Linda Howard: Prey

He could almost see it, could almost taste the freedom. Another name, more money than he knew what to do with… and he was so close…

He guided the horse along the tree line of a meadow, studying the land falling away below him, trying to figure out exactly where he was and where he needed to go, when something far down the meadow caught his eye.

He’d grown so accustomed to seeing nothing before him but mud and trees and blessed blue sky, it took him a moment to focus on and identify the movement down and to his right.

People. Two of them-a man and a woman. They were still a good distance away, and unless they turned around and really searched for movement, they wouldn’t see him, because he was still under cover of the trees. They were in a large clearing at the moment, unprotected by the trees that shielded Chad.

He didn’t have binoculars with him, but he did have the scope on his rifle. Moving carefully, he lifted the rifle to his shoulder and peered through the scope; at first he didn’t see anything because the field of vision was so narrow and he had to “acquire the target,” as the man he’d gone to for lessons had called it. Using small movements, he swept the scope back and forth until he found them, then adjusted the focus. Davis had made fun of his scope when he saw it, because it wasn’t one of the fancy brand names, but who was laughing now? Chad hadn’t seen any point in spending a thousand dollars for a scope he didn’t intend to use other than for show. He was pleased now that the scope worked just fine.

The man below was a big son of a bitch, but Chad didn’t recognize him. He identified Angie right away, though: the dark hair, her height, her shape-not that he could see her shape, because she was wearing that heavy coat, but he knew the coat. She hobbled along, with occasional help from the big guy. She’d been hurt after all, somehow, but not badly enough to stop her. He couldn’t begin to imagine how she’d met up with someone else who was also on foot; what were the fucking odds of that?

They both carried rifles slung over their shoulders, and they were on the path Chad needed to take in order to get off this damn mountain. He wasn’t going to waste a minute trying to go around them. Damn it, they were in his way .

Chad dismounted, said a couple of soft words to the horse, and looped the reins loosely over a branch. Rifle in hand, he sighted in on the couple below, but he couldn’t hold the weapon rock steady and at that distance even a tiny waver meant he’d miss his target.

No, shooting from this far away was too risky. He couldn’t be certain he’d hit his target, and he didn’t want to give them any warning. Rapidly he formulated a plan. Kill the man first, before they suspected that they weren’t alone. Not that Angie wasn’t a good shot, but she wasn’t very mobile, and he could outmaneuver her if by chance he couldn’t take her down, too, before she could react.

He’d practiced with both the pistol and the rifle, and he was a good marksman, but shooting downhill was a bitch at the best of times and his targets were moving-slowly, but moving. He had to get closer, but getting closer meant leaving the cover of the trees and exposing himself to view if they should happen to look behind them, not to mention return fire. And if he didn’t manage to get both of them, there would be return fire; he had to plan on it, choose his position accordingly.

The long downward sweep of the meadow was heavily dotted with rock-slabs of rock, boulders big and small, some barely jutting out of the earth and others sitting there like huge lumps. There was a lot of cover to be had, if he could get to it without being noticed.

He took notice of the wind. It had been swirling all day, coming first from one direction and then another, but now it was blowing straight into his face. Marksmanship was mathematics, taking every little factor such as wind and drop and bullet velocity into account. He’d focused more on the pistol, knowing that was how he’d take down Davis, but he knew the basics of distance shooting. This didn’t qualify for true distance shooting, because they were no more than a hundred and fifty yards away at the most, but considering what was at stake he didn’t want to risk a shot that might miss.

They were moving at a snail’s pace, which was to his advantage, but he couldn’t delay too long or they’d reach the tree line below and he’d lose them. With the wind blowing sound away from them, they weren’t likely to hear him. Chad moved to his left, putting one of those big boulders between him and his targets, and headed for the boulder at a half-run, crouched low.

He was getting excited. It looked as if he’d get his hunt, after all. This was the wild, and in the wild survival of the fittest was the rule nature and man-and woman-lived by.

Ninety yards behind him, the bear was padding closer and closer to his prey, the scent now blowing strong in his nostrils.

Chad had worked his way to within fifty yards of his targets, which was as close as he dared go without running a huge risk that Angie or the big guy might see or hear him. Besides, they were getting into some rocks that would provide them with cover, and beyond the rocks was the edge of the meadow. If he let them get to the trees, he’d have a harder time getting off a good shot: too many shadows, too many tree trunks. He lifted the rifle to his shoulder, sighted it on the middle of the guy’s back, allowed for the curve of the hill, the distance, and the light wind. He’d never met the man with Angie, had no animosity toward the soon-to-be-dead guy, but he was in the way and that was reason enough to take him out.

Killing was easy, as Chad had discovered when he’d shot Davis. One well-placed bullet and a life could be snuffed out for good; alive one moment, dead the next. One moment a problem, the next… no problem at all. He wouldn’t say that he got off on it, but he’d been surprised at how easy it was, how completely regretfree he felt afterward. He did what had to be done, that was all.

He took careful aim, took in a breath, let it out halfway as he’d been taught, and pulled the trigger. The man with Angie jerked, and as he fell he pushed Angie away from him. She took one off-balance, stumbling step, and fell. Before Chad could reacquire her in his scope, she scrambled behind one of those damn rocks.

“Dare!”

Angie was screaming his name almost before she hit the ground. The rifle shot had come from so close behind them that she’d heard the reverberating blast almost simultaneously with the deep “ Uhhh! ” sound Dare had made, then he’d shoved her away from him even as he was falling to the side. Instinctively she half-rolled, half-crawled to one of the rocks and crouched there, already getting her feet under her to launch herself across the opening to where Dare was sprawled.

But then he dragged himself to a sitting position and barked, “Stay there!”

Blood was pouring down his face, but his voice was as strong as ever; Angie froze in place, relief and adrenaline searing through her system and throwing all of her senses into hyperalertness. Dare was hurt, but he was mobile, he was conscious. He was also losing a lot of blood, so she had to do something, and fast.

She didn’t have to wonder what had happened; she knew. Somehow Chad had come up behind them. In a flash she knew it wasn’t even that much of a coincidence, because the flooded creeks would have forced him in the same direction they’d been traveling.

“Where are you hit?” she called frantically, because Dare was wiping blood from his eyes and it was streaming down, effectively blinding him, as fast as he wiped, but surely to God if he’d been shot in the head he wouldn’t be-