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There were other snipers around, but no one with as clear a vantage point, and Peter knew in the end it would be up to him. He’d never missed a shot, no matter how difficult it was. He could see through fog and a moonless night, he could se
e through anything to keep her safe. He couldn’t waste his time making excuses or telling himself lies—they were down to the bare bones now. All that mattered was that she lived. Because he’d done the unthinkable. For only the second time in his life he’d fallen in love, when he didn’t even believe it existed.
It wasn’t the sex. It wasn’t some crazy protective notion motivating him either; there were plenty of other people who could do as good a job of keeping her safe.
And it certainly wasn’t that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. He might be in love with her, but he devoutly hoped he’d never have to see her again after this afternoon. He wanted his old, calm, cold life back. He didn’t like the heat melting the ice around his heart.
The iron gates swung open, slowly, and the back door of the car opened as well. He saw her blond hair first, and he held his breath. As far as he could tell, Harry had no comparable snipers overlooking the site, but he couldn’t risk her life on that belief.
She stood very still, and he looked at her down on the driveway with the thick white fog blanketing her. She stood tall and straight, probably because of the armor they’d given her, and she didn’t look around, or look back. Harry would know she wasn’t alone. She took a step forward, and then another, and the door to the waiting limousine opened and Harry stepped out.
He had him in his sites, a perfect target, and then he was obscured again, fog rolling down in thick, wet waves.
“Peter!” Mannion’s voice was urgent.
“Shut up,” Peter hissed. “I can’t see.”
“Take your shot, man. He doesn’t have the kids. They were found wandering down in the woods just off 330. She doesn’t need to go.”
Peter rose, but everything had disappeared. It wasn’t a thick blanket of fog, it was a deep, poisonous shroud, and he couldn’t see anything anymore, not the cars below him, not Genny’s stalwart figure as she walked toward death.
He didn’t hesitate. “Run, Genny! Get the hell out of there! Run!” he shouted. And then he started scrambling down the hillside, trying to make it to the driveway in the impenetrable mist, and it clung to his skin like tiny particles of ice, as he felt the first burst of fear crack inside him.
He slipped, rolling down the hillside, landing on the wide driveway just as the headlights of a car zoomed down on him. He rolled out of the way, into the bushes, and it moved on, clipping the waiting car as it went. And then all was silence in the cottony darkness.
He scrambled to his feet, the sniper rifle still with him, when Madame Lambert loomed out of the mist. “He’s got her,” she said, and he almost thought he heard emotion in her cool, controlled voice. “He shoved her in the limo and got away. I’m so sorry, Peter. At least he won’t be able to take her off the mountain—we’ve got all the roads blocked. If it weren’t for this goddamn fog…”
He’d never heard her swear before. It didn’t matter. “I’m taking the car,” he said.
“You should wait for backup…”
“I’m taking the car.”
And a moment later he vanished into the mist, letting the darkness close behind him.
Harry Van Dorn was in the best mood he’d been in since he could remember. After weeks of having each of his careful plans dismantled, finding his most trusted servants betraying him, things had finally turned his way. Genevieve Spenser was sitting beside him in the back of the limo, looking pale and frightened, and he’d just been given a gift by the universe. He should have known his position as one of the chosen ones wouldn’t have faltered.
“So Peter’s alive after all,” he said, reaching for the minibar and pouring himself a drink. “Can I get you something, sweet cakes? Afraid I don’t have any of that belly-wash soda pop you seem to like, but I’ve got just about everything else. Might make things a bit easier on you.”
“No, thank you,” she said. “I’m fine.”
Harry chuckled happily. “I doubt that. Now, why didn’t you think to tell me that Peter was alive after all?”
“What makes you think he’s alive?”
“Don’t try that shit on me. I heard his voice, clear as day, telling you to run for it. Too little too late, but then, you’ve always been his worst nightmare, haven’t you? If it weren’t for you, I’d already be dead as a doornail.”
“Then I’d think you’d be a little grateful,” she said.
He backhanded her across the face, a casual blow that still snapped her head back. “I don’t like mouthy women, did I ever tell you that? Your bosses should have known better than to send me a mouthy broad.”
“Lawyers tend to be mouthy.”
He slapped her again, and this time her lip started bleeding. He liked that, but he didn’t want to let her leave any trace behind in the car. He would already have to get rid of the car the kids puked in. He’d set them down in the middle of the burned-out landscape— they’d never find their way out through those dead trees, and it got right cold on an April night up here in the mountains. The fog would just be icing on the cake.
He hadn’t decided on a cover story for that one yet—he was still concentrating on the delicious package of revenge sitting beside him. If the kids were found alive no one would believe anything they said, not when charming Harry Van Dorn came up with a plausible explanation. He didn’t know what that was, but it would come to him, spur of the moment. He was blessed that way. Everyone loved Harry Van Dorn— he could do no wrong.
“Watch yourself, missy. I plan to take my time with you, and I don’t want you annoying me. Having Peter still alive changes everything. He’s going to come after you.”
