As the phone clicked to silence, Nash swore. Pausing only to arm himself and throw on some shoes and his Kevlar vest, he slipped out of his own house and ran toward Robert’s. If there was a shooter, he’d be unlikely to expect someone approaching on foot. An actual shooter was probably already gone by now. Unless the mission was to kill rather than harass.
Was there really a shooter? Was there a mission?
If someone had used a suppressor, the sound wouldn’t have carried all the way to his house. But Rowan had said the sound of shooting woke her. Maybe she meant the sound of bullets striking the house or breaking a window. Until confronted with evidence that said otherwise, he had to assume he was stepping into a dangerous situation.
Toward the end of his driveway, he moved into the woods,
