The Tempest by A.J. Scudiere (story read aloud .txt) 📗

tested it extensively. It was at every scene. But Owen knew. It had been too easy.

Nguyen shook his head. “The scene was salted.”

Lee was happy‒fate had paid him back for that missed kill. But like all things fate had thrown his way, there was some shit in this one, too. He was going to have to move out.

He’d been staying in a shack in the mountains just north of Atlanta, but that was over now. He’d gotten too close to the city, not that it was really ‘city’ out this far from the heart, but there were people. And apparently he wasn’t suited to be around people anymore. It had been an experiment, and now he was packing the few bags he had.

Tugging his ball cap lower on his face, he lamented that he’d only gotten half his morning jog in today, but figured the adrenaline pumping through his system more than made up for the missed exercise. How many people ever stumbled upon a car accident? Or a robbery in progress? It just didn’t happen. But his feet had pounded through the trees on the old trail and so had someone else’s‒small delicate feet, popping past on bouncy white sneakers. The blonde ponytail reminded him of Samantha. But Sam would never have been stupid enough to be out in the woods oblivious to all but the music piping into her ears. Lee bet this woman wouldn’t be that stupid again either.

The man had been wearing jeans and a snarl beneath a heavy beard. Out of nowhere, he chased down the woman while Lee was still too busy staying out of sight to be close enough to do anything. The bastard was almost on top of her before she realized what was happening, and he had her down before Lee was in range.

She’d suffered a few hooks to the face to quell her urge to fight back, and Lee saw then that she was nothing like Samantha, except for being battered. The 9mm Heckler & Koch had come from under his running shirt in a smooth motion. Before his arm had stopped moving he had fired a shot into a tree just over the patch of sunlight-dappled ground where the two were tangled. Both of them had stilled instantly, faces turning to him.

Shit. He turned his head before either could get a good look and motioned with the nose of the gun while he talked. “Lady, roll over and put your face in the dirt.”

She shook, but did what he said, even lacing her hands behind her neck like a tornado was coming or she was a police hostage. Grateful for the ball cap serving its purpose, Lee made sure he couldn’t see the man’s face, and knew from hours at the mirror that the attacker couldn’t see his either. The idiot still lunged at him, gun and all.

Lee pointed and took out a kneecap. Out of the side of his eyes he watched the woman jump like popcorn but stay face down. The man screamed and hit the ground on his back.

Fuck. If there was anyone within three miles of this they’d come running at these high-pitched wails that put the woman’s own I’ve-been-attacked yells to shame. Knowing he only had a minute to get the job done, the fact that the man was writhing around holding his knee only made his goal harder.

Lee grinned. Nothing like a challenge. And after a few thwarted attempts he shot the man’s balls off with a slick curve gracing his lips.

The bastard had stood as best he could and run at a broken hobble into the woods.

“Ma’am, you’re safe now. Best get home.”

Lee ran off to his own home, the stupid smile plastered on his face even as he packed up all the incriminating evidence. He had a duffle for rifles, another for guns and ammo and all his spare clips. A smaller one held a thin set of sheets and his clothes, and a fourth had the clothes he wore when he was hunting. All the bags were green camouflage, bought at separate army supply stores, and he had on one occasion had to throw the duffle out into the trees and pray no one found it. The camo had done its job and the clothes had been where he’d tossed them when he came back three days later.

Lee rifled through the cabinets, packed what he could carry, and tossed all the perishable food as far from the shack as he could. Bears and raccoons would destroy that evidence in a matter of hours. Leaving the cans for whomever might find them, he tipped furniture, broke one chair, threw one out into the woods and bowled over the table. He left one cabinet door open and the water pump dripping, not able to completely ruin the cabin for the next person, before lacing the straps of the heaviest duffels across his chest. The other two he carried in his left hand, leaving the right free, just in case.

The half-mile hike to the car wasn’t usually made with this much load, but in the past three years he’d bulked up to take it. This didn’t wind him though he kept a pace many would be hard pressed to keep up with, even if they were unencumbered. He was at the car in just under six minutes. Although anyone who didn’t physically stumble directly onto the object likely wouldn’t have known the car was there.

The dull brown color and subsequent rust spots were their own camouflage. When you factored in the tree and branch ‘garage’ he had built for it, the vehicle became very hard to find. Now he dismantled all his handiwork, scattering the pieces in all directions, and loaded the bags into the backseat. He turned the key and listened to the low hum of a job well done before pulling back a few lengths and getting out. There were tire ruts and a small oil leak, and the