Mercy Kill_ A Mystery - Lori Armstrong [54]
I would’ve felt less like a peeping Tom if I’d caught them having sex.
Most days it didn’t bother me I’d never have what Hope had—a baby and a good man who’d loved her for years. But I wouldn’t know what to do with that kind of devotion.
Would I?
After I tiptoed back to my room, I nibbled on the biscuits. But the flaky goodness tasted like sawdust, and weighed heavily in my stomach as if I’d swallowed a stone.
Hope checked on me around eleven o’clock. With fake grogginess, I feigned exhaustion and promised I’d stay the night. As soon as she was gone, I locked the door. I ran over every aspect of the plan one last time.
Stealth, lies, and sacrifices for the greater good—my modus operandi never seemed to change. Except this time my solution wouldn’t be carried out with Uncle Sam’s blessing. Dawson could arrest me for real and make it stick if I got caught.
So I just couldn’t get caught.
Around one a.m. I dug out my black leggings, black long-sleeved T-shirt, black balaclava, and black athletic shoes. From the top shelf in my closet I grabbed the case containing my H-S Precision takedown rifle, double-checking that it contained my night-vision scope. I put a bullet in each pocket, although I’d only need one.
My heart rate stayed normal until I entered the barn. I focused on the tack room where the ATV keys were kept and bypassed the empty horse stalls as quickly as possible. Any fears I thought I’d conquered when I wasn’t standing in the barn reasserted themselves full force the instant that wooden door slammed shut behind me.
I palmed the key for the oldest, crappiest ATV, with one working headlight. As long as I didn’t run the ATV at a high rate of speed, my nocturnal four-wheeling adventure shouldn’t be loud enough to tip off any neighbors. I just hoped I didn’t tip the damn thing over on myself because of my compromised depth perception.
Sneaking into position on foot had been my first choice, but for timing issues, I might be cutting it close, even on a machine that traveled twenty miles an hour. If the fire was spotted immediately, as the property owners we’d get called right away. I had to be home, tucked in bed, and surprised as hell when that happened.
With my rifle case strapped to the back, I pushed the ATV through the fence, trying to avoid mudholes. By the time I’d gotten far enough from the barn to start the machine, sweat poured down my body.
Took three tries for the engine to catch, and it released a puff of smoke. Yeah, this was some stealthy fucking machine.
On the earlier run from the Newsome house, I’d mapped out the path. Not the most direct route, or the fastest route, but the flattest route.
Clouds covered the moon. I relished the solitude and the stillness. Night air feels different after midnight. Colder. Fresher. Sweeter. It was exhilarating, traversing the great outdoors while the world around me slept.
My machine scared a raccoon family from the underbrush. The glowing eyes were accusatory and then gone. The back end of the ATV bogged down on a sharp rise. I revved the engine to max power. Anyone who heard the distinctive whining noise would assume the members of the LifeLite Church group were sending out ATV patrols, which they did all hours of the night.
I studied the ground, bumping over chunks of shale and whole yuccas. I became so mesmerized by the variances in the vegetation that I nearly smacked into a squat pine tree. I swerved at the last nanosecond and almost pitched myself ass over teakettle.
Pay attention.
I slowed when the shelterbelt came into view. This section veered off the path and the terrain was trickier. Standing gave me a better view of the sinkholes and big rocks randomly scattered about. I traversed nature’s obstacle course and reached the fence. From there, I’d be on foot.
Since the ATV redefined piece