35
First Blood
Dixie Farm Road, Pearland, Texas.
After Peyton had stepped out and started walking across the street, Brock and Will were glued to the computer monitors in the RV. On the screens were the views from the hidden surveillance cameras. The RV was parked a hundred yards from the run-down dwelling, the overgrown lawn of which was strewn with Harley Davidson motorcycles and empty beer cans.
“She’s really going to do this, isn’t she?” Brock said as he rubbed his eyes.
“Damn straight. She’s in deep kimchi now, compadre. Enemy territory for sure.”
“I can’t stand this. I’ve got to stop her.”
But before Brock could stand, Will placed a vice-like grip on his forearm. To Brock, Will’s fingers felt like the talons of an eagle.
“You aren’t stopping s**t. You heard her, man. You saw
