by Sam Crescent
Once settled on the flight to the colonies, he opened his laptop then pulled up the encoded email he’d been sent. He scanned the information: twenty-six-year-old female, Tulsa County sheriff’s deputy. Her photograph showed a very American face—rounded with a high forehead, freckles, and fringed by blonde-streaked light brown hair. She was cute, very feminine, and appeared completely guileless as she stared toward her unseen photographer.
Davis frowned, studying the woman. When he’d taken on the job as gun for hire, he’d done it as an equal opportunity killer. In the power play between mob gangs, women proved to be just as dangerous as men. Though they were often overlooked in worlds run by ruthless men, Davis considered them equals. A skilled woman with a weapon and agenda was just as capable at ending his life as a skilled man.
He wondered over this woman, his target, a deputy named Hannah Stephens in Oklahoma. The Irish Mob had reached into all areas of the world. Even small cities like Tulsa, Oklahoma, that many in Ireland had never heard of, but served as a central spoke in their drug trafficking. She didn’t look like a threat, after all. How could a simple young deputy possibly threaten such a strong organization?
He had a no-questions-asked agreement, but he’d made his two rules very clear to those who owned him—no kids, no innocents. Two rules that were absolute. He may not have a soul, but he did have a moral code he had to answer to when it came to whom he killed. His conscience didn’t haunt him, he slept well at night, and he intended to keep it that way. His handlers knew the consequences should they dare to make him cross.
He opened another file and found more pictures of the target. Above average in height, in uniform she looked unremarkable, but in jeans and a t-shirt her lean build was accentuated by the gentle curve of hips and breasts. He bit his bottom lip as male appreciation distracted him. Davis had played in the realm of seduction when it came to taking down targets—both female and male. When sex was on the table it became easy to take out a hit when one kept their wits about them. Even while taking his pleasure he never lost control, and he always made sure the target shared equally in orgasmic delight before he ended their life.
Davis was a fair man, after all.
He rubbed his jaw, and returned to the portrait. The guileless face, those big brown eyes. It’d be easy to charm his way into her good graces as long as she didn’t play for the women-only team. Yet, the idea left a sour taste, which he as quickly discarded. The notion of guilt had left him long ago, and this momentary lapse was nonetheless disturbing. Something about this didn’t set well in his gut. An instinct that had kept him alive more times than he could count.
He leaned back against the leather upholstery of his seat and closed his eyes. The hum of the jet engines lulled him into a peaceful state as he worked out his plan. The simplest avenue would be to work his way into her bed. A thorough shagging would do him good. He grinned, building on the fantasy, his cock responding.
“Hannah, love, I can’t wait to meet you.”
****
It was another beautiful night in rural Tulsa County. The full moon cast a shimmering glow on the early summer leaves. But the peaceful scene barely registered with Hannah as she stared through the windshield. She pressed the gas pedal, speeding down the county backroad, kicking up a cloud of dust behind the SUV.
“I think he ducked down the side road up ahead,” her partner Mike said.
“You think? We have to be sure,” Hannah snapped.
Mike held up his hands. “I’m as pissed as you are he gave us the slip, so don’t take it out on me.”
Hannah blew out a hard breath, and slowed, angling the rig down the road Mike had pointed to. Gravel pinged against the SUV’s frame as she floored the accelerator, and the engine roared to life. Thank God for the long dry spell Oklahoma had suffered through, because dust kicked up by recent car travel still hugged the road in a ghostly veil.
“You were right,” Hannah said to Mike in apology.
Her partner clung to the handle above the passenger door as the SUV bounced and jolted along. The vehicle was built for this abuse, but the perp’s car wasn’t. They had the advantage as the road worsened.
And then she saw it, the Nissan sitting on the side of the road. Acres of wooded land surrounded them. He could be anywhere within the dark stand of pines, and suddenly he had the advantage.
“Shit,” Mike hissed, reading her mind.
