Page 62 of The Sniper

I slid my book back into the bag and rose to my feet slowly, like I was just stretching. Just shifting position. Just another girl enjoying a morning on the beach.

Then I saw him.

Not one of the two. Someone else. A third man.

He wasn’t near them—wasn’t even looking at them.He came from the opposite direction, fast and stumbling like he was in a hurry and didn’t quite know what to do with it. He wasn’t dressed like them either. Jeans too dark for the heat, jacket too heavy for the sun, face red and slick with sweat like he’d jogged from somewhere far.

I froze.

He made a beeline toward me, eyes locked in, something crumpled and white clutched in his hand.

“Miss—Miss Calhoun?” His voice was loud, too loud, and cracked at the edges like he wasn’t used to talking to strangers.

I took a step back. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

But he didn’t answer. Just shoved the paper toward me, shaking now, like his hand had forgotten what it meant to be steady.

“You need to see this,” he said. “They lied to you. He lied.”

The paper hit my chest, and I caught it on instinct, staring at it. Flimsy cardstock. Like the kind you’d see on cheap flyers.

I opened it.

Noah’s face stared up at me.

Grainy. Below it—my father. Jamie Calhoun. His church photo. The same one we’d used for the obituary announcement.

Two pictures. One above the other. And beneath them, in plain black type:

TARGET & ASSOCIATE — PRIMARY & PAYOUT.

I felt the bottom fall out of the world.

“What is this?” My voice came out thin, warped, barely there. “Where did you get this?”

The guy backed away slightly, like even he didn’t know what he’d just delivered. “Your man? He has secrets.”

My stomach turned violently.

Noah?

Noah, who held me like I was the last soft thing in his world. Noah, who whispered that I was brave. That I wasn’t dirty or used up.

My pulse stuttered.

And then chaos.

The two men who’d been watching me moved—fast, coordinated, like wolves on the scent. One was suddenly between me and the sweating man, arm clamping tight around his chest, dragging him back like he weighed nothing. The other stepped to my side, hand brushing my elbow, his voice calm but firm.

“Don’t worry, Ma’am. You’re safe.”

The nervous man flailed, the paper fluttering from my hand to the sand, his voice rising in a slurred panic. “I didn’t touch her. I just gave her the message! That’s all they told me to do!”

The man who’d stepped beside me glanced at me now, sunglasses still on, jaw tight. “You okay?”

“I—” I nodded, too fast, too dizzy. “Who are you?”

He held up a hand, palm out in reassurance. “We’re with Noah. He sent us. To keep an eye out.”

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