He wanted to be inside with her, but he knew watching her from afar like this was more effective. He’d put on his face paint, more out of habit than true necessity. But then, he had no idea what this Handler asshole learned in prison or from the drug lord he’d worked for.His eyes scanned the area tirelessly—left to right, his periphery open to any movements. One agent remained inside the front door, just behind the closed blind. Every once in a while, Chris saw the man’s shadow when he shifted.He didn’t see anyone else passing the other front windows, which meant Jamie and Kevin were in the middle of the house, the kitchen. A good spot for them. Safe. Nearly untouchable unless a bullet got lucky.Two hours had passed since he’d arrived, one hundred and twenty minutes of him lying on the small stone retaining wall, staring at the house.Mark had always been his point man on missions—had been a damned fine sniper in his own right, one who had no problem letting Chris take the majority of the shots.
