The killer was good, she had to give him that. He stalked his prey with the prowess of a wild animal. Able to anticipate each move, he was one step ahead. He could strike at any time, but he liked to wait, to watch. The anticipation of the kill was the best part of the job for him. This was a well-known fact within the community. Some assassins killed for the thrill of taking a life. Most did the job for the money. And some, like him, enjoyed the hunt. Like a wild game of hide-and-seek or a cat stalking an unwary mouse. He played to win and he always won. He had once confided that the killing shot was a bit of a letdown. That was why he liked to draw out the hunt for as long as possible.

He was a skilled assassin.

She, however, was better.

Irelyn Raine stood in the darkened doorway of a bookstore. The thin coat she wore was lined so the cold, damp air wasn’t a bother. She would stand here for hours if need be. She could see the young family quite clearly from here. They were having a nice meal at one of the window booths. The children, both girls, ages seven and nine, were coloring on the paper tablecloth while their parents had a quiet conversation. She didn’t have to know what they were saying to know that they were enjoying each other’s company. The tender looks they exchanged with each other, along with the affectionate way they touched, told her there was love. This was a happy, seemingly normal family.

They didn’t know that someone wanted all of them dead.

Three tables to their right was the man who had been hired to make that happen. Family dynamics could be so odd. While some families loved each other with a fierce devotion, others did everything they could to destroy theirs. In this particular scenario, the reason was simple greed. The man’s brother wanted their father’s inheritance all to himself. The brother had been previously disowned, but their father’s will stipulated that if no other family member was alive, then the entire fortune would be left to the disowned man. The father was ill. Little did he know that he’d set his son and his family up for death.

James Martin, aka Marty J, had been stalking the Worthingtons for five days. A ten-day time limit on the hit had given Marty time to enjoy the hunt. He wasn’t in any hurry to do the deed. Irelyn didn’t know the full terms of the agreement, but she anticipated that the hit would be all four at once. Taking them out individually was not only much harder to accomplish, the chances of getting caught were four times greater.

For more reasons than one, she wasn’t going to let that happen.

Her eyes narrowed. Marty was talking on his cellphone, and even from here, she could tell he was angry. The stiffness of his body, along with his jerky hand gestures, told her that whoever he was talking to had made him furious. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, he shrugged, nodded, and then pocketed his cellphone. Irelyn knew in an instant that the hit would take place tonight. Whoever had been on the phone, whether his handler or the man paying for the hit, had likely indicated it was taking too long. Marty clearly hadn’t wanted to end his fun, but pleasing the client came first. Along with a reputation for successful hits, repeat business was a must.

Marty stood and placed some cash on the table for his meal. He then walked out of the restaurant. She knew his process. He’d wait until the family left, follow them to the parking complex where they’d left their car, and pop them there.

She waited until the assassin was headed toward the parking garage before she stepped out onto the street. With some concern, she noted that Mr. Worthington was taking the bill from the waiter and handing him a credit card. She needed to take care of this before the family left the restaurant.

Staying close to the brick wall, she allowed the shadows to swallow her as she made her way to the garage. Her fingertips touched the grip of the gun in her pocket, its solidness a reassuring weight. Heaviness pulled at her with each step she took. She would do the deed, but she would never enjoy the moment. Never.

She slipped from the shadows and crossed the street at a run. Traffic wasn’t heavy, and the streets were well lit. Getting back into the dark was a necessity. Marty wouldn’t be expecting her, but he had been trained to be wary. Self-preservation was an integral part of being a successful assassin.

She entered the structure and stopped to listen. The Worthingtons had parked on the third level. That was where the hit would take place. Mr. and Mrs. Worthington were likely to be less aware of their surroundings when they were close to their car. Something about the reassurance of seeing their vehicle made people focus less on their surroundings and more on their destination. Pockets or purses were being rummaged for keys, and minds were occupied with getting inside the vehicle. The distraction was often the perfect opportunity to strike.

Her eyes searched for a trap. Just because she was good at tracking without being seen didn’t mean she would ever take her talents for granted. She’d learned the hard way that letting your guard down for even an instant led to disaster. The ground level was filled with cars, but she saw and heard no one. Well-honed instincts warned her to be extra wary. Something was off. A stillness that shouldn’t be there—a pregnant pause as if the universe held a collective breath. Even though she saw nothing out of the ordinary, heard nothing suspicious, she remained cautious.

Making her way to the stairway, she entered and then jerked to a stop. Marty stood on the fourth step, apparently waiting for her. “Why are you following me?”

She saw no weapon, but knew he could get to his gun in a flash.

Outrage flared in her eyes. “I beg your pardon. I am merely headed to my car.”

“I saw you yesterday in the department store.”

Dammit. She had thought he might have. He had been stalking Mrs. Worthington and her daughters in the store. And Irelyn had been stalking him. Mrs. Worthington had stopped at the cosmetic counter. Marty had been only a few feet away. Irelyn had been in the lingerie section several yards away and had thought herself well hidden. However, she’d glanced over at Marty, and for half a second, their eyes had met. She had looked away quickly, and when he had turned away without another glance, she had convinced herself he hadn’t noticed her. Those were the kinds of mistakes rookies made, not seasoned professionals like herself. She’d dwell on that later. For now, she had a job to do.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I resent the—” Her eyes shifted to the top of the stairway. As she had intended, Marty made a fatal mistake and looked up, too. Irelyn pulled her weapon and fired. Two shots, one in the chest, one in the head. Neat little bloodless holes that belied the damage occurring inside the body. She caught him before he fell forward. Thankfully, he wasn’t a large man, but he was a dead weight, and it took some effort to pull him down the stairs and into a small alcove on the other side of the railing, out of sight. A dead body on the stairs wasn’t something the children needed in their heads. His eyes were already fixed in that death haze.

Pulling her cellphone from her pocket, she took several close-up photos. She’d email them later.

She heard a sound and peered out into the garage. The Worthingtons had just entered. The girls were giggling with each other, and Mrs. Worthington was laughing softly at something her husband said. It was a sweet sound of happy innocence, and one she had rarely heard.

Even though mistakes had been made, she was pleased with the night’s outcome. The Worthingtons would continue on, never knowing how close they’d come to death. As soon as she returned to her hotel room, after she emailed the photos of Marty J’s body, she would send a separate, anonymous message to the Worthington patriarch. He needed to know what his evil son had almost gotten away with. If the man didn’t change his will, it would likely happen again. Hopefully, Mr. Worthington would take the free advice.

She walked out of the garage and back onto the street. The image of Marty’s death mask would forever remain in her memory. Killing another human being, even one as vile as James Martin, was a nauseating, disturbing act. She might have been trained to be a killer, but she would never accept that she was one. However, she had made this bed and now she had to lie in it until she accomplished her goal.

If she lived that long.