Secrets and Seduction: 5 Romance Novels (109 page)

Famous last words.

Nic blew air between her puckered lips. Another disgruntled husband taking matters into his own hands. She ground her teeth, popping her jaw. Even at 500 yards away, she could sense the tension flowing from the man. The Leupold put her right there in the middle of the action, minus the noise.

Dusty threw the now-empty bottle. His wife and kids recoiled; the younger of the bunch ducked her head into her mother’s neck. Words were exchanged between the adults; Dusty’s face turned a ripe shade of crimson. He waved the shotgun at the front of the house.

Suddenly he jerked straight as a board and then rotated. An ugly scowl crossed his face as he stomped out of sight.

“He’s left my visual.”

“Stay steady. He’s probably answering the phone.”

A bead of sweat slithered between Nic’s shoulder blades. More formed on her upper lip. She was roasting in full tactical gear. She should’ve set up the blind to protect her from the late September sun. But Hamilton worried the situation would escalate quickly, and he needed her on the rifle. The heat wave sweeping through Iowa hurled her back to the Afghan climate.

Don’t go there, Nic. Focus on the target with the bottle.

Target. Not Dusty. Old habits died hard. In the back of her mind, she knew that was a man inside the house, a father and husband with friends, family, and coworkers. But in the course of the day, maybe the week, he’d lost it and decided holding his family at gunpoint sounded like a good idea.

She had to separate the situation from the personal aspect.

Shut it down, Nic. You weren’t trained to sympathize with the targets. He’s pointing a gun at children, endangering their lives. And that makes him a threat.

The truck creaked under her as she shifted her weight. She needed to kneel. If she stood for too long her back would start cramping from the weight of the Remington and being in a bent position.

Nic blew at a single stubborn strand of hair that had worked its way out from under her cap. How long had it been since the call came in? Two hours?

She needed water. Where the hell was a spotter when she needed one?

Inside the house, the wife’s head darted back and forth. She must be looking for a means of escape. Her desire was thwarted when the target returned to view, a cell phone pressed to his ear. Since Nic couldn’t hear the conversation, she assumed the sheriff had silenced his side of the comlink to keep her focused. The target pointed the shotgun at one of the kids.

“Damn,” Nic muttered.

His face graduated from dark red to purple dotted with white blotches. He pulled the cell away and screamed into the mouthpiece, then threw it at the window. The unit hit the glass, and a web of fractures blocked her view.

“Shit!” Nic lifted her head. “Male subject has obstructed my visual. Moving to secondary position on the other side of the house.”

“Move fast, Rivers. Situation is on a hair trigger.”

Nic hoisted the Remington onto her shoulder. In her previous trek around the property to find the perfect shooting position, she’d managed to find a good backup. Hooking her rucksack on her elbow, she hopped out of the back of the truck and ran.

The underbrush and brambles snagged at her pants. Recent rains had saturated the ground, and it squished under her boots. But nothing was stopping her. She wouldn’t lose an innocent on her watch.

“Rivers, be advised, I’m attempting to make contact again.”

“Copy.”

Nic ducked under a tree and shuffled to the spot looking directly at three small windows on the east side of the house. Falling onto her kneepads, she removed the tripod from her rifle and prepped the weapon for a kneeling position.

She brought her right knee up and planted her booted foot into the firmer soil. Bracing her right elbow on her thigh, she leveled the rifle at the window and adjusted her sights. Movement in A2—the first-floor second window—snagged her attention. Nic lined up with the window and saw the man. Her gut twisted. “Male subject spotted. He’s got the shotgun leveled.”

“Rivers, stand by.”

Deputy Walker’s fading hollers of protest rattled through Nic’s head. Oh hell! Sheriff Hamilton was thinking she’d have to put one in the subject.

Focus, Nic.
Counting to five, she slowed her breathing. Her focus zeroed in on the image in the scope. Detach. Her breathing now matched the pace of her pulse, slow and steady.
Embrace the death. It’s a good kill.

“Rivers, you’re clear to shoot. Do you copy?”

“Copy.”

Negotiations had broken down. Male subject was a risk. Nic’s finger curved around the trigger.

A brilliant flash inside of the house made her blink.

“Son of a bitch!” Hamilton’s exclamation hissed in her ear.

The subject pumped the shotgun and lifted it. In that split second, from about 600 yards, Nic took the shot and neutralized the threat.