THE HITMAN’S SEDUCTION

 

Olivia Starke

 

Copyright © 2017

 

 

 

Chapter One

 

Hannah Stephens clutched her balled-up uniform jacket to her shoulder. The initial shocking pain of the bullet wound had dulled beneath an adrenaline dump. She forced her breathing to slow as she gazed between the dense growth of tree trunks, searching for signs of movement. Shadows shifted, a cruel tease that heightened her already erratic heartbeat. Take it easy, Hannah, you’ve been in tight spots in the past. Which was the truth; a county deputy for the past three years, she’d been shot once before during a traffic stop by a tweaked-out dopehead.

But this was the first time she’d been the target of a hired hitman.

A hitman she’d naively slept with just a week before. The stranger had been gorgeous and British, appearing from nowhere, and keenly interested in her—a sheriff’s deputy from Tulsa County, Oklahoma. She snorted at her own stupidity.

She took a deep breath, gulping air into her burning lungs. Her fatigued legs wobbled, and she braced against a tree. She’d lost a lot of blood, and when she peeled the jacket away from her shoulder, the coppery tang of blood loss hit her in a nauseating wave. She clamped her teeth together and gripped her Smith & Wesson M&P 9, cursing the fact she’d gone without her bulletproof vest. Another stupid move, one she was paying dearly for. Not that a vest would’ve stopped the high-powered rifle round from ripping a hole through her.

She didn’t need to check the pistol clip to know how many rounds she had left. She’d developed the compulsive habit of counting her shots at the gun range.

She had exactly one bullet left, and absolutely nothing left inside of her to keep running.

Now flight had to give over to fight, and Hannah strained her ears as she heard the snap of a twig. Instinct told her it was her pursuer and oddly, it wasn’t fear she felt, but relief. Finally, she could get this whole goddamn nightmare done with. The last several minutes danced across her memory—her partner crumpling onto the dirt trail next to their patrol SUV. The whiz and clink of another bullet hitting the hood. It had ricocheted, striking Hannah in the shoulder, taking out the handheld radio transceiver she had clipped there. Hannah had crouched then fled into the dense growth of forest. She’d hunkered in behind an oak and fired back in the general direction of the gunman. A firefight ensued, using up her two backup pistol clips as well.

She and her partner had been lured out to the middle of nowhere on the report of an abandoned car on an access road in the state park. Please, be okay, Mike. She hadn’t even had a chance to check on her partner’s welfare, he could be bleeding to death, or worse. But in fleeing she’d hoped to draw the fire away from him, after all, the hitman was on her tail.

When she’d put two and two together, it’d been easy to figure out who he was, and seeing the abandoned Ford sedan only confirmed it. She’d spent the last three years cracking down on members of the Irish Mob who’d gotten a toehold in, of all places, the city of Tulsa. She’d made it her mission to make their lives as uncomfortable as possible by patrolling their neighborhoods, giving out traffic violations, and generally making their life hell. Her county didn’t need their drugs and violence. She’d grown up in the city of Tulsa, and after graduating college in Missouri had moved back to join the sheriff’s department.

“I know you’re out there,” she called out to her pursuer. “I bet you didn’t think I was clever enough to figure out who you were.”

She heard an ominous click that sounded like a clip chamber being loaded. She couldn’t judge exactly where the sound came from as the trees stirred in the breeze. Calm settled over her, startling against the frantic minutes she had just spent. Perhaps this is how a deer feels once it’s run down by the wolf.

“I mean, come on, a handsome, cultured guy from England, who are you trying to be, James Bond? A little cliché, don’t ya think?” She gave a short laugh. “I know who hired you. I know you’re here to take me out. And by the way, you weren’t even that good in bed.”

She waited, seeing if her baiting would do the trick. A fuzzy mist clung to her mind, making it hard to focus and think straight. It wasn’t long before she heard the crunching of leaves. Then he appeared—tall, broad shouldered, an imposing figure dressed in camouflage. He towered over her five-foot-eight frame and had a rifle slung over his shoulder, a Glock 18 in his lowered hand, and a long hunting knife strapped to his thigh. Armed to the teeth against little ol’ her, she felt satisfaction with that. He might have had an easy time getting her into bed, but at least he’d known she’d be much harder to kill.

She kept her own sidearm down, waiting for just the right moment to aim and squeeze the trigger.

His piercing blue eyes were hidden behind a pair of shaded, wraparound Oakley sunglasses. His sensual lips pulled up in a cocky grin before he said, “Not good in bed? I have a hard time believing the last part, love. That weekend with you is one of the best weekends I’ve ever had with a lover.”

The low rumble of his voice caused heat to spread over her skin, an unsettling juxtaposition to the cold fear spreading within her. He seemed so casual, a perfect sociopath as he faced off with a woman he’d been hired to kill. But she kept herself in check, mirroring his coolness.

“I never said I wasn’t any good,” she countered.

He laughed and the sound bounced through the trees. She stared at his face, but kept his Glock in her peripheral sight. Her vision blurred, and she blinked, the blood loss catching up to her. Should she survive this standoff, she doubted if she had enough energy reserves to make it back to the SUV to radio for help. It seemed she was doomed to die in this damn forest.

“That’s what I like about you American women, you’re blunt. None of that stuffy, beating around the bush BS when it comes to fucking.”

She couldn’t help but wince. Fucking. Hearing it come from his lips, being reminded of what it had actually been to him, was a slap to the face. Because, deep down, she’d felt something else that weekend. She squeezed her eyes shut, giving in to the moment of weakness in both her soul and her failing body. Regardless of how many perps you’ve gotten off the streets, you’ll always be a naïve girl from Tulsa, Oklahoma, Hannah.

“Give it up and give me the gun. You’re bleeding to death, love. Your fight is done.”

His deep baritone voice had a gentleness that shocked her eyes open. She’d been sliding down the tree trunk, and she clawed at the bark behind her, desperate to stay on her feet. If she had to die today, she’d do it on her feet. The fuzziness in her mind had expanded, clouding her vision, leaving everything around her more like a lucid dream than reality.

Then his head shifted slightly to the left. “And though I’ve greatly enjoyed our time together, I think it’s time to end this.”

He whipped his gun up, angling sideways in the same moment she dropped low, swinging her own sidearm around. The sounds of both their firearms going off blasted through the quiet forest. Hannah sucked in a hard breath, renewed pain lancing through her as she collapsed. She heard the hitman’s voice, he was shouting, though his words made no sense, her ears were ringing too loud. She felt cold damp leaf litter beneath her as she curled into the fetal position. This is it, her body told her, there is nothing left.

The hitman kneeled next to her, pushed her onto her back. His sunglasses were gone, his piercing blue eyes vivid against the darkening world. He clutched his side, she saw the stain of blood tingeing his shirt. Her one last bullet had done damage.

Good.

And then in one big, overwhelming rush, there was nothing at all.