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It was time to talk with Dawes.
She pocketed the casing--Ethan would have to send it for testing along with the other samples they'd taken.
But now, she was beginning to wonder exactly how had Dawes known the victim's name?
CHAPTER FIVE
The sun glared down on the arid landscape, casting long shadows that stretched like accusatory fingers across the rocky terrain. From his vantage point in the back of his flatbed, the back door open, the man lay prone, his gaze riveted through the scope of a high-powered rifle. The weapon felt like an extension of his will. His finger rested on the trigger, a coiled serpent ready to strike, but held back by an almost imperceptible tremor of anticipation.
Through the crosshairs, two figures moved, their silhouettes stamped against the stark backdrop. The man's breathing slowed as he tracked them, his focus narrowing to exclude the world beyond his mission. He was the unseen arbiter of their destinies.
One of the figures, the female agent, paused. She reached up, her movements deliberate and unhesitant, removing the white hat that crowned her determined brow. With a reverence that belied the intensity of the scene, she placed it gently upon a nearby bush, a solitary beacon amidst the thorns.
His attention shifted as she approached the base of the cliff face. Her hands found purchase on the jagged rocks, and she began to ascend with a fluidity that captivated him. Each motion seemed almost rehearsed, as if she knew this cliff. The man watched, his professional detachment yielding to a grudging respect. Her skill was undeniable—a dance of human agility and grace played out upon the unforgiving canvas of nature. She climbed with a confidence that spoke of many such ascents, her body moving in harmony with the treacherous terrain.
In the stillness of his hideout, the man's thoughts churned. She was formidable, an adversary worthy of the game they unknowingly played. Beneath the surface of his disciplined mind, something akin to admiration stirred—a fleeting recognition of her prowess that fluttered away as quickly as it had come.
Yet, there was no room for such musings in the task at hand. The rifle remained trained on the shifting tableau before him, a silent witness to the unfolding drama. His finger, though tense, held its deadly promise in check, the moment of decision hovering just on the edge.
The desert sun scorched the earth, casting sharp shadows that crept like specters across the barren landscape. The man remained motionless, a silent predator perched in his nest of dust and sagebrush where he'd parked his vehicle. His gaze never wavered from the scope’s crosshairs, where the female agent's form clung to the cliff face with a spider's tenacity.
A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, ignored as he calibrated the distance, the wind, the trajectory. His finger caressed the trigger, a lover’s touch poised to become an executioner's. In his chest, his heart kept a steady rhythm, the drumbeat of a soldier in the throes of war. It was a familiar sensation—the tightrope walk between life and death.
"Take the shot," the hunter within him whispered, a siren call to end the chase here and now. But if he missed?
No... wait until she stopped moving.
He exhaled slowly, the breath of a man about to reshape destiny, when the sudden crunch of gravel behind him sliced through the tension. His body tensed, instincts flaring to life as he swiveled with predatory grace, leaving the rifle momentarily forgotten.
Through the sparse brush, a car's silhouette emerged, its engine's low growl intruding upon the wilderness. Dust billowed behind it like the plumes of a conquering army. The vehicle eased onto the roadside, oblivious to the sniper's lair it had stumbled upon.
The man watched, his finger now lifted from the trigger, his mission momentarily eclipsed by this unexpected development.
The man's hands, steady as a surgeon’s just moments before, now moved with swift purpose. His eyes darted between the rifle and the colored blanket tossed carelessly in the back of his truck. With a practiced motion, he snatched up the fabric, draping it over the weapon. The deadly instrument disappeared beneath a mosaic of earthy hues, instantly becoming one with the jumble of camping gear.
Booted feet hit the dirt, kicking up small clouds that blended with the dust the newcomers had raised. He shut the tailgate with a gentle thud, the sound muffled by the vastness around them. A smile stretched across his face, not the sinister smirk of a predator but the open, friendly grin of a weekend adventurer caught amidst nature's grandeur.
"Hey there, officers!" he called out, his voice rich with the hearty welcome of a man who'd spent his life mastering the art of approachable charm. "Quite the day for a drive out here, isn't it?" He chuckled, the sound warm, inviting—disarming.
His stride was casual as he approached the two figures now emerging from the squad car, hands visibly empty and raised in a gesture of good-natured greeting. Inwardly, he performed a rapid inventory of facts and fictions, ready to weave a believable yarn.
"Was just enjoying the view," he continued, gesturing towards the vast expanse with a tilt of his head, a shrug lifting his shoulders as if to say 'Can you blame me?'
"Beautiful country we've got here. Shame not to take a moment to appreciate it, y'know?" His tone was light, conversational, as if this encounter were nothing more than a chance meeting between old friends. Within his chest, though, his heart drummed a rhythm of vigilance, each beat echoing the need for caution, the readiness to adapt.
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the desolate landscape, the two officers framed within them like sentinels of an unwritten law. They stood before him, their brows furrowed in twin arcs of suspicion. He could almost feel the weight of their scrutiny as they took in his presence on this closed stretch of road.
"Area's off-limits," the taller officer said, his eyes flicking from the man's face to the truck behind him. The statement hung suspended between them, less a declaration than a silent accusation.
The second cop's hand moved with practiced caution, unsnapping the holster of his radio. His fingers brushed against the device as if contemplating a call for backup or perhaps a check-in that would shatter the brittle peace. The man watched him, noting the careful placement of each digit, the unspoken questions hovering just beyond the airwaves.
"Is that so?" he replied, inflecting his tone with surprise as though the information was news to him. "Must've missed the signs."
His gaze shifted, not too abruptly, to the other officer who had sidled closer to the rear end of his vehicle. He could see the man's eyes scanning the license plate, no doubt committing the digits to memory, preparing to run them through some distant database.
The man's internal monologue raced, crafting plausible scenarios that might explain away this unintended rendezvous.
Yet, outwardly, he remained the epitome of calm—a traveler ensnared by ignorance, not malice.