Hannah rolled down her window while Mike grabbed the high-powered flashlight from the glove box. He shined it through the trees while she worked the spotlight mounted just outside her window. The tree shadows danced this way and that, and she squinted, hoping to make out a figure among them.
“We need K-9 out here,” Mike said.
“Wait.” Hannah pointed to her left. “I thought I saw something.”
She eased her door opened, stepped out, then dropped low, her flashlight positioned beneath her sidearm. Red darted between two trees, and she kept the flashlight focused on the spot.
“Sheriff’s Department,” she called out. “Come out with your hands up!”
Mike came around, shining his flashlight to the same spot.
“He’s there, behind that tree,” she said.
“Sheriff’s Department, come out now!” Mike’s booming voice echoed in the night.
She glimpsed red again, the perp’s t-shirt, and then he bolted, dashing deeper into the trees.
“Damn it! Stop!” Hannah darted forward, hot on his trail, Mike at her heels. “Stop! Sheriff’s Department! Goddamn you, stop!”
She’d run track in high school, had gone to college on a track and field scholarship, but she was weighted down with her duty belt and bulletproof vest. Though a chilly night, sweat beaded on her face as she pushed her legs faster. Chances were the young perp was high on meth giving him a physical edge, but she was determined to catch him. He was a suspected drug runner for the local Irish Mob, and hell if she’d let him get away.
She heard Mike give a loud oomph. She whirled to find him sprawled on the ground.
“I tripped. I’m tangled in these damn blackberry vines,” he said. “Go!”
She spun and charged on, following the perp’s crunching footfalls on the pine needles. And like some miracle he, too, tripped and went down. Hannah holstered her gun and dove on top of him, but his wiry frame was shockingly strong. She struggled to pin him to the ground, but he managed to turn onto his back. He swung out, his fist connecting with her jaw. A loud pop preceded the flood of blood in her mouth.
Hannah snarled. “Stop resisting! Stop resisting or I’ll use pepper spray!”
“Get off me you bitch!” the perp shouted back. His face contorted in rage. He reached for her waist and suddenly the struggle became life or death as he fought to get to her sidearm. She drew her fist back and brought it down into his face, once, twice, three times.
“Jesus,” she heard Mike cry as he dropped down behind her, throwing himself across the perp’s legs.
“Stop resisting!” she said again, finally getting hold of the perp’s wrists.
Even with Mike’s help, the perp had a meth high on his side giving him superhuman strength. The three of them wrestled, but she and Mike finally subdued him. She snapped handcuffs on his wrists. Mike called in the arrest and the two of them dragged him back to the SUV. Once they had the perp secured in the backseat, Hannah took a moment to catch her breath, spitting the taste of blood from her mouth.
“You okay?” Mike asked patting her on the shoulder.
“Yeah. Bastard clocked me a good one. I bit my tongue.”
Her muscles shook from exertion, and soreness had already set in. But it was just another night on the job for Hannah. Taking down bad guys was the thing she did best.
Chapter Three
The roar of the 515-horsepower engine was thrilling, but completely wasted on an Oklahoma highway.
“You deserve the Autobahn, beautiful,” Davis said to the car. A fiery red Mercedes AMG GT S. A vehicle built f
or speed and maneuverability, it purred as he pushed it to one hundred miles per hour. The car easily handled the acceleration.
Red and blue lights flashed in his rearview mirror, and Davis grinned. He toyed with the idea of playing chase, a game he’d most surely win in the end, which wouldn’t suit his purposes. He slowed down, pulling onto the shoulder of the highway. He watched as the deputy left the SUV parked behind him and approached the Mercedes. Davis rolled down the window.
“License, registration, and proof of insurance, please.”
Her voice had a husky, pleasing drawl to it.
“I apologize, deputy, is there a problem?” he asked, flashing her a broad smile.
Hannah Stephens eyed him from behind polarized aviator-style sunglasses. He noticed a light bruise on her left cheek. “License, registration, and proof of insurance,” she repeated.
“Right. Just a moment.” He found what she needed, handing it up to her. Their fingers brushed, and he noticed a slight tremor to her hand. Though her face was a mask of indifference, her body betrayed her.
