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I’m dreading my neck question. “Has Josephine been going to Heather?” We need to make sure that the front is still in place.
“Yes, she has. She met with Heather twice this week, and the counselor followed through on her end from what Chase has seen. Hacker accessed it yesterday. There’s another update on the counseling.”
I chock my head, intrigued. “Which is?”
“Jo asked Heather for the contact information of Heather’s counseling student. She called him up and he came out to headquarters. He sat with Jo for an hour, getting up to speed with everything. The poor kid looked nervous as fuck when he walked into the club with our crew there. I guess he decided it was worth the extra credited hours because he set up a meet for next week.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. The obsessive worry I had about Josephine not following through with her counseling had weighed heavily on me. I’m proud she took the initiative and sought out the student.
Punk lowers his voice. “Do you have a lead?”
I look over at Gauge, watching the highway through high-magnification binoculars. “Yeah. We’re finally on the offense now.”
Punk blows out a breath. “I don’t like this two-man show. Chase and I should be there with you guys.”
“I need you both at home. Chase has his hands full and can’t leave his tech team to sink or swim, and I need you there as point on security.”
“We need to be there with you, and you fucking know it. It’s the four of us, always,” Punk gripes.
It makes me feel good to hear my brother speak this way. I feel the same about them, as well. “We’re handling this from afar, no need for more manpower.”
“Prez?” Gauge catches my attention.
“Need to go, Punk. We’re on.”
“God speed, brother,” Punk says and disconnects.
I pocket my phone and lay on the ground, getting my bearings through the scope of my high-precision rifle. I’ve already accounted for wind, angle, light, and because of the distance, the curve of the earth. We’re well hidden at a half-mile away from where I plan to take the shot, laying against the ground in camouflage.
Before I was made Captain, I was a sniper back in my early SEAL days. My specialty was highly technical shots. Shooting at a moving target is risky, but it’s our only option. Gauge is my second pair of eyes on this operation, much like back in the day when he was my spotter. We’ve always been paired together, and not much has changed. We settle into a comfortable silence.
“Car is approaching at roughly seventy miles an hour. Two miles out,” Gauge whispers.
I make a few adjustments and try to control my pounding heartbeat. I’ve anxiously waited for this day since I first learned of Esteban’s involvement in my parents’ murder.
Would I love to watch the life leave his eyes? Absolutely, but it’s not an option. You play the cards you’re dealt, and right now, our best bet on killing him is by taking out his car. I need to bed my emotions for the moment. When the fucker is dead and gone, I’ll allow myself to feel.
“One-point-five,” Gauge says.
The car is in my scope. With how fast he’s traveling, I need him closer to hit the engine block.
“One mile.”
I steady my breathing and send a tiny prayer to my parents.This is for you.
“Target in range.”
I pull the trigger and watch my shot connect right through the engine, disabling the car. The driver swerves dangerously, realizing they’re under attack. The car hits the guardrail, soars through the air, landing on the passenger’s side. It rolls end over end before stopping, upside down.
Another car has come into range behind the first and it slows. A sinking feeling forms in my gut. The other times we cut off Esteban, he was in one vehicle—probably to avoid unwanted attention. So why is there another vehicle, similar in make and model to the first, here in the middle of fucking nowhere?
“Do you see him?”
Gauge looks through his binoculars. “Possible suspect in the back seat.”
I have no time to make my adjustments to my rifle before I take my next shot. The car is already pulling away from the scene. I’m losing my chance. I open fire on the second vehicle, taking out the windows and hitting the driver.
A man in the passenger seat leans over and takes hold of the wheel. The car takes off. I fire again, but the car doesn’t slow, and soon it’s cresting the hill into oblivion.
