“Fuck you.” MacGowan was just as civil. “I think they’re a little annoyed that I kept killing the people they sent after me.”
“All of them?”
Beth had had enough. Finn pretended he didn’t give a shit when someone died at his hands, but she knew different. “Go to hell,” she snapped. “Most of them needed killing.”
“Only most of them?”
“Don’t push me, Madsen,” Finn snapped.
There was silence, broken only by the crackle of the fire. “We’re going to have to go find him, you know,” Madsen said.
“I know.”
“Why?” Beth said, incensed, panic filling her. “You go out there he’ll just shoot you.”
“We stay here and he’ll shoot me,” MacGowan said. There was that light in his eyes again, that one that thrived on danger. “Dylan, you and Mahmoud stay here and make sure Beth is safe.”
“Go to hell,” she said furiously. “I’m not some pathetic female to be kept locked up …”
“And Beth, keep an eye on the boys and make sure they’re safe,” he continued smoothly, as if she hadn’t interrupted. “None of you are professionals, and you’ll only be a liability out there on the hillside.”
He was right, but it still angered her. “Wait until morning.”
“It doesn’t work that way, sweetheart,” he said. “Stay down.” He moved away from her without a backwards glance. “Can you make it up the hill with that bum leg?” he asked Madsen.
“Fuck you and the horse you rode in on,” Madsen snapped. “I can outrun you any day of the week, you fucking sod.”
“Is that any kind of example to set for your son?” MacGowan chided lightly.
She could hear Mahmoud’s chuckle. “I’ve taught him worse,” the boy said.
“I believe it. The three of you, stay down. Don’t try to leave the room – he’ll have every sniper gadget imaginable, including infrared, up there. The CIA always has too much money for toys and not enough for their people, besides which they treat them like shit. Which is why it’s so easy to steal them. Just stay on the floor and we’ll be back.”
She couldn’t let him walk away without saying something. What if he never came back? “If you don’t come back I’ll kill you.” Not the most lover-like declaration, but it made him laugh.
If she made the mistake of telling him she loved him he’d probably take a bullet rather than deal with it. He’d just damned well better come back.
“I promise,” he said. His mouth was on hers, hard, a promise, not a farewell.
A moment later they were gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Barringer sat on the hillside overlooking the farmhouse and blew on his hands. He hadn’t been this cold in years. Sure, it snowed in DC, but there wasn’t this biting wind sweeping down off the mountains, chilling him to the bone. The only gloves he wore were latex, and he found his hands were sweating, making them even colder. He’d missed his shot. For the first time in his life he’d missed his shot, and people like MacGowan didn’t give you second chances.
He could comfort himself with the knowledge that it hadn’t been his fault. He’d had MacGowan’s head in his rifle sights for a good long time, savoring the moment. If only the son-of-a-bitch hadn’t suddenly ducked his head this would all be over with. All he’d have to do is head down to the house and take care of the others.
He’d been considering it. He’d be much better off with no witnesses left alive. He’d always made his orders clear to his subordinates. He even joked about it. “Dead men tell no tales,” he’d said, and they’d listened.
But times had changed, and people paid closer attention, and needless body-counts had repercussions. He’d pretty much decided to take care of MacGowan and the girl and leave the teenager. He wasn’t heartless, after all, just practical. But once again Finn MacGowan had managed to didge death, and Barringer had been so furious it had taken all his famous self-control not to pick up the sniper gun and march down the hill to take them all out.
Of course, the sniper gun wasn’t that portable. And marching in on them wasn’t the smartest thing to do. No, he was a crafty old buzzard, and he’d sit and wait. They wouldn’t dare try to come after him – they’d be sitting ducks with the infrared. He could pick them off one by one, then go down to the house and finish things. Forget the kid and sentiment. Scorched earth policy on this one. Enough was enough.
He checked the sniper rifle, making sure it was loaded, then sat back. He hadn’t bothered with camouflage, there was no need. No one would come looking for him. No one would dare.
He whistled under his breath, softly, cheerfully, an old hymn his mother had loved. He missed his mother. Few men were lucky enough to have such a strong, wise woman as a mother. He’d always told her she’d spoiled him for any other woman, and it was the truth. Even now he still slept with her picture on his bedside table.
He hadn’t brought it with him, but then, he hadn’t planned to spend the night. This safe house was a pain and a half to find, off in the middle of nowhere and as far away from major roads as you could get in a backwards country like France. He’d never liked it here. In fact, he never liked it anywhere but home. Home was the place where you knew where you stood, where people believed in the right things. France was just godless.