Outside, thunder rolled low across the valley.
Flick’s face crumpled beside me.
Oh no.
“I was twenty-three.” His voice went rough. “I tracked the route back to Mercer’s people.”
“And then?” Rook asked quietly.
“They tried to kill me.”
The pieces slammed together all at once.
The threats.
The break-in.
The warning photo.
They hadn’t just wanted meaway from Flick.
They wanted me dead.
Because I had seen something I never should’ve seen.
Shepherd spoke again through the storm.
“You should’ve stayed gone, McDougal.”
Hersh stepped forward slightly.
His rifle lowered at his side.
Not fear.
Confidence.
Pure lethal confidence.
“You should’ve finished the job.”
Outside—
red laser sights suddenly appeared through the cracks in the barn walls.
Dozens of them.
Sliding across crates.
Hay.
Bodies.
Then finally?—
settling directly onto Flick’s chest.
57
