Page 34 of The Sniper

“Clear,” Reyna murmured, moving deeper inside.

Daniels followed, his gut twisting. The bedroom door was ajar, the bed still made, its covers undisturbed. No sign of struggle here. But the office? That was another story.

Reyna entered first, stepping over a shattered lamp. Papers were scattered across the desk, a laptop still open, the screen blinking.

Daniels moved to the desk, scanning the documents. Bank statements. Membership logs. And something else.

A note.

He picked it up, the scrawl jagged, hurried.

They know. I don’t have time.

Reyna came up beside him, reading over his shoulder. “Son of a bitch. He ran.”

Daniels released his breath. “Or he was taken.”

The thought sat heavy between them.

Reyna met his eyes. “We need to figure out who’s behind this.”

Daniels nodded. But deep down, he already knew—whoever it was, they were inside their circle. Close enough to know their moves before they made them.

The killer was still ahead of them. And if they didn’t close the gap soon, Sebastian Rowe wouldn’t be the last to disappear.

Not knowing who to trust, Daniels and Reyna chose not to call the cops or the Bureau. After all, there wasn’t a body, and the argument could be made that Sebastian was just sloppy and had gone on vacation—thin, but something they could fall back on if needed.

Before they could decide what to do next, Reyna’s phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, she answered. “Anton, you’re on speaker.”

“Good. I take it Daniels is with you. I think I found our weasel.”

“Mole,” Reyna corrected.

“Nah, this guy isn’t sophisticated enough to be a mole. He’s just a little weasel. I caught him trying to get on the system from an offsite location through a back door he’d left himself.”

“So who is it?” Daniels asked.

“Winkie,” was Anton’s single word reply.

“Winkie?” asked Reyna incredulously.

“Who’s Winkie?” asked Daniels.

“Alvin Winkle. He’s worked on the admin side for years,” supplied Reyna. “Winkie. I wouldn’t have thought he had it in him.”

“Me neither,” replied Anton. “We were able to keep him online long enough for us to work it out. He’ll be waiting for you when you get back.”

“Good work, Anton.”

“No, good work would have been catching himbeforesomeone got hurt.”

Daniels stood just outside the Cerberus interrogation room, his arms crossed as he watched through the two-way mirror. Inside, Reyna was pacing, a barely restrained storm in motion. If you looked carefully, you could see the pulse jumping at the base of her throat, the raw energy vibrating off her in waves—but only if you knew her well. Outwardly she was cool and calm, but Daniels knew she was pissed.

He didn’t blame her.

Inside the room, Alvin Winkle, a member of Club Southside’s staff, sat handcuffed to the metal table, his head down, refusing to meet Reyna’s stare. Winkie, as he was known, had worked the administrative side from the club’s formation, processing memberships, managing guest lists, and handling client confidentiality. He was someone who had access to everything.

And he was someone who had betrayed them. Daniels could see the fury burning in Reyna’s eyes. She wasn’t just angry—she was hurt.

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