One last payday.
Townsend says something to the crowd and motions to his left.
My finger slides over the trigger. I hold my breath, ready.
Townsend’s in the crosshairs. Just as I start to squeeze, a woman joins him on stage.
A shapely leg followed by curves wrapped in green satin appear in my scope. Curves I've held.
My brain refuses to process what I'm seeing.
Then her bright smile fills my scope.
Gemma.
My breath stutters, and my finger jerks off the trigger.
What the fuck is she doing here?
She's radiant in the ballgown, with her hair pinned up exposing her creamy shoulders. The satin hugs her breasts and hips before falling in a long skirt with a deep slit. She looks like a goddess completely unaware that she's standing close to my target.
Too close.
The rifle feels heavy in my hands.
I don't take the shot.
Sound rushes back to me, almost deafening, but three words ring out in perfect clarity.
"My daughter, Gemma," Townsend says proudly.
Fuck! That's why I knew her name. From his dossier.
Gemma's lips tighten a fraction as she looks at her dad.
Through the scope I see him whisper, "Smile, sweetheart." Then to the crowd, "Everything I do, I do for my family."
The crowd claps wildly, like he’s just declared world peace.
Townsend raises his hand to quiet them, continuing his banal speech.
Suddenly, a shot rings out.
The congressman’s body jerks. Blood blooms across the tuxedo shirt, and he falls.
People scream as another shot follows, dropping the bodyguard.
Gemma grabs for her father and stumbles beneath his weight, falling to her knees beside him.
Another shot. This one hitting the podium where she'd just been standing.
Fuck no.
I swing my rifle toward the source of the shots, anger boiling in my gut.
This was my contract. My last hit, and it sure as hell didn't include his daughter. What trigger-happy asshole is?—
A bullet slams into the railing an inch to my left just as another shot rings out.
