Two more days . . .
Jack stepped out of his Silverado and hesitated near the truck’s front end, keeping the thick engine block between him, the house, and anyone who might shoot. Besides, he wasn’t sure what mood Kat would be in.
The place appeared to be deserted. Not that anything looked different from last evening. Early morning sun reflected off the windows and exposed peeling paint beneath the eaves. The overgrown bushes near the long porch needed to go. Too easy for someone to hide behind and attack when entering the front door.
No birds chirped nearby. Something didn’t feel right. Kat wasn’t inside the house. A heavy sensation ran down his spine. Who was watching?
He stepped back and opened the crew door on his truck and pulled out a sawed-off shotgun. In the South, it was the weapon of choice against thieves and burglars. Using rock salt, the spray would cover anyone heading his way, and he didn’t worry about his aim, or killing anyone. Rather ironic considering the field of work he’d been in so long, but he was tired of people dying around him.