One shot. That’s all Max had, but at that close range, that would be all it would take.

A dead branch cracked in the darkness to Max’s left. He raised the butt of the shotgun to his shoulder.

Three and a half years of waiting for his conscience only to discover that he was the kind of man who could live with what he had done. Killing Mikhail had returned balance to the world. Killing Reed Harris would do the same.

Another crack, closer now.

Max searched the darkness for movement. He listened carefully for sound. He knew where Reed would enter the clearing and he aimed the shotgun at that spot. This would be a justified killing. Reed had killed three people and put two bullets into Lyle Voight. Reed deserved to die. Max pressed his finger against the trigger and sighted down the barrel.

Slowly, a shadow below took the shape of a man, stopping at the edge of the clearing. The jaundiced moon lit his form enough for Max to see Reed Harris, carrying his gun.

Max relaxed his jaw and breathed through his mouth, silencing the whistle of air that coursed through his nostrils. Reed scanned the clearing before whispering, “Pip, we gotta go.” He seemed out of breath.

Reed stepped carefully across the clearing, stopping directly below Max, the barrel of the shotgun no more than ten feet from the top of Reed’s head. One small pull of the trigger and Reed would drop, his skull opened to the night air.

Max felt nothing for the man. Reed Harris was a carcass, still breathing only because Max allowed it. Max knew that he would feel nothing once he pulled the trigger. No regret. No guilt.

Reed bent down to shake his son awake.

Max could easily kill Reed… but, he also knew he had a choice. Something powerful bloomed in his chest and Max thumbed the safety, locking it on. Then he lowered the butt of the gun down, gripped the barrel, and jumped out of the tree.

He landed on Reed’s shoulders, driving the butt of the gun into the back of Reed’s head. Reed dropped to his knees. Max rolled hard on the ground beside him, stumbling only a bit before squaring up, swinging the shotgun like a three-wood, and smashing it hard into Reed’s face, snapping his head back, the pistol falling from his hand.

Reed fell backwards and rolled down the hill, but jumped to his feet and immediately charged at Max, swinging blindly. Max dodged a right hook, the momentum carrying a dazed Reed past him. When Reed turned around, Max threw a haymaker into Reed’s face, catching him between the eyes and dropping him like a bag of oats.

Reed didn’t move, and for a second Max thought that he might have killed the man after all, but then a gurgled breath escaped Reed’s throat. Adrenaline coursed through Max’s veins. His heart thudded hard. He wanted to kick Reed in the face for what he had done to Lyle—he wanted to howl his triumph to the moon—but he put his hands on his knees, took some deep breaths, and tried to calm down.