She cleared her throat. “Do you know how fast you were going?” she asked looking over what he’d handed her.
“Not a clue,” he replied.
“The speed limit is sixty-five. I clocked you going one hundred.”
He feigned surprise. “Again, I apologize. I’m afraid she took advantage of me, not that I’m complaining.”
A slight lifting of one eyebrow was her only response. “I’ll be right back,” she said.
He watched her return to the SUV from his mirrors. She was playing hard to get and he loved nothing more than a challenge. Another deputy sat inside the SUV on the passenger side. A balding, middle-aged man named Michael James—he’d done his homework. James worked as Hannah’s partner. While he could complete this job as soon as Hannah returned, he’d have to do cleanup, and James was just an innocent bystander.
Davis would have to catch Hannah off duty. Which was perfectly fine with him.
She walked back to the car and he was smiling by the time she leaned down into his window.
“I’m giving you a citation for speeding, Mr. Smith,” she said, handing him a pad of paper and an ink pen. “I need you to sign on the line right here. It’s not an admission of guilt…”
He tuned her out as the wind stirred behind her, carrying the subtle aroma of vanilla into the car. The vanilla fragrance suited her. Everything about her seemed vanilla—but not in a bad way. Hannah appeared wholesome, and he again wondered what she could be involved in. Appearances could be deceiving, no one knew that better than he did, but still his curiosity was piqued. He scribbled his alias on the paper, she gave him a copy, and he wished her a good day.
Later that evening he swapped out the Mercedes for a nondescript Ford sedan. He waited down the block from Hannah’s house. A modest ranch-style home nestled in amongst flowering shrubs. The neighborhood was older but well kept. He took in details—fence heights, gates, accesses, windows—making mental maps of possible escape routes. He did it almost without thought as he watched Hannah’s house. Lights came on in different rooms then went off. He imagined her preparing for a night in. A quick meal, a shower, then settling in front of the telly before heading off to bed.
Then he imagined slipping inside her home through a back window. Quietly sliding into bed with her, but instead of slitting her throat, he took the fantasy a different direction. He imagined taking those full pink lips with his, kissing her until she submitted to him. Taking her delectable body, filling her, and fucking her until she shattered. He hardened, and he cupped his throbbing cock.
He resisted the urge to masturbate; he wasn’t some sad lurker. His time with her would come soon. Again he felt the slight twinge of barely recognizable doubt and guilt. God, when was the last time he’d felt either emotion? A question easily answered—five years ago. It was Boxing Day, and he’d been in bed with his then-fiancée in his flat in London when he’d received the call that changed his life.
His thoughts jumped from the bitter past to the present when he saw Hannah’s front door open. She stepped out carrying a trash bag. He watched her walk down to the curb and drop it into the bin. She wore a baggy sweatshirt and a pair of cutoff sweatpants that exposed her long, shapely legs. The ensemble was cozy and all together feminine, thrilling. Davis wanted to feel her in his arms, taste her skin, and he gripped the steering wheel, only just resisting the urge to go to her. She had power over him, he realized, and the notion left him cold. He couldn’t risk losing his mind to a target because it could cost him his life.
He would have to move fast. Get her out of his system then finish the job.
****
The nature trail was her favorite place to destress. Hannah tightened the laces on her running shoes then did some quick warmup stretches. Running was her wind down after a stressful week on the job. Weekdays she kept up her fitness routine with weight lifting and jogging on the treadmill, but Saturdays she hit this trail.
The day would be warm, but this early in the morning was still owned by the nip of late spring. The rising sun cast an orange glow in the sky as she trotted out to the dirt path leading to the trails. She picked up some speed and settled into a cadence that would carry her on for the next two hours.
Her mind drifted to the red Mercedes she’d pulled over earlier that week. Or, more precisely, the man behind the wheel. He’d been gorgeous. Too gorgeous to be driving through Oklahoma. And that English accent…
She blew out a hard breath. Hannah had never been very successful in the man department. She’d dated and had a few boyfriends in high school and college, but nothing serious. Mr. Matthew Smith, aka gorgeous guy in the Mercedes, was well out of her league.
