Follow her, some deep and dark voice whispers.
I don’t. Of course I don’t. I don’t need to; I’ll know where she’s off to soon enough.
Time to head home and regroup, since I got what I came for. I know what uniform and van decal to use, and I know I can comfortably park on her street without attracting too much notice. Now I need to go collect what I need for the proper surveillance to start.
Hours later, I watch Madison Cooper return to her apartment from the back of my van. I stare long after the doors shut, wishing I’d thought to block off the spot right out front so she’d have further to walk and I could watch her longer.
As I feel the blood rushing to my dick, I curse. I need to calm down. She’s a proper stunner, but I can’t fuck Madison Cooper, as much as I’d like to. She’s a potential target, and the rules of being a hitman are straightforward.
1. Kill your mark
2. Don’t get caught
3. Don’t be stupid
Don’t have sex with someone you plan to killis well covered in that third category.
Still, I can’t help but wonder what put a woman so fine on the General’s radar, and whether she really deserves to be there. Excitement thrums in my veins at the prospect of placing all these bugs and cameras I’ve brought with me, both because it means I’ll soon be in her private space and because I’ll have unfettered access to her when I’m done. I can’t wait to get stuck in.
What kind of dirty little secrets is she hiding?
6
Madison
I’m not one to leave a diem un-carpe’d.
The café where I get Abuela’s favorite muffins, The Beanerie, is a few blocks from my apartment. It’s so cute and cozy with greenery and books lining the walls. The scent of espresso and the jazz music softly playing feel like a big hug. Sometimes I bring my laptop, order lunch, and sit in the corner to people-watch while I eat.
I can’t stay today—as usual, I’m running a bit behind—so I order my latte and muffins to go, tuck the white paper bag into my purse, and sit at one of the empty tables to wait for my drink. There were a few people ahead of me in line, so while I wait, I pull up the IRC and bite down on a smile when I see who’s online.
mermaidav: I’ve never thought to ask this, but I have a very important question.
SpyderMan: Oh?
mermaidav: Think carefully about how you answer. This could determine the course of our friendship going forward.
SpyderMan: I don’t think anything good has ever followed those words. Out with it. You’re making me nervous.
mermaidav: How do you take your coffee?
SpyderMan: Dumped down the sink.
The unexpected answer makes a laugh punch out from my chest, and I glance up to see if anyone heard the unflattering noise. The man at the table next to me looks up when I glance at him, but his attention is on his own small screen.
mermaidav: What?? Not even a latte? Not even a lavender latte? I swear, it’ll change your life.
SpyderMan: My energy comes fruit-flavored and canned, as God intended.
mermaidav: I’ll have to look it up, but I think that might actually be the definition of blasphemy.
SpyderMan: I’m dead to you now, I suppose.
mermaidav: Oh, you’re not going to get rid of me that easily. It takes a lot for me to let someone in, but once you’re in, you’re stuck with me for life. Can you tell I’m a Scorpio?
SpyderMan: Didn’t realize you were into astrology
mermaidav: What can I say? I’m a simple gal. I like lattes, star charts and books with wieners.
