The Empty Chair (Lincoln Rhyme 3)

"Five. But nothing personal, Mason, you ain't the best rifle shot in the world and there're three innocents in the field of target and if you ..." But his voice faded. There was only one place for this sentence to go and Nathan didn't want to accompany it there.

True, Mason knew, he wasn't the best shot in the world. But he'd killed a hundred deer. And he'd fired high scores on the state police range in Raleigh. Besides, good shot or bad, Mason knew that the Insect Boy had to die and had to die now.

He too breathed steadily, curled his finger around the

ribbed trigger. And found that Nathan had been lying; he'd never unsafetied the rifle. Mason now angrily pushed the button and started controlling his breathing once more.

In, out

He rested the crosshairs on the boy's face.

The redhead moved closer to Garrett and for a moment her shoulder was in the line of fire.

Jesus my Lord, you are making it difficult, lady. She swayed back out of view. Then her neck appeared in the center of the scope. She swayed to the left but remained close to the center of the crosshairs.

Breathe, breathe.

Mason, ignoring the fact that his hands were shaking far more than they ought to, concentrated on the blotchy face of his target.

Lowered the crosshairs to Garrett's chest.

The redh

ead cop swayed once more into the line of fire. Then she eased out again.

He knew he should squeeze the trigger gently. But, as so often in his life, anger took over and made the decision for him. He pulled the sliver of metal with a jerk.

... chapter sixteen

Behind Garrett a plug of dirt shot into the air and he slapped his hand to his ear, where he, like Sachs, had felt the zip of a bullet streak past.

An instant later the booming sound of the gun filled the clearing.

Sachs spun around. From the delay between the sound of the bullet itself and the muzzle report she knew the shot hadn't come from Lucy or Jesse but from a hundred yards or so behind them. The deputies too were looking back, guns raised, trying to spot the shooter.

Crouching, Sachs glanced at Garrett's face and she saw his eyes--the terror and confusion in them. For a moment, only an instant, he wasn't a killer who'd crushed a boy's skull or a rapist who'd bloodied Mary Beth McConnell and invaded her body. He was a scared little boy, whimpering, "No, no!"

"Who is it?" Lucy Kerr called. "Culbeau?" They took cover in some bushes.

"Get down, Amelia," Jesse called. "We don't know who they're shooting at. Might be a friend of Garrett's, aiming for us."

But Sachs didn't think so. The bullet was meant for Garrett. She scanned the hilltops nearby, looking for signs of the sniper.

Another shot snapped past. This one was a wider miss.

"Holy Mary," Jesse Corn said, swallowing the apparently unaccustomed blasphemy. "Look, up there--it's Mason! And Nathan Groomer. On that rise."

"It's Germain?" Lucy asked bitterly, squinting. She furiously pressed the transmit button on her Handi-talkie and shouted, "Mason, what the hell're you doing? Are you there? Are you receiving? ... Central. Come in, Central. Goddamn, I can't get reception."

Sachs pulled out her cell phone and called Rhyme. He answered a moment later. She heard his voice, hollow, through the speakerphone. "Sachs, have you--?"

"We've got him, Rhyme. But that deputy, Mason Germain, he's on a hill nearby, firing at the boy. We can't get him on the radio."

"No, no, no, Sachs! He can't kill him. I checked the degradation of the blood on the tissue--Mary Beth was alive as of last night! If Garrett dies we'll never find her."

She shouted this to Lucy but the deputy still couldn't raise Mason on the radio.

Another shot. A rock shattered, spraying them with dust.