Chapter 113
W ELL, IT DIDN’T MUCH MATTER. They were two dead men ? dead over nothing, dead because they were miserable screwups at their jobs. Dead men watching his house, come to kill him and his family.
Sullivan had a three-year-old Winchester in the trunk of the car, which he kept cleaned, oiled, and ready to go. He popped the trunk, took out the long gun. Then he loaded it up with hollow-points.
He didn’t quite have the skills to be an army sniper, but he was plenty good enough for this kind of bushwhacking.
He set up in the woods between a couple of tall, fluffy evergreens that provided a canopy of extra cover. Then he took a quick look through the night scope. It had a bull’s-eye rather than a sight post, which was the way he liked it. Actually, it was Jimmy Hats who had taught him to be a long-distance marksman. Jimmy had been trained at Fort Bragg in North Carolina , before his dishonorable discharge.
He let the bull’s-eye rest right on the driver’s head, and he lightly touched the trigger with his finger. This was going to be easy, not a problem for him.
Then he shifted his aim to the head of the guy in the passenger seat. Whoever these two were, they were definitely DOA.
As soon as it was over, he’d have to gather up the family and boogie on out of here. No contact again with their past. That was the mistake, wasn’t it? Somebody from ancient history they had kept in contact with? Maybe Caitlin’s family in New Jersey. Somebody had probably tracked a phone call. He’d bet anything that’s what had happened.
Mistake, mistake, mistake.
And Caitlin would keep making them, wouldn’t she? Which meant Caitlin had to go. He didn’t want to think too much about it, but Caitlin was a goner too. Unless he just took off by himself.
Lots of decisions to make. Not much time to make them.
He set the bull’s-eye back on the driver’s head. He was ready for two shots, and both men in the car were dead. They just didn’t know it yet.
He slowly let out a breath until his body was calm and still and ready to do this.
He had a sense of his own heartbeat ? slow, steady, confident; slow, steady, confident.
Then he pulled the trigger ? and heard a sharp, satisfying crack in the night air.
An instant later, he pulled the rifle’s trigger a second time.
Then a third and a fourth time.
That should do it.
The killing was done, and he had to get the hell out of here, pronto. With or without Caitlin and the boys.
But first he needed to know who he’d just killed and maybe take some pictures of the deceased.