Page 1 of The Deadly Shallows

ONE

EARLY DECEMBER

HOLLY RIDGE, NORTH CAROLINA

Crisp night air slapped his cheeks, but he’d long since learned to endure the elements. Tonight’s op was nothing compared to some of the filth he’d crawled through. Their objective simple, his targets unaware.

The four-person catering crew loaded trays into the back of their van, along with their tools of the trade.

Standing at the edge of the woods, the ground tight beneath his boots, he shifted his gaze to the house. Quiet. Still. His team held position, awaiting his signal.

Lights clicked off, shrouding the house and van in darkness.

The last member of the catering crew climbed into the rear of the vehicle.

Shifting his grizzled jaw, Dwayne signaled his team forward with a flick of two fingers.

They swept from the woods, moving across the driveway at a fast, silent clip before the van’s ignition turned.

They hit the back of the van, doors still open and silent shots finding their mark.

Climbing into the van, Max pushed the slumped body out of the driver’s seat and took position behind the wheel.

The rear doors shut, and Dwayne, now situated in the passenger seat, tapped the dash.

Max turned the key, and the taillights spilled red across the circular drive behind them.

In the blink of an eye, they were rolling for the road and on to Fairpark Cemetery.

TWO

The mission’s execution was flawless. The van taken. The cemetery gate lock picked. The bodies discarded in the mausoleum, where no one would find them—at least not in time to stop their primary objective.

Back at headquarters, Dwayne stood, inspecting his team as they loaded the arsenal into the van.

Nearly time. A commencement unlike any other was about to begin.

“The van is outfitted, sir,” Adam said.

Copenhagen nestled deep within his lower lip, Dwayne spit into his cup. “Well done,” he said, the chewing tobacco tingling behind his lip.

His gaze swept over his team, zeroing in on Dylan’s eyes. Few men could douse the shadow of fear from their gaze, and Dylan certainly wasn’t one of them.

He lifted his chin in Dylan’s direction. “Something wrong?”

“No.” Dylan’s voice hiccupped.

His jaw shifted on instinct. The kid was lying. “You got a problem with the mission?”

Dylan swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing down his thin, pasty neck. He shook his head too vehemently. “No, sir.”

Dwayne eyed the sweat sizzling down Dylan’s pulsing temple.

“I demand honesty. Honesty is essential. This is all in or all out. Understood?” He stepped forward, the wooden boards creaking beneath his boots. “Which is it?” He set his cup on the wooden railing beside him, fingering his gun grip.

Dylan hesitated, and Dwayne fired.

The kid’s body crumpled to the floor, blood pooling at the base of his skull.