Page 11 of Theirs to Hunt

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We help the people the law won’t. The ones it forgot. Or ignored. Or failed.

Calhoun Industries was built to look clean on the surface.

Infrastructure.

Defense.

Civil innovation.

But behind the curtain?

We move fast.

Quiet.

Precise.

Dad builds the empire.

I keep it protected.

And right now, something’s off.

Small gaps.

Wrong names on travel logs.

Vendor shifts that don’t trigger alarms in accounting, but still hit wrong in his gut.

He hasn’t said it yet, but he’s gearing up for a purge.

We’ve been moving through all thirty-two locations. Quiet checks. Watching staff. Feeling for the soft spots.

Here in New Orleans? We didn’t just find home.

We found pay-dirt.

Which means I need to stay sharp. Even here. Even now.

Powdered sugar on my fingers. Helmet beside me. Her shadow behind the curtains.

From this spot, I could be anyone.

A neighbor. A commuter. A guy killing time on a Monday.

But I’m not.

I’m the one making sure Reagan knows, long before she sees me, that she was never alone to begin with.

Chapter twelve

Reagan, Monday 01:15 p.m.

Aknock sounds at the door.

I approach the peephole cautiously.

“Damn it, let me in,” Bobbie calls through the door.

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