Page 31 of Theirs to Hunt
The door opens behind me.
I don't have to turn to know it's her.
"Looking for something, Mr. Calhoun?" Reagan's voice is smooth, unhurried.
"I had a question about the retention metric from your Q1 report," I say without looking away from the wall.
"Funny. I don't remember any metric involving man-eating tiger expeditions."
Now I turn. She's wearing slate-gray slacks, a tucked cream blouse, and that look, one that doesn't flinch.
"You don't strike me as someone who glorifies blood sport," I murmur.
She walks past me, places a folder on her desk.
"I don't. But I appreciate a clean kill."
"You've been doing your homework," I say.
Her lips curve into a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Just brushing up on predators.
You never know when you'll need to recognize one." I nod slowly.
"Or become one." Her smile sharpens.
And this time, it reaches her eyes.
Chapter twenty-six
Grayson, Wednesday 09:10 a.m.
Idon’t speak as I walk down the corridor, but every step tightens the drawstring. Pulling me in. Coiling something deeper.
She knew I’d see it.
The photographs.
The quote.
The restraint.
The message under the message.
Not submission.
Not defiance.
Something between the two.
Something far more dangerous.
She wants to be hunted. But on her terms.
The idea shouldn’t please me. It should infuriate me.
Instead, it sharpens me.
