Murdock felt The Bridge dissipate.
Asher Benson had escaped. The joy of the chaos inside had kept Murdock from focusing on his mission. He’d let the mark get away.
He growled. Let his rage build.
The woman beside him sat perfectly still, streaks of mascara running down her cheeks. Murdock looked at her, his mouth contorting in disgust.
“Waiting for the bus? The world crumbles around you, and you’re waiting for the bus. People are being decapitated in the streets for a war that you support. A war you know nothing about. But you support the troops, correct? You have a ribbon magnet on the back of your car, and you think that constitutes support. You claim to have their interests at heart, yet you argue for them to be sent into harm’s way.”
He glared at the space where his ring finger should have been. “You sit on your couch and watch the news and think you know what’s going on. You give opinions on subjects you can’t possibly comprehend. I loathe you. I shall destroy you.”
She didn’t understand what he was talking about, but he didn’t care. At that moment, she encapsulated all of his hate—his fury. Her peaceful life stood in stark contrast to the horrors he’d endured. She had nothing and everything to do with his misery.
The woman would pay, like all the rest.
The gunshots inside the police station died down.
Brakes squealed from down the street as the bus approached. Murdock urged the driver to mash the gas pedal to the floor.
The woman rose from the bench. She walked to the front of the police station and turned around, facing the street. Her muscles quivered as she fought against his control.
No, please… so scared… why… dear God protect me…
The bus swerved from the street, crushing the front end of a small Honda. It hopped the curb, jostling those onboard. The passengers cried out. Most thought the driver was suffering a heart attack or an aneurism.
A garbage can crashed off the tall grill, clattering away, trash covering the sidewalk.
The bus accelerated even more.
The woman blubbered in Murdock’s mind as it approached.
He stood and looked over his shoulder at a camera perched atop a pole at the nearest intersection.
Said, “Pretty maids all in a row.”
The bus pierced the front of the police station, driving ten yards deep before coming to a halt. Two of the passengers flew through the windshield.
The woman’s pulverized body was amid the rubble.
Murdock made the decoy rise from the bench and cross the street. He watched the camera through the man’s eyes, ensuring that he was still in the frame.
An Escalade drove toward the man, the driver looking at the accident and not the road. Murdock forced the man to step in front of the grill at the last second. He released the man’s mind and watched as the SUV plowed into him at forty-five miles an hour.
The wig flew from the man’s head as the vehicle rumbled over him.
Murdock stood from the bench on the other side of the street and walked away.
It would take the government quite a while to figure out that body in the street wasn’t him. The security around his next objective would loosen if they assumed he was dead.
He focused on negating his limp as he rounded a corner and disappeared down a side street.