Hunter Sullivan was flat on his stomach, staring through the binoculars, his dark eyes fixed on the farmhouse in the distance. He saw Michael Ferguson go to the car again, carrying what looked like a suitcase this time. He looked around and even from this far away, Sully could see that he was on edge, ready to snap.
Ferguson went back into the farmhouse and Sully waited, not lowering the binoculars for even one second. When Ferguson re-emerged dragging the bound, gagged man, Sully almost groaned aloud. This was the nightmare scenario that he and his boss Dallas Foreman had discussed – and now it was playing out right in front of his goddamn eyes.
Fuck. Nobody’s going to like how this ends.
Ferguson shoved the man into the front seat on the passenger side and said something. The man nod
