Page 251 of Filthy Lies


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The moment we were on the driveway, the gates closed behind us. Dead To Me didn’t set off until the latch clicked and the area was secured. As we drove toward the house, Conor kept trying Dagda, but that he’d been trying for ten minutes fucking straight was a portent we didn’t exactly need right now.

Disquieted, I twisted around, scanning the land for only God knew what. For as far as the eye could see, however, the remnants of corn season laced the horizon.

That meant the corn rows provided no shelter for anyone sneaking around, but it also gave us no cover from the highway, which only amped up my agitation.

I was always good under pressure, but this was hitting differently.

I didn’t know if that was becauseIwas different or what, but if I’d had a gun in my hand instead of in a holster, I’d have a hair trigger.

When we made it down the ridiculously long driveway, it was with relief we pulled up outside the house.

It was a regular farmhouse—to laymen’s eyes. But the structure was clearly reinforced with security protocols that didn’t belong on farmland.

More CCTV and, undoubtedly, a ton of other measures that weren’t visible to the eye—heat sensors, pressure monitors, and the like kept it locked up nice and tight.

The farmhouse was also surrounded by trees, deciduous, which made me reach for my weapon when we were on the ground.

Dead To Me peered at the trees too, and that was when I saw it—a glint.

“She’s in the trees,” I called out, moving behind the car and keeping it as a meager shield, motioning to Conor to do the same.

“What do you want?” Troy hollered, unafraid to reveal her location now that we were staring at the tree she’d picked for a nest.

“We told you—to talk.”

Her Kentucky accent was thicker than ever as she spat, “Ain’t no one who wants to talk about Jorgmundgander with me that don’t have trouble on their mind.”

“Then why the hell did you let us in, Troy?” D retorted impatiently, plunking her hands on her hips.

“You armed?”

I scoffed. “Of course we fucking are.”

“I wanna see your weapons before I come down.”

“I thought she was visually impaired?”

D answered Conor, “She is.”

“Then how the fuck is she up a tree and trying to shoot us?”

“She either lied or she can see better than she let on.”

“What are you bitching about?” Troy hollered. “Less talking, more showing.”

“This is ridiculous,” I grumbled, but I flashed her my holsters. D did too.

“What about him?”

“I don’t carry weapons,” Conor lied.

My cell buzzed. Spying Ovianar’s number, I frowned but turned away from Troy to pick it up.

“Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing? Hang up the phone!” Troy snarled.

Hearing the click of the safety on her weapon ricochet around the otherwise silent clearing, I just flipped her the bird.

Showing my back to someone armed with a sniper’s rifle wasn’t smart, but this was total BS and we all knew this was her trying to establish some control over the situation.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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