long. Slowly he inched it up, angling it to see out the window. The reflection was gauzy and translucent, but it framed the pickup well enough. He panned it sideways, trying to remember exactly where the guys had fallen. Trees and darkening sky, a blur, and . . . And Soren, walking toward the house with that same absent calm, the long combat blade in his right hand. Cooper yanked the fragment of glass down. His heart beat like a drunken drummer, heavy and out of whack. His palms were soaked, and blood dripped from a dozen small cuts. No way to get to the rifles, not without facing Soren.
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