Page 110 of Ground Truth

The fog was thick and heavy, but Flint glimpsed a man dressed in black not far from the house.

He held a gun in one hand. Crouched low, he ran behind the outbuildings and across the dirt path leading to the pasture out back of the farmhouse.

Flint didn’t see anyone else. A lone assassin? Not likely.

Two or three men working together made more sense. The house had more than one exit. One man out back and a second man covering the front entrance was a solid plan.

Flint moved quickly to the front of the house, carefully peering through the front windows. The fog blanketed everything out front in thick mist. The rented SUV was barely visible from his position.

The two women were still crying and whispering together on the sofa. Across the room from where they sat was another large window offering a more expansive view of the garden.

Greta glanced up when she noticed Flint was in the room. She gasped.

Flint turned. “What?”

“Out there. I saw someone,” she said, pointing through the large window. “He ducked behind those trees.”

“Okay. Greta, is there a room in the house with no windows?” He realized he’d slipped into using her real name. Hearing it startled her, but she nodded. “Take Hanna there. Lock the door. Don’t come out until I say it’s safe.”

She ran to the window and peered into the fog. “My husband’s a hunter. We have to be, living out here on the farm. We’ve got shotguns and rifles. I’m a good shot.”

Hanna was shaking her head violently, a terrified look on her face. She whispered as if she could barely breathe, “Don’t lock me in a room by myself. Please.”

Greta’s indecision was palpable. She glanced outside and then quickly returned to her sister’s heart-wrenching pleas.

“You wait here with Hanna,” Greta said. “I’ll bring the guns.”

Before Flint could hold her back, Greta took off running toward the south wing of the house.

A moment later, the first gunshot blasted through the kitchen window sending glass everywhere.

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Chapter 53

When a second shot followed the first, Flint dashed across the room and pulled Hanna to the floor behind the large sofa. Her eyes were the size of saucers, and she was shaking like a petrified animal.

Greta returned from the back of the house with two long guns and two boxes of ammunition. She hurried to Flint, offering the weapons, and lowered her head near Hanna to whisper reassurances that didn’t carry to his ears.

Two more shots shattered windows in the back of the house. Gusty winds carried dampness along the floor.

Flint guessed they were trying to blast the back door open, allowing them to rush inside.

He grabbed one of the shotguns and a box of shells. He touched Greta’s arm to get her attention and leaned in so that only she could hear his words.

“Sounds like there’s two of them,” Flint said. “I’m going out the front. I’ll circle around to the backyard.”

“With the fog, they can’t see the house well. They’ll come closer,” Greta warned.

“Which makes my job easier,” Flint said with a nod.

“What if they get past you? Come in here?” Greta asked. “Should I shoot them?”

“That won’t happen,” Flint said firmly.

“But what if it does? Shoot to kill?” Greta asked.

“You ever shoot a man before?”

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