Warren stepped out, blinking against the drizzle. When he saw her, he froze. A mix of emotions crossed his face—shock, guilt, something like fear—but then his shoulders dropped, and he gave her a hesitant smile that looked more like relief.
“Avery,” he said, voice rough from surprise. “You’re alive.”
She wasn’t sure if it was a statement or an accusation.
They climbed out of the SUV, boots crunching on the wet gravel. Warren stayed on the porch, watching them come closer. He didn’t appear to be armed, but Jackson’s hand hovered near his side anyway.
When they reached the steps, Warren lifted a hand. “Come in out of the rain,” he said. “You look like you’ve been through hell.”
The outside of the house looked like a hunting cabin, all rough-cut wood and weathered shutters. Inside, though, it was a different story. The space opened into a large main room with polished floors, clean lines, and a bank of screens along one wall. Audio equipment and studio lights took up most of the space, along with stacks of hard drives and labeled boxes.
Avery took it all in, the contrast jarring. This wasn’t just a home. It was a small media hub. Warren managed at least a dozen podcasts out of here, each one pulling in solid traffic.
He closed the door behind them and turned to face her. “I’ve been worried about you,” he said. “When I heard what happened, I tried calling, but you disappeared. What’s going on?”
Avery reminded herself to play the part she’d come here to play. Not hostile, not yet, but she wanted to get Warren to talk. Best to do that with honey rather than vinegar.
“I wanted to call you,” she said, moving closer. Not touching him though. She wasn’t sure she could stomach that. But she kept her expression pleasant enough. She hoped. “I wanted to find out what you knew about…me. About everything.”
He blinked. “What do you mean?”
She took another step closer, ignoring the flicker of unease in her stomach. “Someone sold me out, they gave my identity to the Brotherhood.” She paused, studying him. “There are rumors that you could have been the one to do that.”
The color drained from his face. “What? Avery, I’d never—”
Jackson cut him off. “Don’t lie. You’re the only one who could’ve done it. You had access to everything about Avery, and you knew exactly who to call.”
Warren’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He looked from her to Jackson and back again, confusion clouding his features.
Or maybe guilt.
Avery’s pulse hammered. “Tell me why, Warren.” In contrast to Jackson’s in-command, bad-ass voice, she stayed with gentle, hoping to remind him that once he’d been attracted to her.
He swallowed hard, the silence stretching.
And in that silence, she realized just how much she needed his answer.
Warren let out a long sigh and dragged a hand through his hair. “I didn’t do that, Avery.”
“Then please tell me what you did do,” she murmured.
He looked tired, older than she remembered. “I did figure out who you were, yes. It was after I saw your reaction to that news article about Crossfire Ops. You tried to cover it, but I noticed. I started putting things together.”
Avery felt a chill slide down her spine. It was exactly what she and Jackson had suspected.
Warren looked between them, his tone turning defensive. “Why would you think I sold you out? What proof do you even have?”
She couldn’t tell him about Noah’s informant inside the Brotherhood. That would put the man’s life in danger. So she kept her expression neutral.
“We got an anonymous tip,” she settled for saying.
Warren’s brows pulled together. “A tip? From who?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she replied. “What matters is that someone connected to the Brotherhood knew my real name. And you’re the only person who could have given it to them.”
“I told you, I didn’t do it.” His voice cracked slightly, a mix of fear and frustration. “But someone did contact me a few weeks ago. They said they were investigating you, that they needed background info. I told them nothing.”
Jackson’s voice cut in, low and firm. “Describe the person.”