Everything inside me went cold.
His radio was on the hood of his truck around the cabin.
No one else was close enough.
Except me.
Through the scope, I watched the fugitive’s trigger finger tighten.
Vance turned his head toward the tree line.
Toward my hide.
He couldn’t see me.
But he knew a candidate was out there.
And he knew that candidate had exactly one live round.
My finger touched the trigger.
Seattle came back.
Breaking glass.
A crying teller.
A perfect sight picture.
Then hesitation.
My injured eye blurred.
The prisoner doubled in the scope.
For one terrible second, Vance disappeared between two overlapping silhouettes.
I blinked hard.
The image cleared.
The shotgun was still against his skull.
The instructor who had spent two weeks calling me weak was now on his knees in the mud.
His eyes searched the trees.
Then his lips moved.
I couldn’t hear him from two hundred yards away.
I didn’t need to.
I exhaled halfway.
Settled the crosshairs.
And began taking the slack out of the trigger. 👇
