CHAPTER THREE
DALLAS
My focus must be razor-sharp tonight.
Get through security, retrieve my rifle, and take position. Easy.
Except I'm huddled in the janitor closet, gun in the case slung over my shoulder, keeping my breath steady while some of the conference staff stand outside the door and bicker over who gets to serve champagne to the two A-list celebrities who just arrived for the congressman's gala.
My palms grow damp in my gloves. It's too warm in here, and the stench of lemon is overpowering.
For fuck's sake, I wish they'd just play rock-paper-scissors and move on.
It's been ten damn minutes.
Long enough for my window of invisibility to shrink.
Long enough for my thoughts to wander to places they shouldn't. To an ice cream shop, and a woman too sweet and too innocent for a man like me.
I shouldn't have kissed her. But Jesus, the way she looked at me, with those teasing smiles and the sparkle in her eyes makingher so damn pretty. Her obvious disappointment when I was leaving... I don't know what came over me.
I had to have a taste of that forbidden sweetness. Just one.
Her body fit mine as if she were made for me. The feel of her curves, the press of her breasts... the way she gripped my jacket and held me close when I would have pulled away.
The kiss was unlike any I've ever had. It tugged at things I haven't felt in years. If ever.
In those few seconds, Gemma was pure temptation.
Another minute of her lips on mine and I might have chosen her over the job, the gala, and retirement. I would have spread her out on one of the little tables and...
I shut down my thoughts—again—and reach for the silence I've built a career on. I need it tonight more than ever. Memories of stolen kisses are for when I have space to breathe. Not stifling closets before a job.
The women finally move off,their champagne war resolved.It probably won't last half an hour, but that's not my problem. Hauling ass to the rafters unnoticed is.
The hallway is silent, so I crack the door and sweep the space.
Empty.
Now's my chance.
I make my way backstage, slip in behind two men moving sound equipment, and scale up to the rafters to the spot I chose in earlier recon.
Finally in position, my breathing evens out and my pulse settles.I assemble the rifle, slide the scope into place, and get my first good look at the event below. At least two hundred are here, mingling in their evening gowns and tuxedos while champagne flows and lies are swapped.
The congressman is among them, shaking hands and smiling as he works the crowd. No doubt trying to wring every dollar from their wallets for his Senate campaign.
He'll never live to spend them.
I clock the security detail at the exits and around the congressman, noting weapons and assessing threat levels. Townsend is either comfortable in his hometown or lax. There should be at least four more guards at an event of this size.
A dark smile teases my lips. If the man's going to make my last job easier, who am I to complain?
I follow him as he works his way to the stage and waves to the crowd. Someone steps forward to pin a mic to his jacket, while one of his security team flanks him, lips moving as he talks into an earpiece so conspicuous it may as well be neon green.
I relax further into my perch, steadying my breathing and blocking out ambient sound as I dial in the shot. Distance, air circulation, and movement all calculating in my head.
One last shot.
