“No, actually, I didn’t. You tend to ignore her.”
“It’s hard to lavish her with attention when she’s always in her mama’s arms.”
Rather than get snippy, Hope sighed. “True. I just can’t not hold her. All the time. Even when she’s sleeping. Sophie thinks I go overboard. Jake does, too. I know I’m being overprotective… but I can’t help it.”
“No one blames you, least of all me.”
“That’s good to know. But I was beginning to think you didn’t like her.”
“I like her just fine for a screaming, pooping thing who lives to projectile vomit.”
Hope didn’t crack a smile.
“What? I was joking.”
“I know. But I’ve also wondered if you were… I dunno… jealous of her or something because you’ll never have a baby.”
My fingers strummed the backside of Joy’s foot until she grunted and wiggled her toes away. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly the maternal type.”
“Oh, pooh. You’re more maternal than you give yourself credit for.” Hope wiped a long strand of drool dangling from Joy’s mouth. Joy’s spider legs kicked, and she made a soft goo sound. “You’ve always watched out for me.”
“You’ve always needed it.”
She smiled. “Or maybe I didn’t try to stop you because I liked that you fussed over me when you never fussed over anyone else.”
Once again, Hope surprised me with her insight. “Looking out for you is a hard habit to break. I’ll probably still be deciding what’s best for you when we’re both little blue-haired ladies.”
“I hope so.”
I wondered if she’d still feel the same way after I blew up the Newsome house tonight. But this chat reinforced my resolve to protect her at all costs. Especially when she didn’t understand that she needed protection.
She stopped at the door and faced me. “And sis, one other thing?”
“What?”
“Stop calling her Poopy.” The door shut behind them.
“Poopy it is,” I said sleepily, to the empty room.
The instant my eyes closed, I conked out.
I slept like the dead. No bad dreams. Sophie had left me a plate of biscuits and a bottle of 7Up-comfort foods from my childhood-on the dresser while I slumbered. Once I regained my bearings, I left my room.
The TV was on in the living room. I intended to walk straight to the bathroom, but something made me peek in.
Jake and Hope were on the floor, Joy on a puffy pink blanket between them. When Joy churned her chicken legs, Jake and Hope laughed, which only encouraged her to ham it up more. Jake spoke low enough I couldn’t hear. Hope looked at him, happiness shining in her eyes. Jake reached over to tuck a loose hair behind her ear, and Hope angled her head into his touch.
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 of junk, I couldn’t chance it not starting, so I kept it running. I jammed rocks beneath all four tires.
I cracked open the rifle case. Assembly, even under the cover of darkness, was quick. Once I snapped on the scope, I held the rifle by my side and jogged up to the hole in the fence line.
As I dashed across the field, my internal focus was absolute. I was one with the night-my breathing, my gun, my mission. This was my own personal nirvana.
I crouched by the flat rock with a bird’s-eye view of the front of the house. I loaded the blue-tipped bullet, a.338 Lapua incendiary round I’d been saving for a special occasion. I dinked with the night-vision scope, gauging the target with my left eye. I tweaked the viewfinder again until I had the perfect angle for the front window.
Aim.
Breathe.
Fire.
Mental prep done, I was ready for the real deal.
One shot. Four hundred yards out. Piece of cake. I could do this with one arm tied behind my back. I could do this even with my left eye.
Finger on the trigger.
Eye on the target.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
I fired.
Click.
The whomp, whomp, whomp as the fiery gas expanded from room to room echoed back to me was followed by… BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.