Page 10 of Chasing Grace
To compensate for the cloud cover, she adjusted the dials, increased the shutter speed, lowered the aperture, and took a few test shots. A few more tweaks and she found the perfect sharpness her photographs were known for.
The darker side of life captured through a viewfinder for the entire world to see. This was her calling. Her reason for being. And despite what her father thought about her choice of careers, she was good at it.
Really fucking good.
Yeah, she had nothing to prove. Not to the man who brushed her aside whenever she needed him most, forever prioritizing his country over his daughter. So why she kept trying to get his attention, taking one more dangerous assignment after the next to capture the shot no one else could, she had no idea.
Habit maybe? A deep-seated desire to piss her father off?
Whatever. Didn’t matter. Nothing she did ever mattered to him.
Across the lake, a fast-moving SUV came into view on the gravel road leading to the lodge, a dust cloud left in its wake as it snaked through the trees. Here to work, Gray put all thoughts of her father aside and focused on what she did best.
Point and shoot.
Okay, Jackson. Let’s see what’s shaking.
CHAPTERFIVE
Chase’s hopesfor a positive outcome kicked up a notch as Victor Bodak stepped through a set of open double doors onto the wide deck surrounding Kalamalka Lodge. Flanked by his second in command, Sam Black, and his head of security, Grant Kincaid, the arms dealer looked short, fat, and outmatched.
With a signal from Kincaid, men with guns took strategic positions around the compound and surrounding area. An extra precaution in advance of the arrival of the SUV making its way along the single access road leading to the lodge.
Holy shit. Could this be it? Chase leaned forward, angling for the best view through the pine branches. His assignment couldn’t be simpler. Get eyes on Wright. Record an image for later identification. Don’t get caught. He’d done this type of recon mission a hundred different times. In a hundred different ways. In far less ideal conditions.
None had ever been as important as this. If Wright occupied that vehicle, and Chase made a verifiable ID, it could mean the end to one of the greatest threats ever encountered on US soil and thousands of American lives saved.
Upon entering the clearing in front of the lodge, the driver slowed the Range Rover to a crawl before coming to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. Time stood still as the luxury SUV continued to idle.
Next to Black, Victor Bodak started to fidget like a virgin on prom night. A dead giveaway, he was seriously fucking nervous about this meet and greet. A surprise considering his status as one of the most notorious arms dealers in modern history.
Or maybe not, given his balls were in Wright’s purse. The mastermind behind Bodak’s rapid ascent to the top of the arms race, Wright supplied Bodak with information on everything from which competitors to knock off to which enforcement agency was coming for him and when.
In exchange, Bodak placed weapons in the hands of those corrupt governments, illegal regimes, and rebel criminals sanctioned by Wright personally. In other words, Mr. Wright was a manufacturer of war, business was booming, and according to his manifesto, Americans were next in line to die.
Jesus, after two long years, Chase hoped like hell he was about to put a face to the fake name, but with the rear windows tinted black and a privacy screen in place, he couldn’t make out anyone in the back seat of the car.
“Come on, motherfucker. Show your face,” he mumbled as the wind kicked up.
At that moment, three things happened simultaneously. The driver’s door swung open. The sun emerged from the cloud cover like a benediction. And there was the briefest of glints off something reflective on the north face of Cougar Canyon.
Then the car blew.
The boom hit his eardrums seconds before the orange fireball reached for the sky.
The force of the blast flipped the vehicle into the air, where it executed a half gainer. Coming down grill-first the SUV rolled onto what was left of the roof before a second explosion spun the hunk of metal 360 degrees, and car parts flew in every direction.
Fucking hell. No chance Wright had just blown himself to smithereens. So, a warning to Bodak for insisting on the face-to-face. Anger tightened Chase’s grip on the binoculars. Another dead end. The JTT was losing the war on terror, and the people they worked for weren’t going to be happy about it.
The first to recover from the car bomb, Sam Black jumped to his feet from his position of ass over teakettle on the deck. As smoke continued to billow from the flaming wreckage, he attempted to haul Victor Bodak upright. Grant Kincaid made it a group effort, and together they hustled their boss inside like a rag doll.
Moments later, Black reappeared with a high-powered sniper rifle. He set his tripod on top of the large stone post anchoring the handrail around the deck and sighted the scope across the lake.
Even though he knew it was impossible, for a second, Chase thought he’d been made. Then Black took aim high and to the right. Still recording, he followed the line of sight, and that’s when crap went right into what-the-fuck territory.
Sometime between the arrival of the Range Rover and the explosion, the hella sexy climber had morphed from weekend adrenaline junkie to in-the-wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time action photographer.
Telephoto lens obscuring her face, she shot frame after frame, her hands rapidly adjusting dials and working the manual focus. Caught in Black’s crosshairs and oblivious to the danger, she continued to snap pictures until the bullet meant for her missed by inches.
