Free Target 84 by K Larsen Page B

her right, but no, he’s staring at the woman across the aisle with a puppy dog look in his eye. Fool . I doubt the blonde would stand for that if she caught it. She seems like a demanding, strong woman at the very least. More than likely she’s a cold-hearted bitch in reality, though--a fantasy on the eyes but torture on the soul.
    I redirect my gaze back to the bride and groom. His large hands hold Pepper’s small, soft ones. They swallow them up in their grasp. She doesn’t seem to mind in the least, though. His face gives everything away, just as hers does.
    A pang of guilt flashes through me. Aster, her cousin, and Brock, our friend, should be here. They should be able to witness what I’ve let myself be privy to. I shake the notion from my head. She chose this fresh start. She chose Witness Protection. Pepper is happy. They are in love with each other. I long for someone to see me the way Sawyer and Pepper see each other.
    I wait until Clara, with the newly neon orange streak in her hair, announces them married and watch them seal the promise with a kiss before I slink off without being seen. Congratulations, Pepper. I truly wish you the best. I start up the truck and peel out of my parking space. The tires burn, leaving the smell of asphalt lingering in the air. I have a long drive and a grueling week of installations at the construction site ahead of me. Everything seems to be coming together seamlessly.
    Torren and Dominic have struck an agreeable arrangement and work has started on renovations. Returning my attention to the road ahead of me, I try not to think about what happens if this case blows up in our faces. Rolling down the window, I suck in some warm spring air. Once the air conditioning kicks in and I can breathe easier, I let my head loll back against the headrest. Life would be so much easier if I didn’t have rules to follow. If I could just walk up to Torren casually, raise my gun, and expel a bullet from the chamber.

Chapter Eleven
Greta Billings
    “On your own admission, you raised up the knife, and you brought it down, ending another man’s life.” DAVID GILMOUR – “MURDER”
    TARGET 83.
    A text. I scroll through the message on my screen.
    Father Alonso Maretti. Last known location Richmond, VA.
    Finally. I’ve been struggling to keep myself busy as of late. I’ve finished the three books Pepper loaned me from her Kindle this week. I’d quite enjoyed reading about Stella. She was flawed yet perfect and noble, her balls bigger than most men's. And George. How I long to find a man like him for myself. Fiction is a guilty pleasure. I get lost in the worlds of others. It somehow makes my life less...pathetic. It was nice to have the time to sit and read but I’m grateful for an assignment. Sitting at my computer, I pull up Google and type in the Father’s name. That's the beauty of the Internet. Twenty-four-seven access to everything from twerking puppies to criminal records. My eyes scan the various links until I find what I’m looking for.
    An address.
    I obey orders: kill when I’m told to kill. I am a machine. No remorse. I open the travel website I use and book a flight to Richmond ten days from now. I can hardly stand the excitement brewing at my core. Glancing at the clock, I realize I’m going to be late for my morning workout with Pepper. I’ve been lost in hours of research on my new target. I scramble to the bedroom for my gym clothes, tripping over Stray as I go. “Damn cat!” I yell at the rusty-colored devil. He’s grown to be a blessing and a curse. I’m not as alone here. He is affectionate and lovey. He is also a little asshole that walks all over my face at night and claws at my couch. Tugging on my sports bra, shorts, and tank, I grab my purse as I fly out the door.
    “Figured you were a no-show,” Pepper greets me.
    “Never,” I say, feigning insult. Her wrists are taped and her mouth guard is in.
    “Hurry up, slacker,” she challenges. I let Jim, the