Chapter 17

SEVENTEEN

The water ran clear, but Hatch's hands still felt sticky. She scrubbed harder, knuckles raw as the cheap motel soap barely lathered. The majority of Sawyer’s blood was gone, but remnants stubbornly clung to her skin—a visceral reminder of everything that had gone wrong.

She killed the tap. Drip. Drip. Drip. The sound echoed in the small, dingy bathroom like the metronome of her racing thoughts. Why hadn’t I seen it coming? The question hammered at her skull. The signs were there—the bottleneck in the hallway, the way the crowd shifted. I should’ve anticipated the ambush.

She stared at her reflection in the cracked mirror. Her eyes were hollow, face drawn. Sawyer’s dead because I was seconds too slow. Her jaw tightened as she gripped the edge of the sink, the cheap porcelain cool under her fingers. I should’ve forced him tighter to the protection detail.

The faint tang of iron lingered in her nostrils, no matter how many times she inhaled. Once that bullet found its mark, there was nothing to do. Too much blood. Too fast. Even if I’d gotten him out faster, it wouldn’t have made a difference. The rational part of her knew all of this. But rationality offered little comfort when the weight of failure pressed down like a vice.

Her gaze dropped to her hands. Faint pink stains around her fingernails caught in the yellowish light. Anger swelled to meet her guilt.

The dripping tap punctuated the silence again. Drip. Drip. Drip. Hatch clenched her fists, staring at the water pooling in the basin. It’s not over. The people who set this in motion are still out there. She straightened, her reflection hardening in the mirror. I won’t let this be for nothing.

Her bloodstained clothes hit the trash with a wet thud. Not the first time she’d tossed evidence, but this felt different. Heavier. She pulled on fresh layers, the cool fabric soothing against her raw skin, but it did little to ease the weight pressing down on her.

The phone buzzed from the nightstand.

Tracy’s voice came through, low and steady. "Tell me everything."

Hatch didn't waste time. “Sniper took a shot. Senator's still breathing, but his campaign manager, Nathan Sawyer, is not. Single round, center mass. He bled out fast.”

A beat of silence. “That went to shit fast. So much for an easy in and out.”

“I need you to do some digging into Sawyer. Not sure what’s going on here.”

“Why?” No judgement in the question. Unlike Reeves.

“Call it intuition. It wasn’t an easy shot. Distance, windage would all play a factor. Plus, the protective detail was tight to the senator.”

“Sounds like a professional.”

“Exactly. Not to mention, the spot where the shot was taken was wiped clean. His track was too.”

“What are you getting at?”

“One shot, from what I would guess is a highly trained individual. Doubt he’d miss. And if he did, why not place another?” Hatch replayed the scene in her mind. “My gut’s telling me he didn’t miss.”

“Making Sawyer the intended target.”

“Just a theory.”

“Worth running down.” Tracy paused. “Maybe this Sawyer guy was mixed up with the wrong people.”

“Possibly.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“It just doesn’t add up. Why make it look like a botched assassination attempt? Seems like a whole lot of effort for someone Reeves described as a nobody .”

“Agreed. You’ve got a proven track record of following your gut. What’s it telling you?”

“That something’s amiss.” Hatch thought of the dying declaration. “One more thing. Just before he died, Sawyer said a name. Maggie.”

“Anyone there know what the connection might be?”

“No. Reeves figured maybe a girlfriend.”

“But you don’t agree?”

“I don’t know enough to form an opinion. It’s something worth checking into.”

“You do remember you’re there as part of the protective detail, not as an investigator?”

“What’d you do, speak with Reeves?” There was an edge to her voice, one she made no attempt at hiding.

Tracy sighed. “Let me guess, you’re applying your special talent for pissing off people?”

“Just callin’ it like I see it.”

“This time I’d have to agree. He’s right about steering clear and letting the local police do their job.”

“I’m not here to rock the boat. Just want to make sure this shooter doesn’t get away. Besides, I’ve got a meeting with the sheriff in a little bit. Should have a good idea on how things are being handled after that.”

“Keep me posted.”

“Do me a favor, let me know if you can make any connections between Sawyer and this Maggie person.” Hatch hesitated. “There’s one more thing. Guy at the hotel last night. Didn't belong. Not security. Not local. My guess is he’s tied to this. Might even be our shooter.”

Another pause. Then, a rustle, and Banyan’s voice cut in. “Need me to saddle up and head out?”

Hatch smirked, though her mind stayed sharp. “Hate to pull you from that cushy desk job.”

“Cushy, my ass,” Banyan shot back, but Hatch could hear the eagerness. “You good?”

