Made to Be Broken

Chapter Twenty-seven

I motioned to Jack that I'd loop around the two intervening junk piles, letting him take the straightaway along the dark fence. Again, he didn't argue. With his cast, he was in no shape to creep through a minefield of rusting metal. He was in no shape to be hunting a killer at all, but there was no sense trying to tell him that.

I picked my way through the part-strewn strip between the fence and the first heap. As I circled behind it, the going got tougher. In the city, "darkness" means you have to squint to read signs. In the forest, you're almost guaranteed a "can't see your hand in front of your face" black. But in a rural area? Conditions can change by the minute. With a full moon and stars, it's brighter than any city street. Once those astral illuminations sneak behind the clouds, though, every source of light makes a huge difference. By the fence, the office floodlights had been more than enough. But when I passed behind that first mound, the building disappeared, and so did the light.

I waited ten seconds, hoping my eyes would adjust more, my racing pulse reminding me that with each passing moment, I could be losing my best shot at Fenniger. I gave up, started forward, and knocked my knee against a tire. The rubber absorbed the sound, but it was lesson enough – better a dim light than a loud crash. I turned on my penlight, holding it under my hand, the beam lighting only the ground at my feet. Then I continued through the automobile graveyard.

There was an eerie unnaturalness to the place that made my hackles rise. It looked like something from a postapocalyptic nightmare, the wrecks like mutilated corpses, front ends hacked off, tops peeled away, empty headlight sockets staring blindly. The stink of gasoline and rust and vinyl blocked any natural scent. The wind carried only an icy, metallic chill that seared my lungs. When I rounded the last heap, the office light opened up a landscape of fields and fences and barns – a natural view that eased my nerves.

I turned out my light and crept along in the shadows. Finally I had a clear view of the building. Fenniger was less than ten feet ahead, stepping away from the very parts heap I was using for cover. I stopped. He kept going, cutting across the dozen empty feet between us and the office door.

I eased forward for a better view. To the left of the door was a lit window. Did that mean someone was inside? If so, Fenniger was exposed now. Either he was taking a huge chance or he expected to find someone there. Not a blind pickup but a meeting.

I should have considered that. Jack would have.

Damn.

A second party meant a potential witness.

Unless…

I lifted my gun, my fingers automatically adjusting their position as I analyzed my target. Shoulder shot. The right – No, his left hand was poised by his open jacket, ready to grab his firearm. I shifted my target.

A single silenced shot. Take him down. Drag him away from the building before whomever he was meeting knew he was there.

And I expected him to take the bullet without a peep?

Shit.

Maybe there was no one inside, and the light was just on for added security. If so, I could follow him inside – an even better place for an interrogation.

If he was meeting someone, I'd just need to be patient, like Jack said. Let him do his business, wait for him to leave, and when he was far enough away, grab him, gag him, and drag him to the back of the lot.

Still, I hoped the light was just -

Fenniger raised his hand. The knock rang out through the silent yard.

Damn.

Don't expect. Don't even hope. View all options with equal dispassion. Easy for Jack to say – the guy who viewed everything with dispassion.

At the clank of an opening dead bolt, I realized I'd made another mistake. When Fenniger's back was to me, I should have scampered to the car wreck ten feet to my right, where I could hide and see whoever opened the door. Now I'd be running right across that person's field of vision.

The door opened. I could tell only by the light flooding out. For all I knew, there were a half dozen people inside.

"Shit," a voice rasped from within. "I told you – "

Fenniger's hand swung up, as if to shove his contact back inside. I withdrew into the shadows, shuddering with frustration.

The harsh spit of a silenced shot stopped the speaker midsentence.

Not a meeting, but a hit.

As I pulled farther back into the shadows, metal clanged far to my right. I spun. A figure vanished behind a wrecked car.

Jack.

Goddamn it, he shouldn't be out here. One whack of his cast against a car…

Had Fenniger heard? Stupid question. He'd just pulled a hit – he'd be straining to hear so much as a mouse scampering through the debris.

Fenniger was poised in the doorway, frozen while bending to check his mark. Still hunched over, he backed up, then swung to the side of the door, pressing himself against the wall, out of the light.

He surveyed the darkness. I stood still, holding my breath. After a minute, he decided it was only an animal. Twenty more seconds, and his shoulders dropped, gun sliding down a few inches as he relaxed. A few moments and…

Another clank. Softer, but this time, Fenniger homed in on it in a split second. He edged along the wall. Then, gaze and gun trained on the spot where he'd heard the noise, he pushed his mark's corpse inside with his foot while closing the door, shutting out the light. Back still pressed to the wall, he sidestepped to the corner of the building. His free hand swung up, flashlight flicking on. As the beam pinged off cars, a scuffle answered – Jack scurrying to better cover.

Shit, shit, shit! He should have stayed in the car. Goddamn him, if he blew this because he was too damned proud to admit he couldn't handle it…

"Five seconds," Fenniger's voice rang out. "Show yourself or I start shooting. Five. Four. Three – "

I fired. Just as I did, Fenniger stepped away from the building, and the bullet destined for his shoulder only grazed it.

He veered toward me, shooting on instinct – the same instinct that had me diving for the ground instead of trying for a second shot. I hit the dirt in a tumble and rolled out of it, flying to my feet, gun swinging up, finger already on the trigger…

He was gone.

I swallowed a curse that came out more like a growl, then dashed for the wreck ten feet away – the one I should have been behind earlier. I peered through the broken windows. From here, I could see the whole building, and the swath of empty yard around it. No sign of Fenniger.

I took a deep breath, quelling my frustration. He'd run when I'd gone into my tumble, meaning he hadn't had time to get far. No farther than the back of the building. As I eased around the car for a better look, the clatter of gravel from behind the office confirmed my suspicions.

I smiled and readjusted my grip on the gun.

Surrounding the office was a twenty-foot open patch of land. Behind it was the fence. Just beyond that was a windbreak of evergreens, and a great place to hide, but to get to it, he'd have to cross that open ground and climb over the fence. Twenty feet to be seen. Twenty feet to be shot. He wouldn't risk it. Not yet.

Something tapped the back of my calf. I looked down. Nothing. A second hit.

Jack stood behind the car, tossing pebbles to get my attention. Once he had it, he approached, silent now. If only he'd been that quiet earlier.

I turned my attention back to the building.

Jack touched my hip and leaned down to my ear. "You okay?"

I nodded. "He hit a mark. Did you see it?"

As he paused, I knew he must not have. I glanced back at the building. Still no Fenniger. When I looked back at Jack, he motioned for me to keep watching, and leaned down, his warm breath thawing my frozen earlobe.

"Go around. I'll cover. Signal. Take him down. Pick up the plan."

I nodded.