March 31st, 2013
He really hadn't expected to see her again, not even the body.
Fury-darkened eyes watched the couple as they slept, ignoring the unpleasant feel of the tall ash tree between his legs and the darkness that only let him hear the animals padding restlessly below. They sniffed and pissed, tried to find a way into the truck he had right up against the thick trunk, but the furious Marine paid them little attention.
Kenn had found the sprawling ranch house just before dawn, hitting shapes in the fog that were either dogs or coyotes as they attacked his tires. He'd taken up a high vantage point to watch the windows as a dim, foggy morning lit up the area, sure she was in there. His starlight scope had penetrated seven windows, and then he'd found them.
Covers tangled, limbs entwined, they looked like a night of passion had worn them out. She wore only a sleeping shirt that barely covered her thighs, flashing white panties, and the man, the wife-stealing, walking dead man, had on a pair of green boxers that the intruder recognized even from a distance. They were Marine issue… Kenn's grip tightened on the sniper rifle in his hand, nails digging shallow grooves into the stock as his eyes saw dog tag, familiar Recon tattoos, and that careful look around upon waking that every Marine did.
Dread and cold rage formed a thick knot of hate deep in Kenn's gut. The man was one of the few people he'd ever felt threatened by. Brady was with Angela. Sergeant Marcus Brady was her show of force.
The Marine struggled with himself: the old Kenny wanting to aim and fire, the new Kenn not wanting to kill without justification, and he waited tensely to see just how close his wife and his team leader really were.