaving dark smudges under her eyes. The blue dress she’d worn to dinner was ruined—torn at the shoulder, stained with saltwater and dirt and things she didn’t want to identify.
She looked like a disaster.
She looked like a victim.
