Page 66 of Anchor
“Two? I only heard one.” Reid stared at Scope.
“None of us heard the first shot. I found this in a trash can off the quad.” She held up an evidence bag. Inside was a suppressor. “A piece of the lining bent. Only slightly but enough to alter direction. I dug this out of a brick, directly in the line of sight.” She held up another evidence bag with a bullet. “But here’s the thing—they weren’t panicked, and they weren’t guessing.”
“Claire was hit in the side,” Reid said. “But her forward motion was slowed by the NSA agents.”
“Range?”
“Fifty meters. 308 Winchester. Shooter had the high ground. Building across the quad. Can’t tell you the rifle yet. They timed it perfectly.”
Relay turned his monitor toward Reid. “Every camera matches. Twelve seconds between the shots. Not a second more.”
Reid’s jaw tightened.
Apex said it flatly, “This was control.”
“They hit Claire,” Reid said, his voice like steel. “That’s not control. That’s escalation.”
“Or,” Apex countered evenly, “they hit her to show they could’ve hit you. They didn’t miss. They chose.”
The words hung in the room like a live wire.
Scope asked, “You think it was a kill order?”
“Yes. Someone had her exact location,” Reid said. “They knew where she’d be, when she’d be there, and how to get out clean.”
Fuse finally asked, “Do we take this upstairs?”
Reid looked at each of them. His team. His responsibility. “We take it all to Ian. Every piece. No guesses. No half-work. Proof.”
No one argued. Apex gave a sharp nod. And Tree Town One went back to the hunt.
Reid turned toward the window, staring out over the courtyard below. Whoever gave the order chose to hit her. And when he found out who, he would return the favor.
EXECUTIVE CORRIDOR – OUTSIDE IAN’S OFFICE – 0642 HOURS
Reid moved fast, intent carved into his stride. He was halfway to Ian’s door when Zach Wentworth stepped out of the shadows.
“Don’t.” Zach’s hand pressed against Reid’s chest firmly. “Ian’s finally down. First sleep in thirty-six hours. You wake him with fury, you’ll lose the leverage we need.”
“They hit Claire—from inside our walls.”
“I know.” Zach’s eyes were sharp, calculating. “Which is why we need your proof before Ian burns our next card. Give me an hour, then we’ll wake him together.”
Reid stood, rigid, breath taut like a wire. He wanted to shove past. He wanted to tear the door open and demand blood.
Instead, he stepped back. But the look in his eyes expressed one thing: when they woke Ian, Reid was going to bring hell with him.
TWENTY-THREE
SITUATION BRIEFING ROOM – TWO DAYS AFTER THE SHOOTING
Ian’s office smelled like espresso and steel. The blinds were half-drawn, bruising the daylight, but nothing softened the burden in his voice. “She hasn’t called once.” He stared at the dark glass. “Not called me. Not Med. Not Martin in D.C. Nothing. And yet she’s already working the Hill to make her silence look like control.”
Zach stood against the wall. “Reid, she hasn’t tried you?”
Reid sat stiffly in the chair opposite both men, hands locked, jaw carved in stone. “She’s back in Washington. Playing quiet. Waiting for the right moment.”
Ian turned sharply, eyes flashing. “No, she’s building her distance. She wants the narrative clean of Claire before it breaks wider. And when it does, she’ll make her daughter look like a liability she tried to contain.”
