Back Cut and Run
Chapters (57)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. Chapter 1
  5. Chapter 2
  6. Chapter 3
  7. Chapter 4
  8. Chapter 5
  9. Chapter 6
  10. Chapter 7
  11. Chapter 8
  12. Chapter 9
  13. Chapter 10
  14. Chapter 11
  15. Chapter 12
  16. Chapter 13
  17. Chapter 14
  18. Chapter 15
  19. Chapter 16
  20. Chapter 17
  21. Chapter 18
  22. Chapter 19
  23. Chapter 20
  24. Chapter 21
  25. Chapter 22
  26. Chapter 23
  27. Chapter 24
  28. Chapter 25
  29. Chapter 26
  30. Chapter 27
  31. Chapter 28
  32. Chapter 29
  33. Chapter 30
  34. Chapter 31
  35. Chapter 32
  36. Chapter 33
  37. Chapter 34
  38. Chapter 35
  39. Chapter 36
  40. Chapter 37
  41. Chapter 38
  42. Chapter 39
  43. Chapter 40
  44. Chapter 41
  45. Chapter 42
  46. Chapter 43
  47. Chapter 44
  48. Chapter 45
  49. Chapter 46
  50. Chapter 47
  51. Chapter 48
  52. Chapter 49
  53. Acknowledgments
  54. About the Author
  55. Praise
  56. By Matt Hilton
  57. About the Publisher

Rickard’s bullets had shattered the femur in her left leg and had nicked an artery. Immediate fears that she would lose the leg were negated by the superb team of surgeons who worked on her through the evening and into the small hours. They saved the limb, but she’d never walk again without a limp. She also had to forgo her spleen and a portion of her liver to save her life. She spent the remainder of the night deeply anaesthetized and it wasn’t until the next day that she had related her story in a whisper that told more of continued terror than it did of the pain she was suffering.

If Rickard was allowed to live, Alisha would never shed that terror. Imogen too would live in fear of his promised return. For both their sakes I was determined to put the son of a bitch in a deep, dark hole. But my reason for hunting down the killer went way beyond that. He’d murdered people I’d once called friends, viciously torturing them and their loved ones in an insane attempt at punishing me. He’d murdered other innocent people too, and the list was long. I was his intended victim: he should have just come for me and had done. He’d fouled up and I hoped I was now going to get the opportunity to redress that.

It was the reason I’d accepted Walter’s “official sanction” and promise of immunity from prosecution—not the incentive of a hefty paycheck for getting the job done. Good friends that they were, Rink and Harvey agreed too.

One of the aircraft’s seven-man crew signaled that we were approaching our drop point. We’d been very specific about checking our gear but it didn’t hurt to check again. We went through the routine, then helped to check one another. We’d joked about landing on heads, but it was the last thing we wanted.

A light in the bulkhead went to red and we moved toward the open hatch at the rear of the plane. The crewman counted down and the light turned green. Harvey jumped out and it was like a giant hand had snatched him away. Rink followed and he too was gone in a blink. Then it was my turn. One step. No turning back now.