Page 62 of Dirty Padraig: Dirty Dusters

Better to be careful than dead.

I find the goggles locked inside the first shooting table, exactly where Dylan said they would be. As expected, they’re top-of-the-range military style—nothing but the best for the Dusters.

The rifle is where I left it inside the second table. It still has the suppressor fitted from last time. The scope isn’t really suitable for night-time use, but I’ll have to make do.

I don’t bother switching on the accuracy checker. I can see if I’ve hit the target through the scope itself, and I know it will always be in the ninety-ninth percentile. I don’t need an electronic reading to tell me how good I am at my second job. Having checked the elements, I illuminate the farthest away target before sitting down.

Line up. Check scope. Pull trigger.

It’s a bit repetitive, but the same could be said when you’re shooting skulls. For me, it’s just offering a welcome distraction. Some much-needed sniper therapy and somemetime.

I fire half a dozen shots before switching the target back off. I then glance around. It’s similar to when I carry out a hit. I could be sat for minutes, or it could be hours. Boring for some, perhaps, but therapeutic for me.

My mind automatically drifts back to Nevada. To when I almost missed. To when Irish messaged me pretending to be Dylan.

Because I didn’t want to let you go.

I’m glad we’ve managed to reclaim back some of what we lost. Maybe one day we’ll be comfortable enough to dissect what’s led us to this point, but for now, I’m just grateful to have him back in my life. He’s been there for me recently. Like he always was in the past.

My confidant.

I can tell that all is not well in his world, but I don’t want to pry. Both of us will move on to the more taboo subjects—some of them in around four weeks from now. I only hope we’ve built up enough of a friendship by then to survive the guaranteed fallout.

My ears prick once more. I’m sure I can hear something.

Or someone.

I shake my head. No one is going to be able to access any part of this property.

Unless someone’s given them access.

Get a grip, Jaine.

I hear it again. My gut is telling me something’s wrong. I quietly take my phone out of my pocket.

Jaine:You there?

Padraig:Just got home, darlin’.

Jaine:Is Sophia still with you?

Padraig:She dropped me off. She has somewhere else she needs to be. Do you want me to call you?

Jaine:No.I’m outside on the range, and I’m sure I can hear something.

Padraig:Have you told the others?

Jaine:I didn’t want to panic anyone. I also didn’t want them to run out all guns blazing. Not when my kids are inside. If there is any danger out here, I don’t want them getting caught up in the middle of it.

Padraig:Do you want me to go to Dylan’s and check the surveillance? I can be there in ten minutes.

Jaine:Yes. It may be nothing…

Padraig:Better to be safe than sorry, Jaine. Don’t move an inch.

Jaine:I won’t.

Padraig:Pinkie promise?

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