Page 29 of Dodge

He grabbed his phone to call Travis and tell him to get to the top of the hill where Marlowe would be shooting from. He would also ask angrily, by the way, why had he let a goddamn bright orange car get past him?

And then: he closed his eyes briefly, hearing a creak from the ancient floorboards.

He turned.

Constant Marlowe was aiming her gun, a small semiauto, at his head. Her phone was in her other hand. She said into the device, “I’m good. Thanks. You can go.” She put the mobile away.

Who was the sniper?

Hardly mattered.

Endgame. He had tortured and killed her friend and now she was going to do what she’d come to Harbinger County for: to murder him.

She’d won.

Offenbach sighed.

Okay. Pull the trigger. Get it over with. As death approached, his thoughts were not on his mother, certainly not on his father, nor one of the many women he’d had over his years. Cousin Sarah made a fleeting appearance. Then he pictured chess grandmaster Garry Kasparov.

He braced, wondering how long he would be conscious after the slug hit.

But she didn’t shoot.

Her gravelly voice: “Toss your sidearm to me. And you know how to do it.”

He pulled the Glock from his belt with thumb and index finger only. And pitched it to her feet.

She placed the semiauto on the chair and tucked her own pistol away in her front waistband, where she could draw it easily if need be. She collected the assault rifle and dropped the magazine, then ejected the chambered round. She used the tip of this bullet to push out the two pins holding the upper to the main receiver of the weapon. The gun separated into two pieces. She threw the pins out the window into the brush and the gun parts to the floor.

The assault rifle was now just a conversation piece.

“Stand up and pull up your shirt. And turn in a circle.”

He did as she’d asked.

“Now your pant cuffs.”

He complied; he never wore ankle holsters.

He reflected, So thereisanother way to get to Trail Ridge Road, other than from Route 22. It probably involved Marlowe hiking several miles through forest and underbrush. The foliage was dense here. It would have been a tough trek.

And what wasthis?

He squinted, watching Marlowe take something from her jacket pocket.

Offenbach was confused, thinking, Why would she be carrying around a small gray purse?

Constant Marlowe had never seen Paul Offenbach up close. Doing so now, she thought he was smaller than she’d expected.

But this was not uncommon in her line of work. Often the mental picture of your prey swells in size during the pursuit.

Which doesn’t mean they are any less dangerous when you finally go nose to nose.

The guns were tucked away in the locked fiber pouch. Her jacket was off, as was his. The two stood six feet apart in the middle of the shack, which was lit by sunlight streaming through the windows and cracks in the walls. Dust motes and pollen spores floated slowly around them.

She occasionally wondered why she was drawn to hand-to-hand combat, why she carried the gray pouch everywhere. One person said it might be because she was testing herself. Another had suggested that, being a woman, she had the advantage of surprise.

She’d been amused that it wasmengiving these opinions.

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