She said nothing, just pulled her Glock service pistol from the paddle holster on her belt, released the magazine, and then cycled the slide—expertly catching the ejected round in her free hand. With the weapon made safe, she handed it to him. He took it, cleared the chamber for himself and locked the slide back, and then dropped the magazine and extra round into a baggie. He opened the safe, slid the baggie and weapon onto the second shelf with a ticket, after tearing it in half, then handed the remaining half to Maria.

He smiled, but it looked like the smile one might program a robot to make, a trick to make it look more human.

“You have a good afternoon, ma’am,” he said. “You can retrieve your weapon on your way out.”

“Great,” she said. “See you then.”

She climbed back behind the wheel of her Charger and pulled through the gate after he lowered the thick steel barrier.

The compulsion to roam the compound and collect intelligence about the layout was overwhelming, but she knew better than to succumb. That security camera bank was proof that her movements were being monitored. This was her first entry into Trinity unaccompanied, implying, perhaps, that she’d elevated herself to a higher level of vetting—or a lower level of perceived security risk. Her conversation with Ben Morvant the night of the cookout had been cut short, but the man had seemed to consider her not-so-subtle expression of interest in joining the “Trinity Team,” as she’d called it. And the perception that she was now Jedidiah Johnson’s girlfriend probably helped as well. Maybe he had gotten her on some new list rating her unescorted access.

She surveyed the campus as best she could while sticking to the direct route to the neighborhood where the Yarnells lived. Minutes later, she pulled her unmarked cruiser into the Yarnells’ driveway and parked. Rachel opened the door and met her on the stoop, pulling Maria into a hug that took her by surprise. She hugged back, equally surprised when the woman’s affection stirred something warm and happy inside.

She promptly incinerated the feeling.

This woman is not your friend—she’s an assignment. You have no friends . . .

She held the hug long enough that Rachel wouldn’t see the conflicted emotions on her face.

“Come on in,” Rachel said, holding the front door open. Despite the smile on her face, Rachel looked tired—exhausted in fact.

“Are you doing okay, Rachel?” Maria asked, playing the role to perfection. “You look tired, girl.”

“I am, actually,” she said, talking over her shoulder en route to the kitchen. “It’s been a crazy week. David’s been busy at work and there have been some . . .” She hesitated. “Some things going on. I’m alone most of the time . . . surrounded by plenty of people but alone nonetheless. When you called, I was literally picking up the phone to call you.”