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“One,” she whispered. She didn’t wait to watch him fall but moved to the next target. Five seconds until the report from her rifle reached their ears. Five seconds for five more kills.
Two…
Three…
Four…
Five…
Six…
Grace didn’t stop to check the accuracy of her shots. She never missed a target. She hung her rifle on a tree branch, already missing the feel of it in her hands. Time was of the essence now, and she couldn’t afford to be burdened with too much equipment—she’d have to leave it behind. The new guards would be driving up soon for the shift change, and she had to be long gone by then.
She unzipped her supply pack, pulling out a lightweight pipe no longer than her forearm. It looked completely worthless at first glance. In reality, it was a military prototype she’d borrowed from her former life. She hit the button on each end of the pipe and it expanded in length until it was almost as tall as she was, and then she hit the button in the center and waited as wings made out of a synthetic material unfurled to complete the hang glider.
“No time like the present,” she said, swallowing as she perched on the edge of the tree and looked out across the jungle. She had a straight shot into the compound, but any shift in wind would have her hurtling into trees. Falling to her death wouldn’t bring her the money she needed, so she had no choice but to take a leap of faith. Literally.
Fifteen minutes until all hell breaks loose.
Grace grasped the bar and jumped. The bottom dropped out of her stomach as she free-fell for just a brief moment, and then the air caught beneath the wings and she soared through the treetops like a phantom. It took all her strength and concentration to keep the glider on a straight path to the compound roof, and when her feet touched the ground her muscles were fatigued and her skin coated with perspiration.
She hit another button on the long metal tube and the glider folded itself back up until it was small enough to fit back in her pack.
The body of the first sentry she’d shot lay face down in the greenish-blue water of the swimming pool. A hazy cloud of blood ballooned from under him, and his arms and legs floated like waving ribbons.
Her eyes and ears were alert, but all that greeted her was growing darkness and silence. Even the animals and birds in the jungle knew something bad was about to go down.
Grace unhooked the harness and pulled her SIG from a thigh holster. She stood silently next to the gray door that led from the roof down a set of stairs to the main floors of the house. Two heartbeats passed before she opened the door and slipped inside. It was quiet, but that wasn’t unusual at this time of the day according to her intel—six sentries on duty surrounding the compound, only two guarding Vasquez’s private suite of rooms.
Vasquez’s stupidity only made her job easier.
Grace walked silently down the thickly carpeted hallway as if she weren’t about to steal the schematics for a new superweapon—a weapon that used state-of-the-art laser technology—and sell it to another country. But the closer she got to Vasquez, the more her spine tingled in awareness that something was wrong. That tingle had saved her life more than once, and she never ignored it. The hallway opened up into a landing just as she reached Vasquez’s private rooms. Weak light filtered through the windows and cast rainbows as it pierced the glass chandelier that hung overhead.
She saw firsthand exactly why her spine was tingling.
Both sentries were slumped against each other—a dead man’s embrace—one with a broken neck and the other with a hunting knife in his carotid. Efficient work considering the size of the sentries.
She pushed the bodies out of her way with her foot and eased the door open, her trigger finger at the ready on her SIG. All that mattered was the flash drive. If she didn’t produce it, then she didn’t get paid.
She crept into the room. The smells of new death were thick and cloying in the heat, and she could taste the fresh blood in the back of her throat with every breath she took. Dust motes danced in the air, and long shadows were cast in the fading sunlight.
Grace waited for her eyes to adjust and listened for sounds of footsteps, but all she heard was the gentle whir of the wicker fans that rotated slowly on the ceiling. She moved silently, staying close to the wall as she checked his suite.
Vasquez’s bedroom was bigger than her whole apartment—the furniture oversized and ornate, the colors garishly red. He was set up for sex. The interesting kind of sex by the looks of things. Restraints and various whips and other tools lined one whole wall, and torn condom packages littered the floor. It looked like Vasquez had a busy day. Too bad his afternoon hadn’t turned out so hot.
Gemino Vasquez’s body lay spread-eagle on his bed. He was naked, and his eyes were open and unseeing. Two shots to the center of the forehead screamed of a professional hit. He hadn’t been dead long. She couldn’t stop the bitter disappointment when she saw the flash drive was gone from the chain on his right wrist.
“Hell,” she whispered and moved to check the covers of his bed, just to make sure it hadn’t come off in the struggle. But she knew in her heart it was long gone. Professionals didn’t leave loose ends behind. And this was definitely professional. What ticked her off even more was that whoever did it managed to sneak in right under her nose. He had to have known she was watching through her scope and snuck in through the one blind spot she had at the back of the compound.
The stir of air behind her was the only warning she had before an arm locked around her throat.
“Looking for this?” a deep voice whispered in her ear. He held the flash drive in front of her face.
He pressed close against her back and squeezed his arm tighter around her throat so she had to breathe shallowly through her nose. Grace winced as he pressed his fingers against the pressure points of her wrist, and her pistol fell uselessly to the floor with a dull thunk.
Fear never had a chance to take hold. It was anger that drove Grace. Anger that had kept her alive the last couple of years. And she knew how to wield it. She threw her head back and aimed her heel at his knee simultaneously. He dodged her blows as if he’d been expecting them, but the distraction was enough for him to loosen his grip. She swept her leg and brought him to his knees, reaching down for the knife in her boot. The blade gleamed once in the fading sunlight just before it was knocked out of her hand and across the room.
He outweighed her by close to eighty pounds, and he had a good eight inches on her in height. They grappled and rolled, each one blocking the other’s strikes with only seconds to spare. It was a well-choreographed dance.
