Antsy, I crouched onto the ground and opened the case to my MK22 sniper rifle. The black velvet interior gleamed like a coffin lid peeled back. Piece by piece, I laid the weapon onto the sticky carpet. Barrel, scope, stock—each click and lock, a hymn to my obsession.
“What did you do with the voicemails from Natasha to her dad?” I asked.
“Scrubbed,” she muttered while my fingers ran along the barrel—nice and slow. I’d be all over Natasha like this, soon.
“And his calls to them?”
“There were so many. Erased all of his to Lachlan, but I left one voicemail accessible to his daughter,” she mumbled.
Huh. She left one on Natasha’s phone. The stroking ended, and I lifted the stock against the pocket of my shoulder. Beautiful. This wasn’t a perfect fit for all. For me, though? Yep. Perfection. I muttered as much in Italian. “Perfetto.”
“Here we go, the Italian lover.” Rain rolled her eyes.
I sited perfectly, muzzle aimed. Right. Between. Rainita Howard’s eyes. “Come again?” I asked, voice as smooth as the fine caresses I’d offered this beauty.
Through the scope, I readjusted the dial, narrowing my eyes onto Rain. From a creamy tan blur to live, vivid, and fearful … I caught her in my crosshairs. Her pulse quickened. The visual so sharp, I counted her inhales. Shallow, shaky, fast. Those much too-small breasts—not Natasha’s size—heaved faster.
“I can’t”—I reached above the grip and clicked off the safety—“hear you. Got anysuggestionsfor my Italian accent?”
“It-it sounds genuine.”
“I know. Perfected it myself. Now, you said something about leaving a call from Vassili available on Natasha’s phone.” A lethal threat laced my tone. “Make me understand.”
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was more breathy than audible. “I’m sorry, Enzo. For authentication reasons, I didn’t wipe all Vassili’s voicemails from Natasha’s phone. By now, she’s aware of her father’s concerns. He’d call her. She knows that.”
“So true.” With a twist of the dial, I blurred her face against the scope’s glass, reducing her to obscurity. “This is such a lovely mind game. My father used to do that, Mama said. Disappear behind a charming grin, until his fist snaked out.”
“I th-thought you said he only hit her once? She went into labor?”
Ugh. Mama. Her story constantly changed.But I preferred the beauty of him only hitting her the one time.To.Meet.Me. “Why are you asking me questions and not answering mine?”
Rain picked at her fingers. “Va-Vassili … can’t reach her. She can’t dial him on her phone or Lachlan’s. Anytime they call, fake rings precede the usual voicemail prompt.”
“What about the cousin?” I asked.
“What’s her name?”
“Itoldyou her name, Corporal Rain Howard.”
Her voice became a soft stutter. “I-I’m sorry. I forgot. Please tell me again.”
“First, you ask me a question. Now, you want me to repeat myself.” Chuckling, I pulled the trigger.
“Ahhhhh!” Rain’s eyes snapped shut.
“You are so silly. There’s no magazine in the stock,cara.You practiced with these guns, right? Before going to cyber ops?”
“I-I …”
At this point, I doubted her ability to think coherently, let alone speak. My father used to tell Mama she wasn’t allowed to forget things either. And when she did … well, she showed me pictures of her in long sleeves during summer. After her death, a therapist mentioned how she suffered from some …diagnosis. Something where her mind got confused during stress. Utter crap! Nothing was wrong with Mama! I’d walked out when the therapist muttered something about genetics.
My thoughts went haywire. Italian curses. I cleared my throat. “Mirror Simona’s voice,” I began. “Call Natasha. Let her know—as Simona—that she’ll handle Natasha’s father. I don’t want Natasha worrying.”
Rain caught my eye, a sign of defiance. “Okay.”
“Good. Let’s make her feel better?”
“Okay. This will work if Simona has a personalized voicemail. Can’t process a deepfake without a sample of her voice.”
