Page 88 of Beyond Protection
Eamon didn't answer. His jaw clenched.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. She'd done it—turned two trained professionals and a former SWAT officer into paranoid civilians who'd see her face in every crowd for the rest of our lives.
Even if we caught her tomorrow, she'd already won this round.
She'd proven she could make us afraid to trust our own eyes.
Finally, we reached the parking lot. Michael's rental was three rows back, a corner spot. Good sightlines. Two exits.
"Everyone in."
Ma climbed into the back. Claire was beside her. Matthew and Miles took the third row.
I got in. The sudden absence of rain felt like going underwater.
Eamon's phone buzzed. Everyone heard it.
He pulled it out. Read. His jaw ticked.
"What?" Michael had twisted in the driver's seat.
Eamon handed the phone forward.
Michael read it. Swore. Handed it back.
"Someone want to share?" Ma asked from the back.
Eamon met my eyes in the rearview.Your call.
I nodded.
He turned. "She sent a message. To me. Not Mac."
"What did it say?" Claire's voice was quiet.
Eamon cleared his throat. "Reenactment successful. The specimen remains unpreserved."
Silence.
Then Ma: "What the hell does that mean?"
"She's not only watching." Michael's knuckles were white on the wheel. "She's rehearsing. Testing response times and seeing what we notice. Tonight was a dry run."
"For what?" Matthew asked.
No one answered. We all knew.
Extraction.
My phone buzzed. Everyone looked at me.
I pulled it out. Different number. Same sender.
A photograph. The boat. Tonight. High angle, long lens. The whole deck in one frame.
She'd circled faces in red digital ink. Me. Eamon. Michael. Ma. Claire. Matthew. Miles. Alex.
Everyone I loved, marked like specimens.
