Page 11 of Silent Target

The kind of man who can wait for hours without moving and then end a life between heartbeats.

I aim at the center of his chest.

“Stop.”

He stops.

His gaze drops briefly to my pistol before returning to my face.

He doesn’t look surprised.

Or afraid.

He looks exhausted.

Like he hasn’t slept in days.

“Evelyn Hart.”

His voice is low and controlled.

“Who are you?”

“Caleb McDougal.”

My breath catches.

Sniper.

The man from the classified reports.

The man Graves dismissed as a weapon.

He doesn’t look like a weapon.

Weapons are inanimate.

This man is watching everything—the mirrors on the parked cars, the stairwell behind me, the flickering lights, the dark ramp leading to the street.

“You’re late,” I say.

One corner of his mouth almost moves.

Almost.

“I had to make sure no one followed me.”

“And?”

His gaze shifts to the convex security mirror above my head.

“They did.”

My stomach drops.

Caleb’s expression changes.

His eyes sharpen.