Chapter Four

Ferguson stood and glared at Mark, totally still and silent, and every single instinct in Mark’s powerful body was screaming at him. Yeah, he and Sully and Dallas had assumed that Ferguson wasn’t going to get out of this alive, and he saw now that it was actually way worse than that: Ferguson was going to make sure of it. He was going to force their hands. Mark’s finger tightened, and he got ready to shoot.

Suddenly, Halloway sat up in the car, looking dazed. Both men startled at his unexpected appearance, and that was when Ferguson made his move: as fast as a blink, he swung his gun to the right, leveled it through the open window and inside the car. Immediately, Mark stepped even farther to the left. He knew that Sully was lining everything up behind him, and Ferguson’s life was now being measured in seconds.

“Out,” Ferguson hissed at Clyde Halloway. “Out now.”

The old man blinked, confused. His head was bleeding badly, and Mark was sure that he was in shock. Still, he fumbled with the door handle, managed to swing it open and get to his feet. With plodding, hesitant steps he started to walk around the car to Ferguson.

Fuck. Sully’s got to take care of this before Ferguson gets his hands on Clyde and uses him as a shield… come on, man, take it. Take the shot.

****

Fifty feet away, back up on the raised road going the other direction and behind the brush, Sully was on his stomach and peering through the rifle scope. He’d hoped hard that Ferguson would just give up when he saw Mark pointing a gun at him, but he hadn’t really expected it to happen. Sully had gone into this whole crap storm almost certain of its conclusion, and he now saw that the end was in sight. Literally.

He watched Ferguson carefully, saw how he was officially losing his shit. Yeah, the man was a trained ex-Marine – just like Sully was – but he was also a man way, way over the edge. Everyone has their breaking point and Michael Ferguson had now reached his and soared far beyond it. That made him more volatile and dangerous, of course, but it also made him desperate and impulsive. Men in this kind of trapped state made bad mistakes, and all it took was a man like Sully to exploit them.

One mistake is all I need. Give it to me, you dickhead.

Sully waited, breathing slowly, his control absolutely perfect. No rushing, no forcing the situation; the best thing was to wait for Ferguson to fuck up. He was about to, Sully knew, and once he did, Sully was going to make him pay. Hard.

Then it happened: Ferguson gestured wildly and the movement swung his gun away from Clyde Halloway. It was just for a tenth of a second, but it was all that Sully needed. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t pause, didn’t even think. He pulled the trigger, and watched through his scope as roughly half of Ferguson’s head disappeared in an explosion of red. He fell backwards heavily, and Mark ran over to check the body. No doubt the asshole was dead, but protocol was protocol.

Mark picked up Ferguson’s gun, looked back at Sully, gave him a thumbs-up. Sully exhaled now, got to his knees. By the time he stood up, Mark was with Clyde, his massive arm around the old man’s shoulders holding him up, talking to him softly.

Sully looked up at the gorgeous blue sky, closed his eyes briefly.

Yeah. Quick and clean and no complications. Just like I like it.