FRIDAY, 5:25 P.M.
NEW BASE OF OPERATION
The judge’s timetable had been shredded, but he was nothing if not flexible, and his plans were coming together regardless. Knowing this was the end, knowing he’d never have to feel this sick again, gave him the strength to finish. To follow through with his big plans. Some practice had been in order.
The mailboxes. The irony—he’d gotten the idea to die on his own terms from those kids who’d blown up his mailbox.
Then he’d needed something bigger—that cabin belonging to McKade, then the train depot.
He would push through to the finish. This would be like old times. They hadn’t stopped him before, and they wouldn’t stop him now.
He would go out with a bang, and they would pay with their lives this time.
He had a long night ahead of him, if he was going to keep his schedule. Nothing like a big event to go out in glory. He’d collected everything he needed months ago. Working in the shadows with only a flashlight, he kept up the pace, ignored the pain. It wouldn’t last forever, and he’d made it this far.
As he prepared his work of art, he thought back to that moment he opened the door to see the photographer standing on his porch.
There she stood—she and her sister, claiming he was their uncle. He hadn’t realized the photographer was one of Leslie’s girls when he’d tried to silence her. He should have seen the resemblance sooner.
He’d told them he wasn’t feeling well, and at the realization of who the photographer was, he’d gotten sicker than ever. He wasn’t sure what he thought about the fact that he had any feelings at all. Emotions. Remorse. Regret.
Those could destroy his mission. His cause. He’d let his cause languish as he laid low for far too long.
And now thanks to what he’d discovered in the camper while it was still in one piece, it was as if Providence had shined down on him and he’d found a fitting place to make his last stand.