Going Gone, Book 2 of the Irish End Games Read Online Free Page A

his tea out on the table in front of him, but he turned after a moment and walked out of the kitchen.
    The rest of the day was a quiet one between them, and Sarah would have cause to remember that, too. The fog had burned off and revealed a beautiful fall day, crisp and clear, the sky a blue so vivid she wished she had watercolors to capture it. Even the sun struggled out for several hours in the afternoon and Sarah wondered what John was doing with the fine day. Was he swimming with Gavin in the pond? Was he fishing? Was Mike showing him how to use the new hand-carved tools some of the men were making? She thought of Fiona and was grateful for the affection and warmth she knew she directed at John.
    It was just as she was pulling the pan of baked bread from the oven and feeling the thrill of a job well done—it had risen beautifully! —that she heard the noise from the road that zigzagged covertly up the hill above their cottage. She set the bread on the rack on the counter and went to the kitchen window, turning back a corner of the curtain she often thought of poor Deirdre hand-sewing as a young bride. The forecourt was empty and she tried to recreate in her mind the sound she thought she had heard.
    Situated as it was down a twisting hill covered and camouflaged by rampant ivy and scrub brush that prevented an easy view of the little cottage tucked away at the bottom like a jewel, the idea that casual travelers or wayfarers would happen upon the cottage was not readily believable. It was half the reason she and David decided to move into it.
    Had she imagined the noise?
    Having learned the hard way on more than one occasion the merit in taking action based on the safest course rather than a philosophy of what were the odds? Sarah stepped out of view from the window and dug out the loaded Glock pistol from a kitchen drawer. She had been standing in this very cottage the day three murdering gypsy ruffians had attacked her, though then she’d been armed with only a rolling pin.
    She held her breath and waited. Complete silence answered her. A stab of growing unease punctured her chest and begin to creep its way toward her throat. David had been working on the fence in the south pasture—the one closest to the house. The faraway ringing sound of his hammer against the metal studs of the wooden fence could be heard from the kitchen…or should be.
    There shouldn’t be complete silence.
    It had been many months since she had handled the gun, and she felt her nerves jump as she quickly checked the clip to make sure it was loaded. Her hands were moist and she took a moment to wipe them, one by one, on her apron. She edged over to the back door and peered out, taking care not to show herself in the window in the door.
    There were four of them. Three men were standing by David at the furthest corner of the pasture fence line, his tools lying discarded at his feet. He had his hands up as if to disarm them with his vulnerability. Sarah’s heart jumped when she saw him, saw them. From this distance, it was no wonder she hadn’t heard them, although she could see they were conversing. When one of the men raised the butt of his rifle to David’s face, he almost looked like he was pantomiming until he brought it crashing down, causing David’s head to snap back before he fell against the fence.
    Sucking in a horrified breath, Sarah flung open the kitchen door and was down the back steps and into the pasture, door banging shut behind her. She wasn’t the only one who heard it. As she ran, the gun she held in both hands pointing at the group of men in front of her, the tip of it bouncing up and down, she heard only her breath coming in jagged rasps and pants. She could see David on the ground.
    He wasn’t moving.
    She saw them turn—all three of them—to face her. The closer she got, she could see by their clothing that they were not Irish. They were not starving either. The man with