End Game (Will Robie #5)(25)

“No, I don’t know that. My money’s on Blue Man surviving.”

“Well, then what’s our next move?” replied Reel curtly.

“We’ve checked out where he was staying. We’ve talked to his ex-flame. So let’s go check out the house where he grew up. I got the address from Claire.”

Reel said, “Why is that relevant?”

“I don’t know that it’s not, so that means it’s relevant.”

He walked toward their Yukon and she reluctantly followed.

Twenty minutes outside of Grand, a pair of bullets cracked the Yukon’s windshield.





CHAPTER





14


“Now that’s more like it,” said Reel, as Robie guided the Yukon to a stop off the road. They took up position behind the SUV and Robie sighted through a pair of binoculars in the direction of the shot.

“Rounds hit dead center of the middle row,” Reel said. “Optics shot, so the shooter didn’t want to kill us, just send us a message. If he could hit the windshield he could hit us.”

Robie nodded but said nothing. He knew all of this, and she knew he knew it.

Reel gazed out at the bleak landscape. She pointed to some higher ground about six hundred yards away. “I’m thinking there.”

Robie nodded again and lowered the optics. “So do we keep going? The next shots might not hit the seats.”

In answer Reel popped the rear cargo door and unlocked the aluminum case that was in there. In less than a minute she had assembled her rifle and attached the scope. She climbed into the cargo area, used the rear seat as her fulcrum, and sighted through her scope.

Twenty seconds went by and she said, “Got ’em. Two guys, one rifle.”

“So a spotter?”

“Looks to be.”

“So maybe professional then.”

“Most people out here probably know how to use a gun. At least most people we’ve seen have them.”

“Right.”

“Dodge Ram truck. Can’t see the plate.” She turned back to look at Robie. “What do you want to do?”

“Send them a message back,” instructed Robie.

Reel smiled at this, climbed out, stood on the rear bumper, placed her rifle on the roof of the Yukon, manipulated her scope, made her sighting, locked them in, settled down, took aim, and fired once. She took another aim and fired again.

Six hundred yards away each bullet slammed into a tire sidewall, exploding it.

The two men were so startled that they threw themselves down on the dirt and then scrambled like mad for cover behind the truck.

“Now let’s go have a chat,” said Robie. “Keep eyes on them.”

He took the driver’s slot while Reel slipped her scope off the rifle’s rail and climbed in on the passenger side. She kept eyes on the pair as Robie wound the Yukon up to eighty. He slipped his pistol from its holster and cradled it between his knees.

“Movement?” he asked.

“They’re still hunkered down wondering what the hell just happened. Now they’re climbing into the truck. Started up and . . . they just found out they have two flat tires. Idiots. They should have checked that first.”

“So maybe not professionals then.”

“Probably not.”

The Yukon had rounded a bend, moved up the high ground, and Robie slammed it to a stop twenty feet from the disabled pickup.

He and Reel climbed out, their pistols trained on the front cab where the two men sat, looking stunned. They slowly raised their hands.

Robie motioned with his weapon for the men to get out of the truck.

The doors squeaked open and the men nearly fell out.

One was older, in his fifties, with a full beard and a sunburned face. He wore faded dungarees, dusty boots, and a leather vest over a flannel shirt.

The other man was in his twenties, lean and wiry, about five nine. He was dressed like his companion. His beard was bushy and dark. His eyes were small and resembled gray, moistened pebbles.

They each had holstered weapons. Robie told them to drop their gun belts and kick them away. They did so without saying a word. Lying next to the truck was a rifle with a scope.

Robie pointed to the Yukon’s punctured windshield. “I think you owe us some new glass.”

Reel looked the younger man up and down and said, “You dropped your rifle on the ground. No way to respect your equipment. And what, you were just going to drive off without it?” She went over and nudged it with her foot. “Nice optics. Too bad they got damaged.” She stomped twice on the device with her boot and the scope broke in half.

“What the hell are you doing?” screamed the younger man.

Reel looked up at him. “It’s pretty simple. I’m making sure you can’t ever shoot me through that scope.”

Robie said, “Who are you and why are you firing at us?”

The younger man looked toward his elder. The older man said, “Just saying hello. It’s a local custom.”

Reel pointed to his truck’s flattened tires. “Well, we returned the greeting. But since you fired on two federal agents, the only hellos you’re going to be saying for the next twenty years are to people from the federal correctional force, your lawyers, and fellow inmates who want to get to know you better.”