Page 30 of Ravens

I hold my breath and squeeze the trigger. The air cracks, and splinters fly again. “Why?”

“I’m on vacation,” he mutters. “Besides . . . big fish, big risk.”

“Oh, yeah?” I look over the scope at the tree in the distance. “Big risk, big reward?”

“The biggest. Patriotism is priceless.”

I glance over my shoulder at him. “What does that mean?”

“The Agency has been fucking around for a long time,” he says. “Lots of people would like to take a crack at them.”

My breath catches without me trying, and I pull the trigger, missing the tree entirely. I lean back and stare at him. “There isn’t a payday attached to that.”

“Patriotism is priceless,” he repeats. “Now, take the top off that fucker.”

Refocusing, I aim and shoot. Three shots later, the top breaks off, tilts to the side lazily, and then snaps and disappears into the canopy below.

Whatever York isn’t telling me is huge, and this is exactly what I was afraid of. I don’t want to go up against the Agency, not directly . . . not in fucking person.

William gets up to his knees. “You’re a natural.”

“It’s not rocket science.” I shift back and pass him the rifle.

“The further the target, the more science involved,” he points out dryly and slings the weapon. “You gonna tell me why you’re here with him? How?”

“I don’t even know why I’m still breathing, William.” I dust off my pants and wander back into the trees.

***

“You have first watch tonight with August,” York says, glaring as I walk back into camp.

He’s setting up a tent, and I watch silently as I post up against a tree. If they’re all here because they want a crack at the Agency . . . just . . . why? Why would York risk this?Patriotism. What the hell is really going on here?

I’ve never wanted to disappear more than at this very moment. The only way I can do that is by getting out of the country, and the only chance I have of that now is with a clean passport. I have to go back to Maine to pick that up . . . but I’m sure my house is being watched by now.

York snaps the fly into place over the top of the small tent and then grabs his bag and throws it through the door before following it in. I crouch in front of the open flap and watch him roll out a couple of sleeping bags.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“How was shooting practice?”

“Fine.”

Exhaling loudly, he stretches his neck and scrutinizes me. “What did I say about my sight?”

“You want eyes on me, you better ensure you’re paying attention. I’m not doing your job for you.”

Hissing quietly, he turns his attention back to his bag and then zips it closed with a grunt and shoves it into the corner.

“Does it kill you that you can’t put me over your knee in front of everyone?”

“Can’t?”

He gets to his feet in front of me, jaw tense for a moment before he points at the tent. The energy required to go head-to-head with him is more than I can muster. Plus, it would only piss him off more if I caused a scene.

I duck into the tent as silently commanded and stretch out on my back as the door zips closed and his footsteps retreat. There is no reason for me to poke him the way I have been. It’s getting me nowhere, but I just can’t play the good little captive.