Chapter 15

Men have been throwing things to take down their prey for a hundred thousand years. Longer. Millions of years, for all I know.

If a caveman could take down a cave bear with a piece of pointed rock tied to a stick, I could take down this incautious ass who painted a target on his own head with his own bouncing light.

Go fucking team.

In football, a lot of energy goes into misdirection. Feint here if you intend to throw over there. Wet and miserable as my situation was—squatting naked in a tree with no better grenade than a can of peaches—at least, I didn"t have to expend any energy on messing with my opponent"s mind.

I could look directly at my target—or as directly as the drizzle and the dark would allow—and take aim without the need for any fakery. The unfamiliar weight, the unfamiliar shape, yeah, yeah, all that should have been a handicap. But I had a lot of time and practice at calculating, adjusting, taking my shots.

Not on the conscious level, maybe. Not on the physics-whiz level of calculus and numbers.

On that ancient level where muscle memory meets physical instinct.

When I let fly, the spin I put on that can of peaches was a thing of beauty. No, I couldn"t see it, but I could sure feel it. Oh, fuck yeah.

Sometimes, you throw and you just know.

Thump.

The light I"d aimed for went out instantly. Next to me, Noah finally took a breath.

In the dark and sudden silence, my doubt poured back.

Had I dropped the target with a headshot?

Or had I missed him entirely? Had the sound of my missile triggered him to hit the off switch?

The other two lights were already off. When did that happen?

"The fuck was that?" called a loud voice from my right. So, not my target. One of the other two. "Jim?"

No answer. Not even from the owl.

"What"s going on?" The loud voice boomed louder. Frustrating. His volume made me feel I should already know exactly where he was standing. But the boom created a slight echo—enough to throw off my confidence. "Jim, buddy? Talk to me, man."

"There"s somebody else down here." This voice came from almost directly beneath me.

That snapped their positions into focus. Now I knew exactly how close the two of them were.

Noah caught and held his breath again. Yeah.

While I was focused on the guy who split off to follow the owl, they"d identified the correct tree, snapped off their lights, and crept up almost directly beneath us.

"There can"t be anybody down here," boomed the loud guy. "I"d see him on the sensor."

The gall of this fucker. He not only knew we were up this tree, he didn"t care if we knew he knew. Where the fuck were we going to go?

"Well, if there"s nobody down here, what the fuck got in Jim"s shorts?"

"Jim?"

Still no answer. There was a breathless silence. The rain was sticking with the dirty drizzle. Enough to confuse the night-vision goggles or nah?

If they switched to night vision, they"d have a huge advantage over me and Noah.

C"mon, rain. Harder. You"re always coming around just fine when you"re not wanted.

I strained my eyes into the dark. Saw sweet fuck-all, but a soft rustle in the leaves told me one or both of them were moving around.

"Over there," said a voice. "Well, shit."

The rest of the conversation was inaudible. The fate of their buddy made them cautious again.

Noah shifted next to me. It was a tiny motion, probably nothing more than a man squeezing his buttocks to stop them going numb. "Sorry," he murmured. "Not trying to hurry you."

We both knew I needed to take my best shot. Hurry was the enemy.

What were they doing down there? What kind of medical check could you do wearing night-vision goggles? Wouldn"t it be better to turn on your halogens to get a better look at your fallen buddy"s injuries?

Turn your lights back on. Give me something to aim at.

From the sound of it, their pal Jim was down for the count.

But I still had two men to go.