“Sheriff said you’d want to see this yourselves,” Hayes said. “Clean hit. No ID. Thought it might be one of yours.”
It wasn’t unusual. When a scene read like a professional hit, local law enforcement knew to make the call.
“This way,” Hayes said, falling in beside Law as they moved toward the entry.
Law’s gaze shifted briefly to the tarp. “What’ve you got?”
Hayes rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “Neighbor called it in about forty minutes ago. Said the door had been hanging open since early this morning.”
He nodded toward the body.
“Male. No obvious signs of a struggle inside the unit.”
Boston edged closer behind them, curiosity barely contained.
“Time of death?” Law asked.
Hayes shrugged slightly. “ME hasn’t been here yet, but from what we’re seeing…” He glanced down at the tarp. “Sometime last night. Late.”
Sage filed that away.
Hayes gestured toward the townhouse door.
“No forced entry. Victim likely let them in.”
Hayes stepped back and gestured toward the townhouse.
“I’ll leave you to it,” he said. “Scene’s yours.”
Law gave a short nod.
Hayes moved off to rejoin the deputies outside, leaving the townhouse quiet again.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Sage crouched beside the tarp and studied the shape beneath it without touching it. His gaze moved slowly around the room—the front door standing open behind them, the small living area undisturbed, a coffee table with a single mug still sitting near the couch.
No overturned furniture.
No broken glass.
No signs of a struggle.
Micah crouched beside the tarp.
Sage watched as he lifted the corner just enough to look beneath it.
The young assassin’s expression didn’t change.
“One shot,” he said quietly, letting the tarp fall back into place. “Close range.”
Micah’s gaze flicked up.
“You recognize him?”
Sage shook his head once.
“No.”
