A sharp intake of breath, cut off at the midpoint. "What'd you do?"
"It was like Wilkes in that alley. I saw my target and that was all that mattered."
His hand closed around my arm. "We'll fix it, Nadia. Just tell me - "
I shook my head as I turned. "There's nothing to fix. I broke into Destiny's dad's house, certain his parents had killed Sammi to get their granddaughter. I didn't take proper precautions. Their younger son was home from school. A stupid, amateur's mistake."
His fingers trembled against my arm as he exhaled and released me. "That's it, then?"
"What did you think -?" I stopped, pretty sure I didn't want an answer. "Yes, that's it."
"So this kid saw you - "
"I'm not that careless. I got out before he knew I was there."
"Before you could case the place."
"No, I did that. No sign of a baby in residence."
One brow lifted. "So your big mistake? Going into an occupied house? That's it?" A short laugh as he shook his head.
"Hey, that's embarrassing enough."
"Kinda like this." He waved at his foot. "Didn't fuck up the job. Still feel like an idiot."
"Can I ask what happened?"
"Rather you didn't."
"Ah..."
"I'm kidding. Tell you later. Right now? Got a range to get ready."
Chapter Fifteen
Jack helped me check the guns and put away the "non-civilian" equipment - the human-form targets, exotic guns, and gadgets I reserved for my military and law-enforcement guests. As we worked, I told him my theory about Destiny's grandparents. He didn't think I should be so quick to dismiss it, nor did I need to be so quick to pursue it. If the Draytons had Destiny, she wasn't in any danger, and the longer I waited, the more likely they were to appear in public with their new granddaughter, saving me the work of proving they had her.
I considered contacting the Peterborough police and notifying them about Sammi's disappearance, maybe suggest the Draytons had Destiny. But I knew how the department would treat an anonymous, proof-free tip like that, particularly an accusation against one of the most powerful families in the region. They might not ignore it, but I'd get a much better response if I had some proof, so that's what I was going to get.
I couldn't chase down that lead - or any others - for a while, though. With a full house, I was bound to the lodge for a few days, which would give me time to clear my head and come up with other ideas.
Our lunch guests were a quartet of widows who would look to Owen for most of their recreational needs, wanting nothing more strenuous than bird-watching. I'd taught many a seventy-year-old to shoot - both guns and rapids - but these four made it clear they were here to relax and commune with nature.
After lunch, Jack suggested we retire to the range. A good idea, one that would help me relax. Marksmanship requires concentration, and I couldn't do it while thinking about dead teenage girls and kidnapped babies.
I'd taken up the sport after Amy's death. It was my father's idea - maybe because he realized how badly I needed to feel in control.
In distance shooting, I found my talent and my salvation. It took hard work - memorizing ballistics tables, learning to accommodate changes in climate and environment - but if I put in the effort, I could guarantee success. Life isn't like that.
We took rifles to the outside range, a thousand-foot strip of meadow with targets.
I usually practice in the offhand - standing - position, because that's the one I'm most likely to encounter on the job. But Jack's ankle gave me an excuse to lie down in the more stable prone position.
Though Jack preferred simple, close-contact hits, sniping is a skill every decent hitman needs, and he always took advantage of the opportunity to learn more from me. It was the one way I could repay him for all his advice.
He tried a few shots at the farthest target, but missed the mark entirely, and challenged me. He knew I could hit it - I wouldn't have it there if I couldn't - but when he watched through the binoculars as I hit the bull's-eye, he shook his head.
"Fucking amazing."