drugging himself with the beating of her pulse. He thrilled as he felt his effect on her under his lips.
“Jack?” she questioned, but her mouth was already tilting up to meet his. Eyes were fluttering closed.
He lightly touched his lips to hers, barely even a whisper, but the earth seemed to tilt and fall out from under his feet. He couldn’t hear anything but the beating of his own heart and his own ragged breathing as he crushed her to him. He plundered her mouth, taking all she offered, demanding more than he could give, drowning in the taste even as he cursed himself for doing so.
* * * *
High on the roof of the restaurant across from the library, Shadow’s finger rested heavy on the trigger of his AK-47. From his rather interesting viewpoint he could see the Corrigan woman had taken the writer for a lover, tacky little slut. It paid to research your targets and their associates. It figured. Oceans draw rivers. Thinking back to the conversation with Gueraldi, he wondered why he’d taken the job.
“Shadow, I wish I could say it was pleasant, but our business is anything but. Make sure to do it in a public place. I want it to look random, but I’m sure Corrigan will still get the message.”
Shadow, as most who had acquired his services knew him, was a marksman for hire. “No kill shots?” he asked.
“No, try to exercise some amount of control, but make it bloody,” Gueraldi rasped into the phone. “Otherwise…”
He’d make sure of it. He was under contract after all, but she’d still suffer plenty. He craved the sound of bullets ripping into flesh and the agony of screams that followed, but either way he’d get paid. “Consider it already done. My usual fee?”
“Will be transferred upon completion.”
The line went dead.
Shadow had been following the woman for him since the day she touched down on American soil. He’d watched as she and the man got into the old vintage car outside her brother’s house. He let them get a couple lengths ahead, then followed .
Now here he was, rifle sighted, perched alert like a damn squirrel. He might have been uncomfortable, but he was already lost in the hunt. Predator scented prey. He craved blood, waited to taste the kill. Disgraceful, he complained silently, climbing all over him in public, a man she’d only met a few days ago. He just needed a clear shot. It was all he was waiting for. He could have killed the writer first, but he didn’t work for free. The writer had his back turned to him, blocking his view of the woman. Then his good luck came through. They broke apart. He checked and reloaded the clip. Sighted and took the shot.
* * * *
Jack’s head reeled when he stepped back to look at her. It was different, something, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. “My God, Liv, what the hell was that?” Her eyes were still shuttered, her face flushed. She didn’t answer. She probably hadn’t regained a working brain cell to come up with one yet; he barely had. He decided to kiss her again and answer his own question. Something clicked. Something inside him he thought he’d buried.
Danger. It wasn’t coming from the woman he still held, at least not all of it. He watched her pale at the flash coming from the building across the one way street. Even as she shouted, the shot rang out. Instinct made him knock her to the ground, using his body as a shield.
Jack grunted as the bullet struck him in the shoulder. Another shot sounded and struck the tree just above Liv’s head, splintering the wood and slicing her forehead.
“Liv, stay down. Are you okay?” He shook her.
She didn’t say anything, only stared at the trees and their unseen assailant. Why? Who? Visions of red hair and white silk scored his mind. He’d be damned if he’d let another woman die because he hadn’t been fast enough. “Unless you’re dead or unconscious, you’d better say something.” Fear and pain added the heat to his words.
Her voice shook, but she said,
“Jack?” she questioned, but her mouth was already tilting up to meet his. Eyes were fluttering closed.
He lightly touched his lips to hers, barely even a whisper, but the earth seemed to tilt and fall out from under his feet. He couldn’t hear anything but the beating of his own heart and his own ragged breathing as he crushed her to him. He plundered her mouth, taking all she offered, demanding more than he could give, drowning in the taste even as he cursed himself for doing so.
* * * *
High on the roof of the restaurant across from the library, Shadow’s finger rested heavy on the trigger of his AK-47. From his rather interesting viewpoint he could see the Corrigan woman had taken the writer for a lover, tacky little slut. It paid to research your targets and their associates. It figured. Oceans draw rivers. Thinking back to the conversation with Gueraldi, he wondered why he’d taken the job.
“Shadow, I wish I could say it was pleasant, but our business is anything but. Make sure to do it in a public place. I want it to look random, but I’m sure Corrigan will still get the message.”
Shadow, as most who had acquired his services knew him, was a marksman for hire. “No kill shots?” he asked.
“No, try to exercise some amount of control, but make it bloody,” Gueraldi rasped into the phone. “Otherwise…”
He’d make sure of it. He was under contract after all, but she’d still suffer plenty. He craved the sound of bullets ripping into flesh and the agony of screams that followed, but either way he’d get paid. “Consider it already done. My usual fee?”
“Will be transferred upon completion.”
The line went dead.
Shadow had been following the woman for him since the day she touched down on American soil. He’d watched as she and the man got into the old vintage car outside her brother’s house. He let them get a couple lengths ahead, then followed .
Now here he was, rifle sighted, perched alert like a damn squirrel. He might have been uncomfortable, but he was already lost in the hunt. Predator scented prey. He craved blood, waited to taste the kill. Disgraceful, he complained silently, climbing all over him in public, a man she’d only met a few days ago. He just needed a clear shot. It was all he was waiting for. He could have killed the writer first, but he didn’t work for free. The writer had his back turned to him, blocking his view of the woman. Then his good luck came through. They broke apart. He checked and reloaded the clip. Sighted and took the shot.
* * * *
Jack’s head reeled when he stepped back to look at her. It was different, something, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. “My God, Liv, what the hell was that?” Her eyes were still shuttered, her face flushed. She didn’t answer. She probably hadn’t regained a working brain cell to come up with one yet; he barely had. He decided to kiss her again and answer his own question. Something clicked. Something inside him he thought he’d buried.
Danger. It wasn’t coming from the woman he still held, at least not all of it. He watched her pale at the flash coming from the building across the one way street. Even as she shouted, the shot rang out. Instinct made him knock her to the ground, using his body as a shield.
Jack grunted as the bullet struck him in the shoulder. Another shot sounded and struck the tree just above Liv’s head, splintering the wood and slicing her forehead.
“Liv, stay down. Are you okay?” He shook her.
She didn’t say anything, only stared at the trees and their unseen assailant. Why? Who? Visions of red hair and white silk scored his mind. He’d be damned if he’d let another woman die because he hadn’t been fast enough. “Unless you’re dead or unconscious, you’d better say something.” Fear and pain added the heat to his words.
Her voice shook, but she said,
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