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Through the scope I saw two occupants in the front seats, neither of them Lucas Smith.The passenger door opened. A heavily muscled man stepped out and opened the back door. Reaching in, he manhandled Callie out. She stumbled, falling to one knee and he hauled her up carelessly by the arm. I noticed plastic cuffs binding her wrists, her hair in disarray. Fury threatened to overwhelm me. Breathing deeply, I found calm, icy calm.Moving my aim, I checked the driver, then swung back to the muscle. Less than two inches movement from this distance. One second.Concentrating - there was no room for error - my heart rate slowed. Hands stilled. Body relaxed. Rifle butt snug to my shoulder, I aimed at the driver, stopped breathing, and gently squeezed the trigger.The shot was loud, echoing across the cemetery, the rifle butt shoving back at me. The Suburban’s windscreen cracked like a spider web around a hole. Without breathing, before the second man could react, in under a second, a second shot. ‘I’d rather just blame that on the amnesia,’ I said. ‘A convenient lie,’ he joked. ‘Scott… I think I’m going to keep calling you that for now… you’re avoiding talking about something.’ He was silent for a moment while onions sizzled in a pan. ‘I know,’ he said solemnly. ‘Let’s talk about that after dinner, OK?’ ‘Alright,’ I conceded. I tried to think of something happy. ‘Tell me about Thailand,’ I said. Without looking up from the pans in front of him, Scott smiled. ******* We ate dinner on the living room rug. Cheryl had sent steaks and wine. I think she was hoping things were going well between us. I wished it was a bit colder outside, cold enough to warrant a fire. As we ate, Scott turned the pages of the scrapbook, filling in the stories of our trip to Thailand. We had been married almost two years. When we had gotten married, funds were low. My mother had cut me off financially, thinking she could bully me away from the path I was on. We used what little we could spare.
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