“I’m fine. Nothing I can’t handle. But I'm about as welcome here as a skunk at a garden party.”

Banyan chuckled. “When’s that ever stopped you?”

“Point taken.”

“We’ll look into it,” Tracy said. “I’ll brief the General. Gauge his thoughts on all this.”

“If I have any say, I’d like to see this through.”

“Remember, we’re on thin ice. Playing by the rules this time ‘round.”

“Copy that.”

A beat of silence stretched between them, then Tracy said, “Watch your six out there.”

“Always do,” Hatch replied before ending the call.

Pocketing her phone, Hatch stepped back out of the motel room and into the Chevy. The silhouette of the mountains in the backdrop as she pulled out of the lot. The shooter was out there somewhere, slipping through the night like water through a sieve.

Hatch pulled into the visitor’s lot at the sheriff’s office. Just as she was about to exit the vehicle, her phone vibrated. It was Tracy again. She answered it on the second ring.

“That was quick. What’d you find?”

“Still working on Sawyer’s connection to all of this. Nothing yet on Maggie.”

“Then what’s up? Am I getting recalled?” Hatch was about to go on the offensive, defending her actions on scene, fearful that Reeves had forwarded his assessment of her with less than favorable remarks.

“No,” Tracy replied, voice laced with amusement. “In fact, you’re being reassigned to assist in the manhunt. We’ve got a lead on who the shooter is.”

“That was fast.”

“Things are evolving quickly.”

“You said I was being reassigned.” Hatch thought about the resistance by Reeves up to this point. “Reassigned by who?”

“Thorne. He said you’re likely the only one capable of tracking this guy down.”

Hatch was silent for a moment. “The General said those words?”

“Not exactly, but it was implied.”

“Why the sudden change of heart?”

“I guess he’s under pressure to bring this to resolution. Not convinced the locals are equipped to handle it.”

“We still don’t even know who the shooter is. Or who the intended target was.”

“For the time being, let’s assume it was the senator. If evidence leads elsewhere, we can deal with it as it comes to light.”

“Fair enough.” Hatch looked at the small office housing the local police force and knew this situation was well beyond their expertise.

“We’re making arrangements for you to assist the sheriff. You’ll be privy to anything gleaned from the investigation thus far, as well as having their assets at your disposal.”

“I’m sure that’ll go over well.”

“There’s something else.” Tracy let the silence settle between them before speaking again. “I just learned that there’s apparently been an operation underway here to bring in one of ours who’s gone off the reservation.”

“You’re saying one of our people has gone rogue?” Hatch dropped the volume of her voice to a whisper, even though she was alone in the vehicle. “And this is our shooter?”

“Looks that way. Still getting read in on all of this.”

“Read in? Thought you were cleared to the top.”

“There’s always someone above. In this case, that’s Thorne.”

“Makes sense now why he’d want to me to go after him. Containment.”

“It also goes without saying that the General would like to minimize any exposure to Talon itself.”

“Understood. So, what do we know about our guy?”

“His name is Kyle Bishop. I’m sending you a file with his picture.”

Hatch felt the vibration alert for the incoming message. She took a second to open the attachment and study the image. The file was a dated DA photo from his time in service. It was a younger, cleaner cut of the man she’d seen the other night sitting at the chess table. But the rugged jawline and build were the same.

“That’s him. That’s the guy I saw in the hotel last night. Photo’s a bit dated, but I can say without a doubt, this is the guy who gave me the slip.” Hatch expanded her fingers across the image, zooming in on the Bishop’s face. “Any intel?”

Tracy’s voice lowered. “Most of his file’s been redacted. I’ve got Banyan trying to do some digging. From what I’ve been briefed, Bishop is one of Talon’s most lethal assets. He has carried out several operations with an unprecedented mission success rate.”

“Maybe Talon should be sending some more men this way.”

“Thorne’s putting together a standby team. Your job is asset containment.”

“Containment?”

“Find him. Once located, there’ll be a team on the ground to handle the rest.” Tracy exhaled. “He’s dangerous. Knows the tricks of the trade. Watch your step.”

Hatch took one more look at the man she’d been tasked with bringing in. “I’m at the station now. Burning daylight. I’ll link up with the sheriff and get this hunt underway.”

She hung up, grabbing her jacket from the passenger seat. The weight of her Glock in its holster brought a sense of calm, its cold, familiar metal against her side. She did a quick press check, making sure it was in battery. With a guy like Bishop, there’d be no room for error.

The temperature had begun a nosedive. She stepped outside and zipped her jacket, trapping what little heat she could as her breath formed clouds in the crisp air as she made her way to the station.