I flinch when the light edges closer than I expect.
The flashlight beam holds on something near the fence line. Too close. Maybe fifty yards from where I’m hunkered down.
Kelly takes out his phone. His voice carries in the cold night air. “Thought I saw movement. West ridge. Checking it out.”
Fuck.
He starts walking, not toward me exactly but close enough. The flashlight beam sweeps methodically—left, right, up the slope.
“Shit,” I mouth silently. I have maybe thirty seconds before that beam finds me.
I duck down. I can't run—movement will give me away instantly. I can't stay—the rocks and scrub pine won't hide me once he gets closer. I can't engage—he’s one man, but he’s mean, and I have no idea how many more are inside that metal shed.
Twenty seconds.
I ease backward, inch by agonizing inch. My boot catches on loose rock and I freeze, heart hammering so hard I'm sure he can hear it.
The flashlight beam slices through the night, closer.
29
MASON
Isee it happen from eight hundred yards out.
Kelly's flashlight beam tracks across the west ridge. Lily's position is fifty yards from where that light is heading. She's frozen in the rocks, invisible for now, but Kelly's moving with purpose. Methodical. Trained.
Where the fuck is her hat? Her hair’s glowing in the moonlight like a beacon. He's going to spot her, with her head shining like that.
My scope is already on him. Center mass. Clean shot. I could drop him before he takes another three steps.
But one man down means the whole compound goes hot, and Lily gets caught in the response. Best case, she's compromised. Worst case, she's dead before I can reach her.
I need a diversion, something that pulls Kelly away without triggering suspicion.
My mind runs through options. Radio intercept—no time to hack their frequency. Vehicle approach—nothing on the access road. Direct engagement—compromises everything.
Then I see it: The motion sensor.
It's mounted on the south fence line, maybe seventy yards from Kelly's current position. It’s part of Turner's perimetersecurity system—I've mapped every sensor on this property over the last three weeks. It’s far enough that Kelly will have to abandon the ridge sweep, close enough that the alarm will demand immediate response.
A sensor malfunction looks like equipment failure. Wildlife trigger or bad wiring, not sabotage. I’d just have to hit it right.
Kelly's fifteen yards from Lily's position now. His flashlight beam sweeps higher up the slope.
Fifteen seconds until he finds her.
I adjust my scope. The sensor housing comes into focus—small target, maybe four inches across, mounted eight feet up on a fence post. Eight hundred yards away. Slight downward angle. Cold air, dense.
The shot has to be perfect. Hit the housing, and I trigger the alarm without leaving obvious evidence. But if I miss, I do nothing—or worse, I hit the fence and create a ricochet that gives away my position and potentially puts Lily at risk.
Ten seconds.
I exhale slowly. Still my heart and mind. Feel the wind—three miles per hour, left to right. Adjust for distance, for the downward angle, for the temperature.
The crosshairs settle on the sensor housing.
I squeeze the trigger.
