Contract to Kill by Andrew Peterson Read Free Book Online Page B

flashed brightly. Four times. Were they taking pictures of the bodies? He then watched Mason open the driver’s side door of the SUV, sit down, and remove his shoes. He placed them in a garbage bag and handed it to Hahn. At the sedan, Hahn did the same thing and passed the bag to Darla.
    Mason and Hahn got into the sedan, while Darla climbed into the SUV. Both vehicles remained dark as they left the soccer field.
    Toby scrambled down the bank and lay flat next to the outfield fence.
    In thirty seconds the vehicles would be on top of him.
    He’d always believed he was fairly tough, but this sickening feeling of being unarmed and helpless hammered his nerves. He considered bolting again, but knew he’d have no chance against their NV devices. He’d be spotted for sure.
    It didn’t take a vivid imagination to know what would happen if they stopped. Toby could fight, but he was no match for three of BSI’s top military contractors armed with laser-sighted pistols.
    The menacing hiss of tires grew louder, and he pressed his forehead into the grass. No more than ten feet away, the two vehicles reached his position. Close to vomiting, Toby clenched his teeth. If the windows of the vehicles were down, they’d hear his retching for sure. Fighting the rising bile, he forced himself to breathe through his nose.
    The horrid image of Hahn kicking the downed man in the face invaded his mind. The blow must’ve destroyed the man’s nose—a cruel thing to do before killing him.
    Adding to Toby’s misery, his wet uniform stuck to his body like frozen plate steel.
    Keep going . . .please keep going.
    Then, as slowly as it had arrived, the sound of crunching tires receded to the south, back toward the fire-access gate.
    Toby sucked in a lungful of air and nearly vomited.
    His bladder suddenly burned. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed to pee.
    When the trailing sedan was far enough away, he eased into a kneeling position and took more deep breaths. He was tempted to stick a finger down his throat and just get it over with, but the worst of his fear had passed.
    He used the NV to locate the vehicles at the southern edge of the complex. They turned west along the outfield fence where he’d seen the single set of tire tracks on the way out here. In fifteen more seconds, they’d be outside the property and no longer posing a threat.
    Toby couldn’t wait any longer. He unzipped and relieved himself while kneeling.
    Getting up slowly, he looked at the prone forms on the soccer field.
    Neither of them moved.
    He’d heard of cases where people lived after being shot in the head, but how likely was that? Now wasn’t the time for heroics, in any case. For all he knew, someone could be coming to sanitize the scene.
    He watched Hahn close the gate behind the two vehicles and hoped they’d turn left out of the driveway. If not, they’d cruise past his parked Sentra.
    In a full sprint, he took off toward the tombstone-like structure, and sixty seconds later, he arrived at the fire-access gate. Breathing heavily, he retraced his steps across the weeds and noticed Mason had replaced the cut lock.
    He illuminated his watch and saw just under thirty-five minutes remained. Should he call 911? He knew he couldn’t use his cell phone to do it. What about a pay phone? No, that wouldn’t work—all 911 calls were recorded.
    He needed time to think, time to settle his nerves. What about car trouble? A dead battery. With the fog and mist, it would make a believable excuse to be late. But even late, how was he supposed to walk into BSI headquarters like none of this had happened? And he certainly couldn’t show up in a wet, disheveled uniform. The spot where he’d lain flat to avoid being seen hadn’t been solid grass. There’d been muddy patches. No way. There was no way he could go to work tonight, but it was bad form to call in sick with less than an hour’s notice.
    Bad form?
    He’d just witnessed a double murder, committed by his