Reporters would be lined up outside the pressroom door, techs inside checking mics and lighting, as cops got ready. French could see that, too: the captain with his cue cards, Martinez chewing his lip like it was made of bacon and butter.

The rifle was as familiar as an old friend, but nothing special, a Remington 760 in .308 with a Bausch & Lomb 4× scope. Not a sniper rifle, not even police issue. But .308 was the right cartridge.

French glanced over the parapet. The station was a block away, the first transformer half that distance, a gray, metal unit silhouetted at the top of a tall pole. Maybe it fed the station, and maybe not. There were options, though. A second transformer was twice as far and west, but still an easy shot. The third was on the other side of the station.

Two targets, then.

Maybe three.

French had no idea how many bullets it would take to short out a transformer. How thick was the steel casing? Was there one best place to hit?

Not enough time to worry about it.

French fed in cartridges, and chambered the first. Second thoughts? Not even close. He was running dark, and wanted the station the same way.

“For Gabrielle,” he said.

The first shot took out four city blocks.

Reece was drowning in a wealth of riches. First, he’d beaten X. No, he thought gleefully, broken him. X might pretend to be aloof, but he hated losing to anyone not considered his equal or his better. How many times had Reece heard him blather on about respect and clarity and purity of purpose? It was exhausting. Admittedly, there’d been a time when Reece had wanted that respect—had craved it, in fact—but things had gone a different way.

Not my fault …

The sense of richness dimmed for a moment, in part, he knew, because some piece of him still craved that admiration. There was also a splinter of fear he didn’t quite understand. X would never break his word, and he’d been very clear.

I won’t spend a dime …

The execution was only hours away, and he’d been plain on that point, too.

Once I am dead, you have nothing to fear …

For a moment more, Reece worried at the splinter, but just for a moment. X was nothing special, after all. Maybe that’s why Reece felt so out of sorts.

With a mental flourish, he returned to all the good he’d achieved. He had two boys in the cage, and he really couldn’t let them live. Lonnie had been right about that. He’d keep them alive until tomorrow, of course.

But after the execution?

Reece poured a glass of his father’s favorite bourbon.