Page 67 of Sinner’s Game

“You’re going to be fine. This is what we do.”

“Damn right it is,” Nova says, and I can’t help but grin.

“We’ve got your back, Brandy,” Shane says. “Now the rest of you shut up. We’ve got a job to do.”

“I think that’s my line,” Ronan says with a grin. “But he’s right, everybody quiet. It’s game time.”

At the words it’s game time, my heart starts to jump. But two hours later, I’m bored out of my mind. I’ve been sitting at this table, my back to Nova and Ronan to my left under his tarps, scrolling through my phone as if I have nothing better to do and no cares in the world.

I’m starting to think Mr. White won’t come, and I’m so bored that I’ve almost forgotten why I’m here in the first place.

Not really, of course, but my mind is definitely wandering, which is probably why I jump a mile when I hear Derek’s voice in my ear. “Someone approaching on the beach from the north,” he says, and I realize that he must have one hell of a powerful telescope with him on that little boat.

I wait, my heart pounding again, and I hear Ronan’s soft voice, “It’s okay. Just take a few deep breaths.”

I close my eyes, mortified to realize they can all hear my heartbeat. “I’m fine,” I say. “It’s just nerves. No big deal.”

Nobody answers, but that’s okay. Derek’s voice is in my ear again, noting Mr. White’s progress. “Coming up the stairs,” he says, his voice a whisper now. Less than two minutes later, Mr. White is seated across from me.

“Ms. Bradshaw. It’s so good to see you again.” Mr. White pulls out the chair and sits. His hands are on the table, and he fidgets with his thumbs. “Thank you for meeting me. I… I appreciate you being willing to consider my proposal.”

“You didn’t give me much in the email. I’d asked you to send me general information.” I try to sound politely irritated. Like a woman who doesn’t like her procedures messed with.

He laughs. “Yes. An abundance of caution, should I say? Even being vague, one hates to leave a paper trail.”

“I don’t appreciate you ignoring my instructions.” The plan is for me to try and get as much information out of him as possible about his job for my double and also about how he met me. “It makes me question your motives for meeting at all, especially since I don’t specifically remember meeting you. I have a policy against doing business with people I don’t recall.”

“Good job,” Nova says, her voice soft in my ear.

I force myself not to preen as he says, “We met in Geneva about eighteen months ago. A party, not a trade show. I was being overly cryptic.”

“I see.” I don’t, but I hope he goes on.

“You were with your partner. And he, ah, mentioned that you were expanding your repertoire. Taking new clients for, um, wet work.” At the last, he lowers his voice.

“I suppose he must have trusted you to mention that little fact.” I wonder who he’s talking about. Mr. Big? Someone else?

“Oh, yes.” He sits back, as if waiting for me to pick up the thread of the conversation, but I’m having a hell of a time concentrating, as all hell is breaking loose in my ear.

“—parked on the overlook. Could be a tourist.”

“I’m not taking the chance,” Ronan says, his voice barely audible.

“Rifle!” And before I can even get my mind around what they are talking about, Ronan has burst up off the bench like some giant monster, his tarps flying everywhere.

He throws himself toward me, and the next instant, we’re tumbling to the ground, my ears ringing from the sound of a shot. I’m breathing hard, Ronan’s weight crushing me. After what feels like an eternity, he pushes himself up and looks at my face, his voice frantic as he asks, “Are you okay?”

I nod, taking stock. I’m a little bruised, but I’m fine. “What’s going on?”

Ronan has crawled to the far side of the table, and I hear his sharp curse. “Subject down. Repeat, subject down!”

I look over to see Mr. White’s body sprawled on the ground, the chair tipped over from where he’s fallen backwards—his chest blown open from the force of a bullet.

I gag, barely able to keep from vomiting. “That—was that meant for me?”

“Yeah,” Ronan says grimly. “Yeah, it was.”

At that, I really do throw up, and as I’m retching, I hear Nova’s voice in my ear. “I got a shot off. Shattered the windshield, but the shooter’s gone. And fuck me, it was Brandy.”