Page 33 of Critical Mass
Her father, as a businessman, was many things—controlling, secretive, sometimes cold—but a terrorist? Someone who killed innocent people?
No. Absolutely not.
But looking around the table, she saw nothing but dead seriousness in every face. Colton’s expression was sympathetic but firm. Ty watched her with the kind of professional assessment that made her feel like a specimen under a microscope.
And Hudson. Standing against the wall with his arms crossed, his jaw tight, looking at her like he’d known this moment was coming and had been dreading it.
She turned to him, needing to see his face when she asked the question burning in her chest.
“So you believe my father is an evil, vile man who kills people and plans to kill thousands more?” Her voice sounded surprisingly steady.
Hudson nodded. “Yes. That’s exactly what we believe.”
Natalie sank back into her chair, her legs suddenly unable to support her weight.
“So your goal was to befriend me.” She couldn’t look away from Hudson as she spoke, watching for any flicker of guilt, any sign of remorse. “To make me fall in love with you. All so you could get information from me about my father.”
It wasn’t a question. The confirmation was obvious in the silence that followed.
Three months. Three months of lies. Of cooking classes and movie nights and stolen kisses on her doorstep. Of believing she’d finally found someone who understood her, who saw her, who loved her for who she was.
And it had all been an operation. A mission.
She’d been a target.
Hudson’s target.
Something cracked inside her chest. Not her heart breaking but something deeper. Her willingness to trust. Her faith in her own judgment. Her belief that the world made any kind of sense.
Hudson’s stoic expression faltered. When she saw the pain in his eyes, a shot of bitter satisfaction rallied through her.
“Did it work?” A new chill entered her voice. “Did you get the information you needed from me? Was I a good little intelligence asset?”
The silence in the room was deafening.
Nausea roiled in Hudson’s stomach.
The way Natalie was looking at him—like he was something she’d scraped off her shoe—made him want to disappear.
But she deserved an answer. She deserved the truth, even if it destroyed whatever microscopic chance they had left.
“Yes,” he said. “It worked. You told me about your father’s schedule. About his Friday afternoon meetings that he kept blocked off on his calendar. About the warehouse on the Elizabeth River that was supposedly closed but that he kept visiting.”
Natalie’s face went even paler. “I was making conversation. Those were just—those things didn’t mean anything.”
“You also mentioned the phrase ‘Critical Mass,’” Hudson continued, forcing himself to meet her eyes. “You said your father had been using it in phone calls. You thought it was business jargon. It’s not. It’s the code name for Sigma’s final operation.”
“That’s ridiculous. You’re twisting innocent comments into?—”
“You told me about his associates,” Hudson pressed on, each word feeling like a betrayal even though it was the truth. “How they looked more like security than executives. How your father always seemed to know where you were, even when you hadn’t told him. How he traveled to cities where Ravenscroft International didn’t have any contracts.”
“Stop.” Natalie’s voice cracked. “Just stop.”
But Colton was already opening a laptop, turning it toward her. “Ms. Ravenscroft, these are surveillance photos taken overthe past six months. This is your father meeting with Kingston McLaughlin, a known arms dealer, at the Port of Norfolk.”
Hudson watched Natalie lean forward, squinting at the screen. He saw the exact moment she recognized her father’s silver Mercedes, his distinctive profile.
“Could be a coincidence.” Her voice lacked conviction as she said the words.
