Page 9 of The Sniper

She let out a breath, forcing herself to think. “I see someone who knows how we operate. Someone who knows enough about Cerberus to use that knowledge against us.”

Daniels didn’t reply, but she could feel the apprehension radiating from him. They were in deeper than either of them wanted to admit, and the worst part was knowing this was only the beginning.

Reyna’s gaze lingered on the bloodstained ground. This was personal. And whoever was behind it wasn’t done.

CHAPTER FOUR

DANIELS

The following morning, Daniels pushed open the glass door to the FBI’s Chicago field office, holding it just long enough for Reyna to follow behind him. She didn’t look at him as she strode past, her boots clicking against the polished floor, her posture sharp and confident. She carried herself like she owned the damn place, even though she had no clearance to be here. It was both impressive and infuriating.

“This way,” Daniels said, his tone clipped as he led her through the security checkpoint.

The agents stationed near the entrance glanced at Reyna, their eyes narrowing with curiosity and, in some cases, suspicion. She was dressed in her usual black tactical pants, a leather jacket over a fitted shirt, and that unmistakable air of someone who could dismantle a man with her bare hands. Daniels ignored their stares, his focus on getting her to the briefing room without incident.

Reyna didn’t say a word, but he could feel her assessing everything around her, cataloging exits, noting the positions of cameras, probably even estimating how fast she could take out the nearest armed guard if it came to that. It was instinct for her,and he couldn’t decide if it irritated him or turned him on. He was afraid it was both.

As they reached the briefing room, Daniels opened the door and gestured for her to step inside. She gave him a quick glance, one eyebrow raised as if to say, “I’m doing you a favor, remember?” He ignored it, following her in and closing the door behind them.

The room was small, with a conference table in the center and a screen on the wall displaying a map of Chicago with several points marked in red. A few agents were already seated, including Assistant Special Agent in charge, Charlie Harris, who looked less than pleased at Reyna’s presence.

“Agent Daniels,” Harris said, his voice flat. “Care to explain why you’ve brought an unauthorized civilian into a classified briefing?”

“She’s not a civilian,” Daniels replied evenly, his tone carrying just enough steel to signal he wasn’t in the mood for a debate. “Reyna Marx is with Cerberus. Her team is tied to the message our victim left, and we’re going to need her insight if we’re going to make sense of this.”

Harris’s eyes flicked to Reyna, who had taken a seat at the table and was leaning back in her chair with the kind of relaxed defiance that set Daniels’ teeth on edge.

“Cerberus,” Harris said slowly, the distaste in his voice evident. “You mean the private mercenaries who think they’re above the law?”

“More like the people who clean up the messes you can’t,” Reyna said, her voice calm but cutting. “Don’t worry, Harris. I’m not here to steal your thunder. Just your intel, provided you have any.”

Daniels closed his eyes for half a second, willing himself to stay calm. “Reyna.”

She shrugged, leaning forward and planting her elbows on the table. “What? He started it.”

Harris’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he gestured to the screen. “Let’s get to it, then. The victim, Mistress Veda, wasn’t a member of Club Southside, but she was well-known in the scene. A Domme with a reputation for discretion and, apparently, for making enemies.”

“Discretion?” Reyna repeated, her tone skeptical. “Doesn’t sound like someone who’d end up bleeding out in an alley. If they didn’t want her found, there were a lot of other places to kill her, including sound-proofed privacy rooms within the Velvet Glove.”

“See, this is where it gets complicated,” Harris said, clicking a button to bring up a photo of Veda on the screen. “Our investigation uncovered ties between Veda and a group calling themselves the Obsidian Cartel.”

Daniels frowned. “I’ve never heard of them.”

For a moment he saw Reyna’s eyes flash. She must have heard of them but apparently had no intention of sharing that information.

“That’s because they don’t advertise,” Harris replied. “They operate within the BDSM community but use it as a front for illicit activities—trafficking, blackmail, extortion. We suspect Veda was either involved with them or had dirt on someone who was.”

Reyna leaned closer, her expression sharpening. “And you think whoever killed her was sending a message to Cerberus. Why?”

“Because of this,” Harris said, bringing up an image of the collar found at the scene. “This wasn’t just left for dramatic effect. It’s identical to the ones the Obsidian Cartel uses for their submissives—submissives who aren’t just playing the game toget their kink freak on. They’re property—some of them willing, some of them not.”

Reyna’s jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing. “And you think Veda was one of them? You seem to have missed two salient points: One, Veda was a Domme and not a submissive; she’d have cut off the dick of any guy who tried to place a collar on her; and two, she wasn’t a member of Club Southside.”

That seemed to surprise Harris. Good God, the guy in charge knew nothing about the lifestyle and was letting it show.

“Well,” Harris started, “someone wanted us to think Cerberus is connected to this.”

“I already figured that out. And the only connection we might have is, if they’re using Veda to send us a message to back off,” Reyna snapped. “We don’t traffic people. We stop the bastards who do.”

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