Chapter One
Olivia St. Vincent typed the ammunition data into the keypad on the sniper rifle and then nestled her cheek against the stock's custom-fit pad. She waited for the information to be processed and her target to come into view. Keeping her attention on the boardwalk outside the open window, she caressed the silencer attachment and sighed. Powerful and lightweight compared to others, the rifle was her favorite and the only one of its kind. She wasn't sure how The Circle got their hands on the prototype, and she knew better than to ask. She'd used it twice in the last eleven months and had no complaints.
She inhaled the fresh salt air coming in and watched the few early joggers trotting along the boardwalk next to Elliot Bay. Almost the whole length was visible from the empty fourth story apartment. A strong wind picked up and splattered water off the windowsill onto her hands and the rifle even though she sat a good three feet from the opening. She grabbed a soft cotton cloth and stroked off the liquid. It had rained for ten days straight since she'd arrived in Seattle, and only twenty minutes ago had it stopped. To the north, a break in the clouds showed deep blue sky. A miracle. Good grief, she couldn't wait to get back home to Atlanta.
One moment, she was running her fingers across black metal, enjoying the bumpy finish. In the next, she was aiming at her target, taking a deep breath and then releasing it, relaxing, holding her trigger finger steady. He'd crossed the street and started down the boardwalk. Five foot eleven with a well-proportioned torso, he always wore the same dingy sneakers with orange Day-Glo stripes.
She squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds and inhaled. Time to concentrate on the job. The Circle had given her orders to eliminate him, and she was programmed to follow. Later she'd hear he was a child molester or a killer like herself. Why she should care one way or the other, she wasn't sure. Maybe knowing helped her sleep at night. Not that it would matter otherwise; she was a killer and good at what she did. She never really had a choice.
She waited as he'd jogged a little past the half-mile mark. His feet pounded in a steady rhythm as the early morning light glistened on shifting muscles. Like clockwork every day, he hit the pavement at sunrise, jogging down the same area. Only thing about predictability, it could be deadly.
The area around him was clear, no one nearby. He turned down a short pier. Only a few feet more and he would be at the mark. She cleared her mind and inhaled, holding her breath for the fraction of a second. She squeezed the trigger. The jogger's body continued straight ahead, propelled by the bullet's trajectory, and then he toppled off the edge of the pier and splashed into the water as his god-awful shoes tumbled across the boardwalk. Perfect shot. That was why they sent her.
Once she pressed a couple buttons on the gun's microcomputer, she scooted away from the tripod and stretched with arms up, bending her back, getting the kinks out. Her back popped. After an hour in one position, it was no wonder her body protested, no matter how much she worked out. She shook her head when the image of the body landing in the water tried to resurface. Think of the good she carried out. Her job eliminated those who preyed on the weak. She performed as a tool for the greater good.
Yes. That was it. She was a tool.
Thinking of tools, she smirked at the gun. The usual brutal recoil dampened by the hydraulic system always surprised her. The rifle worked like it should with little firing signature, a thump of air and only a small amount of flash at the end of the barrel. The suppresser did its job. Unless someone stared directly at her open window and caught the small flare, nothing gave away her location.
Damn! If she'd been a man, she would have a hard-on now. She loved her gun. Objects she could control. People were a different factor.
As she closed the window, a warm breeze caressed the fine hairs on her arm. She shivered. Yeah, she was ready to relieve the pressure that had been building up inside. Playing the waiting game and finishing the job always sent her seeking the only outlet from all the tension. Others used alcohol or drugs to forget for a little while what they'd done. Sex with an anonymous handsome stranger was her drug of choice. Someone clueless to what she did for a living. Someone who held her as she used them for release.
She looked out the window at the crowd gathering at the end of the pier. She jerked her gaze away. Concentrate on anything but the finished job. Think of the gun she loved to control. Think of the power she held. Think about sex. A strong, hard, hot male body always helped. Think about getting away and planning the next job.
She reached out and caressed the two marks she'd made on the butt of the rifle. Time for a third. Her fingers shook; tears threatened her composure. Drawing her hand into a fist, she took a few deep breaths and then with well-practiced precision broke down the rifle and placed the sections into her luggage. Another tremor started at her hand and vibrated down her torso, before she knew it her whole body shook. Why couldn't her body cooperate? She'd done worse, been worse. Taking several more deep breaths, she closed her eyes and imagined a swing on a long porch, pushing against the wooden floor with a bare toe. Back and forth. Finally, the shaking stopped, and she swiped at her forehead, surprised by the sweat she found there.
She glanced at her watch. Time to get her act together and pick up speed. By the time the authorities responded to a passerby's 911 call, she needed to be on the road, heading to I-90 and Denver. Unless someone noticed the spray of blood before he landed in the water, they would be clueless that he'd been hit by a sniper until they dragged the body out of the water.
Inside ten minutes, she sauntered out of the fingerprint-cleaned apartment, pulling a rolling safari-chic suitcase behind her while clutching a large tote on her shoulder. The black linen pants, tailored black silk blouse, and auburn hair piled on top of her head shouted business trip.
The clouds in the blue sky had separated allowing the sun to peek between the breaks. Emergency vehicles zoomed by and their echoing sirens bounced off the buildings. They headed toward the boardwalk further down the street as a small crowd pointed at the water.
About the time she walked the block and half to the parking deck and threw the luggage into the trunk of her rental, her cell phone vibrated.
"Yes, sugar booger." She loved irritating the hell out of her handler.
Jason Kastler thought he was God's gift to women, and she took every opportunity to remind him his good looks were good only for one thing, to play a Romeo, an operative who seduced women for information. Whenever he walked into a room, women watched his every move as if he was a walking sex toy. He hated it when she reminded him that men stared too. With his sun-kissed blond hair, vivid blue eyes, and six foot six frame, he needed someone carving off his massive ego.
"Sugar booger? Christ, woman, can't you be the least bit respectful?" His growl revved her engine.
Good looking and an orgasmic-inducing voice. It really was a shame. She could use him at the moment, though it would never happen. He liked to be the one in control. One thing about her, she always relished being the one on top.
"Respect is earned, doll. The job's done, and I'm heading to my next assignment's location. I already have a plan. Should take me a couple months to set up. I just need to scout the area," she said, ready to move on.
She tossed her purse to the passenger side and then slammed the driver's side door. Wasting no time, she had the cell phone plugged into the radio's speakers before cranking up the car. The state of Washington had a hands-free cell-phone law and ironically, considering her job, she followed all the traffic laws. The last thing she needed was to be pulled over for a minor infraction and be caught with the sniper rifle and numerous other weapons hidden on her person and in the rental.
"Change of plans … Theo wants you to return to the office. We have a ticket waiting for you at the airport." He was smiling. That light tone shouted his enjoyment in frustrating her.
