Chapter 5 - The Renegade Asset
The contractor let out a harsh, choking breath, his face flushing crimson as I twisted his arm behind his lumbar in a standard military compliance hold, driving him face-first into the cold stone pillar.
“Who’s your handler?” I demanded, pressing my forearm against the back of his neck with enough pressure to remind him what bone leverage feels like. “Give me the name inside the Pentagon or I’ll break your shoulder right here on the patio.”
He struggled against the lock for a second, then let out a raspy, defiant chuckle.
“You think I’m the only one here, Sergeant?” he wheezed, his breath fogging against the cold stone. “Look up.”
I glanced up instinctively.
Across the ravine, on the upper service roof of the country club’s maintenance annex, a tiny red laser dot flickered across the stone railing, tracing a burning path across my shoulder before coming to rest squarely against the center of my forehead.
My heart hammered against my ribs—not from fear, but from the razor-sharp clarity of imminent threat. Sniper overwatch. Professional grade.
“If you drop me,” the contractor whispered hoarsely, “you don't make it off this terrace alive. And neither does your grandfather inside.”
Before I could process the threat, the ballroom doors behind us burst open with a loud crash.
My father stepped out onto the terrace, holding a glass of scotch in one hand, his face twisted in annoyance.
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“Maya! What is that ungodly noise out here?” my father snapped, marching right toward us across the stone patio. “Daniel is trying to introduce you to the regional director of Lockheed Martin, and you’re out here rolling around in the dirt like a common—!”
He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening in sheer horror as he saw the man pinned against the pillar, the shattered glass of the door, and the red laser dot currently drifting off my forehead and resting directly over the center of his own chest.
