I turn her shoulders so she’s facing the right direction, and after a few seconds she sees it too. A small building. Barely visible through the trees.
“Stay close, keep your eyes open,” I remind her, picking our way over ground that is scattered with pipes, trash, and plastic netting.
The air is dank. Faint smells of skunk and fertilizer floating around. Debris is everywhere.
This is an illegal marijuana grow.
After scanning the tree line, I slip into the small shed, pulling her inside. Can’t see a damn thing, but my hands find what I need. A shelf with tools, containers, buckets, odds and ends.
The thrill of the discovery lifts a mountain of weight from my shoulders. This is gold. Not only do I have tools—where there’s an operation, there’s probably a stash.
After swiping a screw driver, a utility knife, and pair of pliers, I pull her back outside, only to come face to face with a man.
Shit.
Shit.
He’s mid-fifties. Aged beyond his years. Ratty beard. Dirty clothes. Expression of someone that’s dealt with more than one intruder.
A shotgun points at my chest as his eyes stay too long on Jade.
That alone punched his ticket.
“What did you steal?” he sneers at me, still looking at her, the scent of alcohol rolling off him.
I don’t talk. There is no negotiating now. I snatch the gun from his hand and toss it to the ground behind me.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” He wheezes, crouching, circling like he could really take on a man twenty years younger, a hundred pounds heavier, and five times as fit as him.
Jade’s pale face flashes in my periphery as she grabs the shotgun.
The man stumbles when I make my move, his hand coming up in a defensive strike. “No!”
But it’s over before it starts. I’m on him. Cold-blooded killer sliding easily into place. Trained hands making fast work.
His vertebrae give with a muted crack.
Silently, I lower him to the ground and dust my hands off on my pants.
“Is…is he dead?” Jade mouths silently, standing a few feet away, her mud-stained chest collapsing then rising shakily, her eyes glassy.
For a single heartbeat, I wonder what she thinks of me now. Knowing I can kill so easily with the same hands that touched her.
“Yeah,” I say, holding her gaze.
She steps close, passes me the shotgun. “We have this now.”
No judgement. Not a single ounce of hate in her eyes.
I pat down the man’s pockets for extra shells, finding a few. That and a cell phone which may or may not have a signal out here.
“You good?” I straighten and ask, beckoning her closer.
“Remind me not to point a gun at you.”
“Battlefield humor, huh?”
“Something like that,” she whispers, moving to my side, leaning into me.
