1
Alec
These are my least favorite types of jobs.
I crouch in the bushes across from her house, 4K night vision binoculars pressed to my eyes, tracking my target as she paces through her tiny apartment.
I can’t believe anyone would want to live in a place that small. But she doesn’t have much in the way of assets—at least according to my research.
I’m still not sure why Boss took this job. Although it’s not really our MO to refuse work. We’ll do dirty jobs for anybody with the money to pay.
I suppose that’s as good as I can hope for at this point. Retail or food service wouldn’t even take me.
The target, Claire Andrews, is still pacing. Tallish for a woman—about five-eight. Twenty-five years old. No family to speak of. On her own since before she turned eighteen.
My job today is to scare her into silence so she’ll stop blackmailing the client.
I don’t have many details on him. Just some high-and-mighty politician. Theodore McDowell Jr.
When we met to discuss the job, something about him sat wrong with me. The way he smiled too wide while describing what he wanted done to this woman. The way his eyes stayed flat and cold even as his voice dripped with charm. He’d laughed at one point—said something about howsome people just need to learn their place—and the hair on the back of my neck stood up.
Should’ve listened to that instinct. But the money was good.
There’s no one else around. If I’m going to scare the fuck out of this young woman, now’s the time.
Still, I give it a few more minutes. Years of caution have taught me anything can go wrong at any moment. Just because you can’t see a threat doesn’t mean it’s not there.
I won’t be caught with my pants down again.
Tracking her through the sight, I zoom in. She’s not just pacing. She’s upset. Brow furrowed, drawn low over light eyes.
For a split second, another face flashes in my vision. Martinez. The way he looked at me right before the ambush—confused, trusting, waiting for my signal. The crack of gunfire. The wet sound of bullets finding flesh.
I blink hard.
Not now. Focus.
She’s thin. Moves with a grace that would put most people to shame, even while pacing like a caged animal. Warm beige skin.Brown hair that dangles down her back until she yanks it up into a messy bun.
I’m an expert at body language. Everything about her reads nervous. Anxious.
Scared.
That doesn’t match the cold, calculating blackmailer the client described. Nothing he told me lines up with what I’m seeing.
That’s when it hits me.
I’ve been told to intimidate this woman into silence. But silence aboutwhat?
That asshole Teddy wasn’t honest with me. The guy is in the wrong here. I’d bet my life on it.
I watch people for a living. All my instincts are screaming that this woman isn’t the bad guy.
She’s the one who needs help.
She turns toward the window, and even through the grainy green of night vision, I catch the delicate line of her jaw. The soft curve of her neck.
It hits me like a punch to the gut.
