Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 121735 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121735 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
To get at the bridge’s problems, he’d had to de-construct the whole thing, taking the handrails off as well as all the planks. The three base supports were the issue, the stream having eaten away at their undersides to rot the wood span. The good news was that there was enough left intact on the ends at the shores so all he needed to do was run supporting twoby-fours across the damage and nail the fuck out of it all. He’d brought six ten-foot lengths with him on the ATV—and with them now bracing the weakened sections, he was confident they’d get one more season out of the thing.
Glancing around, he hopped back up onto the shore and started in with the planks. There were about two dozen of them. He’d be done in a half hour and then he could return to the WSP.
And check on Lydia.
After he removed the old nails from the boards, he laid everything in place and went about resecuring them. Which turned out to be a fucking production. The hammer in his hand felt like it weighed fifty pounds every time he raised it over his shoulder—another example of how powerful the brain was. Courtesy of his mood, the simple movements felt like he was pushing an Army tank uphill, even though nothing had really changed about his life, his situation, his reality.
Well … except for Lydia—
“Fuck!” he spat as he nailed his forefinger a good one.
Shaking his hand out, he hissed and looked up—
The flicker came from down on the right, at a lower elevation on the mountain. Narrowing his eyes, he put his hand up as a shield to the sun.
And there it was again, something metal catching the rays.
Going over to the ATV, he took out the binocs from the glove box on the dash. Training the lenses on where he’d seen the not-found-in-nature winking, he had to scan around before he caught it again.
A hatch. In the earth. Or at least that’s what it looked like.
Finally, he thought.
Quickly finishing up with the planks, he locked the tools and his cell phone up on the ATV, took the key, and pulled a camo-covered poncho over himself. With the hood in place, he went off away from the trail, moving fast through the trees, keeping his head down and his feet light.
His gun was in the palm of his hand. Or rather, the gun with the suppressor that he’d lifted off that stalker. Who’d conveniently disappeared.
As he descended, he was aware of everything around him: The breeze in the air, the twinkle of the lake in the distance, the soft pine needles under his boots. No one was following him.
That he was aware of.
Closing in on where the flash had come from, there was a sense of inevitability about his path, as if a chain had wrapped around his chest and was pulling him in to a predetermined location. It had been a long, hard road, and he was finally finished with the searching part of things. And yet with every step he took, he told himself not to get ahead of things. He didn’t actually know if this was what he’d come for … yet some sixth sense didn’t buy the mediation-of-his-expectations bullshit.
In his gut, he was convinced—
Stopping, he looked behind himself. Looked all around. Then he took cover behind a trunk—although considering he wasn’t sure where the threat was coming from, he didn’t know whether he’d actually given himself shelter or put a better target on his chest.
When nothing moved and there were no sounds, he decided to keep going, although he was more careful, moving from trunk to trunk like a slo-mo pinball.
The “No Trespassing” signs started up about a hundred yards later. The orange and black warnings were posted in a line extending down the slope of the preserve’s mountain, demarking a change in ownership.
No fence, though. No cameras that he could see in the trees. No … anything.
He kept going, crossing onto the other land parcel.
Unfortunately, he missed the infrared beam that he tripped with his foot.
Lost in thought, Lydia went to her office and sat at her desk. Glancing down at the empty tin she’d put her computer tower in, she was glad that their dumpster had been emptied on time. No way anyone could find the burned-out unit now, and if somebody from law enforcement came looking for it, it wasn’t like she could be blamed for throwing out a ruined PC when she wasn’t a party to any official investigation.
As she looked at the empty surge protector, she told herself she needed to do something. Instead, she just sat there.
Out in the waiting area, Candy answered the phone and talked to someone. After a couple of sentences, it became clear it was Rick’s family calling to report on the where’s and when’s of the memorial service. A few minutes later, there was the sound of the receiver being set in its cradle, and then creaking floorboards as Candy came down the hall.