Tinsley had long since moved on from the rifle. Not that he was ungrateful. The rifle had taught him his identity. Taught him there was a purpose for his particular gifts. But it was a blunt tool and drew too much attention. Attention being the true purpose of the rifle. The rifle was intended to deliver a message, a warning, its target merely an envelope to be opened. These days, there simply wasn’t much call for blowing someone’s head off from a thousand yards. Statement kills were no longer in vogue, outside of organized crime and parts of the world that couldn’t afford him. And in any case, sniping was a young man’s game. Instead, Tinsley had evolved into a highly specialized killer. One who rarely left any indication that a crime had even occurred. It required a deft touch. Most of his hits had been closed by local law enforcement either as accidental deaths or suicides. The rest were chalked up to unsolved violent crimes such as burglaries or stickups. He probably had twenty in this area alone. There was always work to be had in the nation’s capital.

His phone vibrated with a text message—a series of six letters and numbers. Tinsley paid his tab and walked outside, blinking in the bright sunshine. He slipped on a pair of latex gloves while he looked for a license plate that matched the text message. A black sedan rolled to a stop beside the curb, and he got in back. The divider was up, and he sat alone. The car pulled back into traffic.

Beside him, a thick manila folder lay alongside a much thinner folder. He picked up the thicker of the two and thumbed through the file. He read slowly and carefully, cataloguing every detail in his mind. It took several hours, and the car drove patiently through the city while he worked. When he was done, Tinsley went back and lingered over the five photographs. Four men and a woman. Jennifer Auden Charles. Gibson Peyton Vaughn. Michael Rilling. Daniel Patrick Hendricks. George Leyasu Abe. Only Abe and Charles would pose any difficulty, and only if they knew he was coming. They never did.

His orders called for no immediate action. Abe’s crew was hunting someone, and Tinsley was only to move if they located their target. Until then his instructions were to watch and wait.

He put it aside and opened the second folder. A familiar face greeted him. One he had not seen in many years, but it may as well have been an hour. It would be good to see her again.

Well, well . . . He hadn’t expected this.