Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
There was one other vehicle in the open space near the house where seasonal workers used to park, and Sam pulled in next to it and then turned off the engine. He stepped down, the closing of the door echoing in the silent space. No sounds of machines. No animal noises. No music or laughter coming from the white house nearby. Sam moved slowly and cautiously toward the car, and when he peered inside, he saw a briefcase and what looked like real estate flyers.
Had something happened to the old man? Why else would he sell his farm? Something was very off.
Do you see me as a lucky man?
Adam loved this place.
Sam steeled his spine, experiencing the same eerie sense of wrongness he’d felt in Macau.
His head pivoted as he walked slowly to the barn and entered the small room where he’d slept. His skin prickled with the sense that someone had been here looking for him, someone who knew very well who he was. His duffel bag was still there, though it’d been moved, and the zipper was halfway open. And when he did a quick search of his belongings, he found that nothing was missing, furthering his suspicion that the person who’d rifled through his things, did so more for identification than theft.
Sam knelt near the cot where he’d slept and pried up the floorboard and removed the weapon he’d hidden there.
That was when he saw the shoe print in the dust on the floor. Much larger than the average man’s. One very close to Sam’s own size but with a different tread. His stomach clenched as he stood and secured the gun in the waistband at the back of his pants. Yes then, one of them had been here. How had he fooled himself into thinking they wouldn’t catch up with him eventually?
He heard the man’s footsteps just as he’d stepped from the dim interior of the barn out into the light of day. One seventy-five at most judging from the sound of his feet, five ten from the shadow on the ground. Sam sized the man up before he’d even come into view, relieved it wasn’t one of them. Whoever it was, Sam could take a man of that size easily, but still, he pressed his body against the side of the barn, hoping a physical altercation wouldn’t be necessary.
“Hello? Who’s there?”
Sam’s breath released slowly, shoulders lowering as he moved away from the barn.
“Holy shit!” the man said, coming up short when Sam appeared. His gaze flickered over Sam, and he took a slight step back. “Hi. I thought I heard a vehicle.” He held his hand out. “I’m Joe. I’m the agent for this property.” He glanced down at the camera hanging around his neck. “I’m just taking a few pictures.”
Sam lifted his duffel bag. “I used to work here. I came back for this. Why is the farm for sale?”
Joe shook his head and gave a small grimace. “Sorry to have to tell you, but the owner of the farm was murdered.” He shook his head as a buzz took up under Sam’s skin, the word echoing: murdered, murdered, murdered. “Awful thing. Tied up and then shot point-blank. Apparently, he employed a lot of riffraff so—” The man’s eyes widened as he obviously remembered that Sam had just identified himself as the hired riffraff. “But anyway, the police suspect one of them but don’t have any leads. The deceased owner’s family is local but weren’t interested in running a farm, so it’s up for sale at a real bargain. Just moved the animals out yesterday to their new homes, but the equipment is all still here. Don’t suppose you’re in the market for an apple farm, are you?” Joe attempted a grin, but it quickly faded when Sam simply stared, mouth pressed into a firm line, the monster inside him rumbling and rising and rattling his chains.
Someone had killed Adam. Tied him up and assassinated him.
Someone with a size fourteen or fifteen boot who Sam suspected had been looking for him.
“When did this happen?” he asked, forcing his voice through his lips.
Joe scratched the side of his neck. “Oh, the same day as that school shooting in New York City. I don’t remember the date, but I remember thinking, damn, it was a violent day. What in the hell is wrong in the world?”
Sam held the howl back with increasing effort. It wouldn’t do for Sam to scare Joe so that he reported him. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he forced himself to say. “He was a decent man.” And it was because of Sam that he was dead. He pointed in the direction where he’d parked the truck. “The truck belonged to Adam. I got held up returning it, but there it is.”
Sam turned away as Joe said, “Oh. Okay. I’ll tell his family. Er, have a good day!” he called.