Page 32 of Revival in Laurel Valley

As if hearing him, the figure began breaking down the rifle with quick, efficient movements. She packed it away, disappeared from the construction site camera feed.

“We’ve lost visual,” Morrison said. “All teams, stay alert. She’s mobile and she’s not satisfied with what she’s seeing.”

Grant’s hand tightened on Liza’s. They watched the exterior camera feeds, searching for movement in the pools of shadow between streetlights.

“There,” Liza said, pointing at the screen. “Southeast corner, ground level.”

A figure in black moved through the darkness with purpose now, no longer the patience of a sniper but the determination of someone who’d decided to take a risk. She approached the building’s main entrance, tested the door. Locked. Moved to the side entrance. Also locked.

“She’s going for the parking garage entrance,” Grant said, tracking her path. “Least visible, easiest to breach.”

“Copy that,” Morrison confirmed. “Team Two, move to intercept position at garage level. Silent approach, do not engage until she’s fully inside the building.”

On the camera feed, they watched Caine kneel at the garage entrance, working on the lock with tools Grant couldn’t quite make out on the grainy feed. Thirty seconds. Sixty. Then the door opened and she slipped inside like smoke.

“She’s in the building,” Morrison’s voice was calm, almost conversational. “All teams standby. Suspect is in the building, entering stairwell B from garage level. Moving up.”

Grant pulled Liza closer, his heart hammering against his ribs. This was it. After six months of hunting, after seven attempts on his life, after all the fear and running—it was finally ending.

They watched the stairwell camera as Caine climbed. Second floor. Third. She moved cautiously, checking each landing, weapon drawn and ready. A professional doing professional work.

“Fourth floor,” Morrison reported. “She’s moving toward the stairwell to five.”

The figure paused on the fourth-floor landing, and Grant held his breath. Was she sensing the trap? Had they given something away?

But then she continued climbing, and Grant released the breath he’d been holding.

“Fifth floor,” Morrison said. “She’s in your hallway. All teams, prepare to move on my signal.”

The hallway camera showed Caine moving toward the model unit with her weapon raised. She paused at the door, listening. Then she produced her lock picks and went to work.

Thirty seconds. The door opened. She slipped inside.

“She’s in the model unit,” Morrison said. “Teams, on my mark. Three…two…one…execute.”

The camera feed from the model unit showed Caine moving through the space, checking corners, clearing rooms. She entered the bedroom, saw the decoy positioned near the window, and Grant saw the moment she understood.

The exact moment she knew she’d been had.

She spun toward the door as FBI agents poured in from both directions—the hallway, the balcony, moving with practiced coordination.

“FBI! Drop your weapon!”

“On the ground! Now!”

The commands overlapped, urgent and commanding. Caine raised her weapon—not to surrender, but to fight.

Multiple shots fired. The sound came through the tablet speakers, tinny and distant but unmistakable.

Caine went down.

The radio exploded with chatter. “Suspect down! We have suspect down! Medical to fifth floor, model unit, now!”

Grant stared at the screen, watching agents swarm into the room, watching them kick Caine’s weapon away, watching them check for a pulse, call for the medics, begin first aid with efficient, practiced movements.

“She’s alive,” Morrison’s voice cut through the chaos. “Repeat, suspect is alive and in custody. Nonlethal wounds, shoulder and leg. She’s going to make it to stand trial.”

The words seemed to come from very far away. Grant felt like he was underwater, everything muffled and slow. It was over. After everything—after Detroit, after the car bomb and the poisoned coffee and the six months of looking over his shoulder—it was finally over.