“Stop mooning over him,” she muttered to herself. Developing a crush on a guy she’d met only once seemed ridiculous. But it was quite easy to build up fantasies involving a lot of sweaty nudity and English-accented dirty talk.
Growling, she picked up speed, staring at the ground. She’d lived with sexual frustration for a year now. A necessary beast when you worked long days with little opportunity to meet men outside of work. And she definitely wasn’t interested in anyone in the sheriff’s department.
“Passing to your right.”
Startled by the masculine voice, Hannah’s head snapped up. The stranger was ahead of her, running in her direction, getting ready to pass on her right. It took only a fleeting moment for her to recognize the man, and she flushed scarlet. He’d manifested straight from her fantasies.
Mr. Smith broke stride and stopped, his head cocked to the side. His eyes were a piercing blue set off by his dark olive complexion and black hair. She had no choice but to stop and pray her blush looked like it had been caused by her run.
His incredible, killer smile lit up the very feminine parts of her.
“Deputy Stephens?”
“Yes, um, hi.” She swiped her wrist over her forehead, doing her best to remain casual. “Red Mercedes Benz, right?”
He placed his hands on his hips. He wore a pair of black athletic shorts and a black t-shirt that stretched across his chest. All virile male wrapped up in hot British sexiness.
You’re losing your mind, Hannah. But his smile really was killing her.
“Yes, and to let you know, I’ve paid the ticket already.”
“Great.” Then another thought came to mind. “What are you doing out here?”
The trail wasn’t much used, at least not this early in the morning. College kids liked to hike the trails in the late afternoons. She hadn’t seen the Mercedes in the parking lot, just a boring sedan.
“I’m in Tulsa for business, and wanted somewhere to exercise. I found this place on Google Maps.”
His statement came easily enough, yet she couldn’t help a niggling of suspicion. Her line of work left her suspicious of anything that seemed too random.
“What kind of business do you do?” she asked.
“Investing, commercial
real estate for the most part. Boring stuff, really. How would you like a running partner?”
She chewed the inside of her cheek, instinct and a gut feeling telling her he was hiding something. It was that curiosity, and not girlish glee, that had her saying, “Sure.” Definitely not girlish glee. “If you think you can keep up.”
Hannah took to the left, leaving the cleared trail. Mr. Smith’s footfalls sounded behind her, crunching through the leaf litter. A run through the forest would be more vigorous, and she definitely needed vigorous when it came to Matthew Smith.
“So, Mr. Smith, how do you like Tulsa County?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Please, call me Davis, I go by my middle name, and it’s quite nice. The people are lovely.”
A fallen tree blocked their path. Hannah leaped over it. Davis easily kept up. Her female appreciation heightened. She increased the pace, breaking into a good, lung-burning run. She heard Davis’s chuckle.
“Giving me a challenge, eh?” he asked.
He didn’t sound the least bit winded. Of course he wouldn’t; he obviously kept in shape. She’d foolishly wanted to impress him with her physical stamina, but now she huffed and puffed, and felt ridiculous. She was built for distance, not speed.
She finally stopped, stooped over, and braced her hands on her thighs, dragging in lungfuls of air. Davis stood in front of her and she stared at his strong calves.
“You’re in good condition,” Davis told her.
“Are you being sarcastic?” she asked.
“Not in the least. I’m impressed.”
Hannah straightened and stared up into his face. Those incredible blue eyes twinkled. She wasn’t used to having men tower over her. Davis had to be at least six foot four. But he didn’t appear the least bit cumbersome with the height like some men did. His every movement was graceful, his musculature not the overdeveloped mass from hours at the gym, but from actual use. She imagined him a swimmer or marathoner. A triathlete.
“I’m sorry, what?” she asked, realizing he’d just spoken to her. She blinked, realizing she’d been staring at his body in rapt fascination.