Even as I created and discarded strategies, part of my brain refused to cooperate. The dark part that didn’t want this man arrested. The dark part that wanted this man dead.
Evidently, Sheldon got tired of waiting. He started his car and pulled away.
I didn’t have time to waste debating the morality of murdering a murderer.
Traffic was steady on a Friday night on the reservation, which allowed me to tail him discreetly. When the last car between us hung a left, I hung a right.
Parking along the road, I cut all the lights. I even unscrewed the interior light after breaking the plastic housing. Then I slipped on my night-vision goggles.
And no doubt about it, the hunt was on.
I returned to the road. The night-vision goggles would work perfectly if I didn’t meet another car. The images were shadowy, as if everything had been dipped in liquid silver and spots had tarnished to black.
Damn quiet and dark on the road between Eagle River Reservation and Eagle Ridge Township. We hadn’t passed a single set of headlights.
Would Sheldon lead me to where he was hiding Sophie? Or would he follow through with his threat to hurt my family?
Then he abruptly turned onto a gravel road that served as a cut across to the Viewfield Cemetery and also led to an abandoned camping area. The place had been developed over thirty years ago by Kit McIntyre, the snake who’d tried to buy my ranch, ironically enough, but it’d never become a hot spot for campers. In fact, I’d forgotten that it-and the cut across to the road running in front of our ranch-existed.
Which is why it made an ideal spot to keep a kidnapped woman. No one close enough to hear her scream.
The longer I followed him on this road the easier it’d be for him to spot me. When I figured we were far enough off the main drag, I put my plan into play.
I hit the gas and rammed into the back end of his car.
Sheldon’s car fishtailed. He didn’t overcorrect and jerk the steering wheel. But he did slow down.
Mistake.
I gunned it again, swerving so the front end of the van smashed into the left rear of his car with enough force that taillights shattered and the bumper went flying.
That hit sent Sheldon’s vehicle toward the ditch on the right side of the road. He slammed on the brakes.
Mistake.
The car sat sideways.
After I threw the van in reverse and got far enough to build up decent ramming power, I dropped it into Drive and floored it. Spitting gravel, the engine whining, I made the last impact count.
Metal crunched, squeaked, and crumpled as I nailed Sheldon’s trunk dead center, sending the car sailing forward. I saw a flash inside the car when the front end smacked into the upper edge of the ditch and the air bag deployed.
Steam hissed from the front of the van as I parked on the edge of the road and killed the ignition. I shut off my night-vision goggles and set them on the seat. Then I grabbed the AR and the extra clip, and slipped the cord connected to my handheld infrared around my neck.
The van door creaked as I opened it. I kept the rifle aimed at the back of Sheldon’s car; the trunk was popped up, too mangled ever to close again, and I came around the left side.
The moment of truth.
But the driver’s door was open. The airbag deflated from the deep slice across the center.
No sign of Sheldon. Pity, I didn’t see any signs of blood, either.
Looked like we’d be playing a game of cat and mouse after all.
I crouched in the ditch, figuring out my next move as I listened for sounds. Shoes on gravel. Feet pounding through grass.
Nothing.
Not a hint of breeze stirred. The darkness was absolute. No lights from town. No nearby yard lights. No snow. No moon. Even the sky was overcast with thick black clouds, so it’d be very easy to disappear into the inky blackness.
Which way had he gone?
Had Sheldon climbed through the barbed-wire fence? Or had he run forward, through the ditch? Creating enough distance so I’d assume he’d gone through the field, and then backtracking?
I listened. I heard nothing but the clicking sounds of the car engines. Sheldon had no special-forces training. That’s when I knew he wouldn’t run away. He’d stick around and try to best me, like he’d initially planned. Rub it in my face that he was the superior soldier.
So what would I do if I had his advantage but not the special-ops training that taught me not to choose the easiest options?
Run to the closest place that offered a decent hiding spot. Get ahead in the trees and wait.
I knew he’d have a gun in his holster. But what would he be armed with?
Maybe he had a gun with a scope. Possibly even a night-vision scope.
But Sheldon had spent all his time preparing for tomorrow. I doubted he was prepared to fight now. My hunting gadgetry gave me the advantage. He’d consider using those gadgets to be cheating, thinking that a real soldier relied on skill and training.
Wrong. A real soldier took every advantage to annihilate the enemy. Building a better predator by whatever means necessary.
I crawled between the barbed-wire strands and stood, pausing to scan the immediate area with the infrared.
No red heat signatures.
Sheldon had already covered serious ground if the sensor hadn’t picked him up yet.
I kept the infrared in my left hand and the rifle in my right as I continued to scan the terrain. This sweep of prairie began a gradual rise until it met the tree line. I assumed that was the direction he went. Easier to miss shots when distracted by the trees and shadows.
That’s when I heard a twig snap.
Pinpointing the sound, I crouched almost parallel to the ground. My adrenaline kicked in, but due to my sniper training, I didn’t get skittish. I became even calmer, breathing slowly, hyper-focused on waiting for my prey to give himself away.
The grass was timber dry and made a crunching sound with every hard footfall, encouraging light steps.
I heard nothing for several long moments.
Just when I believed I’d followed a deer, I heard the soft scrape of fabric on bark. I spun, pointing the infrared. A big red mass a hundred feet to my left at eleven o’clock.
Releasing the infrared, I raised the rifle, my eye on the scope, and in the split second it took to pinpoint his location I fired.
A loud hiss of air echoed back to me, followed by the rustling of grass. Bastard was on the move. Had I hit him? Nicked him? Or missed entirely?
I raised the infrared again and watched the red blob scurrying away. Slowly. Then it stopped. I took a perpendicular path to where Sheldon rested. I’d keep parallel to him as I moved, so when he bolted toward the tree line, I’d be in front of him instead of behind.
I heard a gun discharge, and then pain ripped through the outside of my left thigh.
Son of a bitch. That fucker had shot me.
Now I was really pissed. I knelt down and lightly touched the rip in my pants. My fingers came away wet. Gritting my teeth, I drew my finger across the spot more firmly, discovering it was only a flesh wound. Bled like a bitch, but I didn’t have a bullet lodged in my leg. If I left it alone, it’d clot so I could finish what I’d started.
I heard pounding footfalls and looked up just as Sheldon rushed me. I rolled into him, instead of away from him, and he skidded face-first across the ground.
I bounced up and stomped my boot heel on his wrist, forcing him to release his gun while I placed the rifle muzzle on the back of his head. “Don’t fucking move.” I reached down and picked up his gun. A Glock. I ejected the clip, letting it hit the ground. “Tell me where she is.”
“You cheated,” he snapped, turning his head sideways to glare at me.
“Tough shit. What have you done with Sophie?”
“Tough shit,” he mimicked. “I’m not telling you anything.”
With the AR-15, I aimed for the dirt and fired at the ground next to his thigh. “The next bullet goes in that thigh. Where is Sophie?”
He laughed. “You’re bluffing.”