Chapter 6 - The Wrist
Garrett crossed the distance between them.
“Who do you think you are?”
Sarah remained still.
“The person who made the shot.”
He reached for the rifle.
Sarah moved it away without pointing it toward anyone.
“Don’t touch my equipment.”
Garrett grabbed her upper arm.
That was as far as he got.
The gray-bearded veteran caught Garrett’s wrist and turned it backward in one smooth movement. Garrett shouted and dropped toward one knee.
“You don’t touch her again.”
The crowd stepped back.
Several cameras stayed raised, but the expressions behind them had changed. The scene was no longer entertainment.
Sarah looked down at Garrett.
“A fluke? You watched all three rounds land.”
The veteran held him steady without striking him.
“Tell them who trained you.”
Garrett tried to pull free.
The hold tightened.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The veteran leaned closer.
“Yes, you do.”
Garrett looked at Sarah’s rifle.
Then at the scar across her cheek.
Recognition had finally replaced denial.
“She was my father’s sniper instructor.”
A woman near the sponsor benches covered her mouth.
Garrett’s security guard lowered his eyes.
Sarah felt no satisfaction.
Only the tired relief of a truth arriving after it was useful.
“And your father knew exactly who I was,” she said.
Garrett went still.
May you like
Because his father had not merely known Sarah.
He had spent years telling Garrett never to challenge her.
