Lightning Game (GhostWalkers #17) -Christine Feehan Page 0,111

information. It should be fun for them. This bozo says not to worry, he will handle everything here and won’t let anything happen to the package.

Rubin rubbed his temple, shaking his head. That was all they needed. A conspiracy. A double cross. Take him out when you have the shot.

I’ve got a clear shot to him right now. Rubin, once I do, we’ll have to move fast, pick a spot and get out of here. There are two left in camp. We don’t want them to get to their radios before we get to them.

Rubin marked his targets. He could hit them on the run. You take the leader, I’ll take the other two. “Luther, back us up, but stay out of the way. When we hunt, we don’t usually worry about anyone but the two of us.”

“You don’t worry about me. Do what you have to do.”

Rubin took the man at his word. He’d survived this long, and he’d had a good run knowing his own strengths. Let’s do this, Diego.

Diego, staying in the shadow of the tunnel so as not to chance alerting the squirrel man with movement, slid his rifle forward. He took better care of his rifle than any other piece of equipment he had. That rifle was a part of him. He knew every little quirk she had. Squirrel man came into his vision, barking orders to his men, anger on his face. Diego squeezed the trigger.

Rubin took his targets instantly, first one then the second one as he slid from the tunnel onto the ground and came up behind the brush he’d chosen, his guns in hand already firing a second time just to be certain. The sound of the bullets was so close they sounded as if they were on top of one another even though he’d fired two shots from inside the tunnel and two out.

Rubin’s targets were down and the squirrel man was crumpling, falling from the tree in a macabre, slow-motion fall that had him bouncing from branch to branch.

You certain he’s dead, Diego? Rubin remembered how difficult the squirrel men seemed to be to kill.

He’s dead, Diego confirmed.

Red-shouldered hawk flying over two soldiers just to the south of us, Diego said. They alerted to the sound of gunfire and are heading this way. One is talking into his radio.

Diego shared the exact images with Rubin so he could see where the two soldiers were and how fast they were coming toward them. The two brothers took off together, sprinting through the brush, rushing to intercept, staying low as they ran, keeping a space of about twenty feet.

The hawk above them let out a distinctive kee-ahh cry. The sound was one used for alarm or a claim on his territory. In this case, the bird warned Diego the soldiers were closing in on the two brothers fast. Diego dropped to one knee. Rubin did the same. This time, both men used the bow, wanting silence. They hadn’t had room in the tunnel, but here, in the woods, they did. Not only did Luther have bows and arrows, crossbows and arrows, he had explosives as well that could be fired using them.

They heard the two soldiers before they saw them. Heavy breathing. The snapping of twigs. A branch creaking as one of them shoved it out of the way. A muffled curse.

“Do you think that old man got him?”

“No way in hell. Something’s wrong with the radio is all. That old man is up there dead. That’s what the vultures are after.”

Diego and Rubin released arrows at the same time. They’d grown up hunting with arrows long before bullets. Bullets were a luxury. The arrows flew straight and true, going straight through the throats of both men. The second arrow took them through the heart.

Two over by Luther’s shack. They’re looking at the equipment. Met up with one of the sentries. The other sentry is on his way around. Must have called him, Diego reported.

They were bound to check the equipment.

One’s trying to start up one of the heavy-duty backhoes. It’s not cooperating. They don’t look too happy. In fact, the sentry is backing away from the guard. He looks nervous.

Diego and Rubin were already on the move, using the same sprinting pace they’d used before, running through the woods in a low almost crouch, a good twenty feet apart so they’d be difficult to spot. They knew the easiest and fastest routes from Huntington Falls to the Gunthrie cabin and