No Sin Unpunished: A Faith McClellan Novel (The Faith McClellan Series Book 3) by LynDee Walker

Author:LynDee Walker [Walker, LynDee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn River Publishing
Published: 2021-03-01T16:00:00+00:00

21

The kayak sat undisturbed, a black plastic paddle nestled under the seat, supplies in the nose. Vaulting himself from the chilly water to the shelf, he slid it onto the smooth, black-glass surface of the lake and checked his watch. Two minutes eleven seconds.

He was late.

He pulled the paddle smoothly through the water, hunching his shoulders and ducking his head at the mouth of the cove. The water was receding after the rain, but still high.

No moon tonight—the water was flat, still, and dark, the cloak of night keeping the mission safe. Hidden.

Eighty-seven strokes, the only noise the rustling of his suits as he rowed, and he could reach the base of the dock. Time check: three minutes thirty-eight seconds. He stowed the paddle, grabbed the footer, and pulled the kayak up as close as he could get to the dock. Turning the small vessel, he pulled a length of soft cord from under his feet and looped it around the dock support, tying it off with a bowline knot. Nestled between the looming white bow of the yacht and the dock, the little kayak would disappear in a few minutes.

The location was a stroke of luck. Fate smiles on the righteous.

He scaled the ladder slowly, peeking over the end of the dock and scanning the marina. Still and silent, save for the gentle lapping of the water against the hulls of the boats.

Phase two was a go.

He reset the timer on his wrist as he stepped onto the wood planks and slipped sideways a few paces, vaulting again. His feet connected with the turf on the boat’s deck, soft and silent as a prowling cat. Twelve seconds to jimmy the flimsy lock on the sliding glass door from the deck to the living room, where a TV flickered a black-and-white movie, washing the room in a ghostly glow.

Through the kitchen to the fourth door on the right.

Two minutes forty-one seconds.

He paused, listening.

Behind the door, his target snorted and snuffled like he was turning up truffles in the forest. He smiled at the pig image. Fitting.

Backing up, he raised one foot and plowed it into the door. It splintered, pieces flying everywhere including the round king-size bed.

The snoring halted on a long, ripping snort, the target bolting upright under the crisp linen duvet. The room was dark, but he’d always been able to see well in the dark. Eyes like an owl, speed like a hawk.

Three minutes twenty-five seconds.

He moved closer, the cream linen of the bedclothes puddling around a waist that had seen too many rich meals and stiff drinks, making it hard to tell the difference between fabric and skin.

No matter.

“Wha—”

He pointed the wand. Pulled the trigger. Sprayed half-liquid death straight into his flopping mouth. Fire leapt to life, making the man on the bed a fire-breathing bastard for three ticks, sausage fingers decked in fat gold rings flying to his melting cheeks.

The flames swallowed the screams.

He pulled the trigger again. Gel flew. Landed. Ignited.

Flames fed.

The bed took thirty-one seconds.

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