Page 49 of Fatal Vision
Chapter Nine
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WHAT WASBELLSup to?
The former SEAL had jockeyed the trucks in the driveway, finally peeling out in his older Ford with the dented back fender and rusty running boards, and driving away. His muffler growled a loud, inharmonious song as he accelerated.
Inside the house, Shelby wasn’t alone, but who was with her? The man studied the second truck, a rental. Was this a friend of Bells’?
Did Colton Bells have friends? He certainly had a mountain of enemies in this town.
With the scope, the man had watched Bells and the other man move around the house, working at the windows. A distant memory, a photograph he’d seen of a soldier, beaten and emaciated, took root in the man’s mind as he chewed on a granola bar. He couldn’t match the glimpses of the second man to that memory, and yet, it tugged at him. He never forgot a face, even one bloodied and bruised.
What had intrigued him was that they appeared to be installing a security system.
He chuckled at their hard work, finishing off the bar and stuffing the wrapper into his pocket. A security system couldn’t keep Shelby safe from him. She trusted him. Maybe more than she trusted her ex-husband.
The thought of her and Bells living together in the house sobered him, firing up the rage that Bells always invoked. The SOB didn’t deserve a woman like Shelby. She was far too smart, too beautiful for him. Bells was a killer and soon he would pay for turning Peter into a sack of bones, blood, and nothing else.
Shelby would pay, too. Bells moving in with Shelby had one advantage—it made his job a little easier. Shelby wasn’t without blame—she’d covered up the mistakes in Baghdad. It was a shame to waste such beauty and intelligence, but one way or another, she would pay too.
The man kept an eye on the truck, watching as it turned the corner. He moved to a different window, one facing northeast toward town and saw the cab of the truck through the skeleton of one of the houses.
After rounding the corner, Bells pulled over at the curb.
Zooming in, he saw the man talking on his cell phone, one hand rubbing his eyes as though tired.
“Looking haunted, there, Bells,” the man said. “Haunted and weary. Soon, you’ll be six feet under. You’ll have plenty of time to pay for your sins then.”
Bells spoke into his phone for a minute more, then punched buttons and looked out his windshield. Another, shorter conversation this time before he hung up, tossed the phone on the dash and drove off.
The man returned to the window facing Shelby’s house. Adjusting his scope, he zeroed in on the front living room window. The gauzy curtains were drawn but the blinds were slightly ajar. Another click of the scope and he could carefully peer through the curtain.
He saw no movement. Maybe later when he came back he should bring his parabolic mic and listen in.
Behind him, he heard the distant growl of a vehicle…one with a loud, rusting muffler.
What the…
The echo of a slamming truck door raised the hair on the back of his neck.
Danger.
He heard the bark of a dog.
Bells.
The SOB had come calling. Well, wasn’t that just like him?
Bells had combed through every inch of this abandoned house after the shooting, looking for clues.
There weren’t any. The man had made sure of that. With all of his kills, trace evidence didn’t exist. He’d considered leaving something to put the authorities on the trail of Bells, but really, what was the point? Setting up others was so easy after all these years. Easy to the point of him growing bored with that game.
“Salisbury!” Bells called in the distance. “Wait!”
The dog was already sniffing around.
