Free Perfect Assassin by Wendy Rosnau Page B

Moon standing behind the couch in a pair of worn jeans, his chest bare. She hadn’t heard a single noise.
    “Did I wake you? If I did, I’m sorry. I—”
    “You’re not supposed to be putting a lot of weight on that leg. A short trip to the bathroom, a few steps here and there, but—”
    “It’s fine. I was careful not to put too much weight on it. After all, how could I? I’m so light a stiff wind would blow me over.”
    “Is something wrong?”
    “I couldn’t sleep. That’s all.”
    “Do you want something? A pain pill or maybe tea?”
    “No.”
    “Warm milk?”
    Pris wrinkled up her nose. “No.”
    “That’s how I feel about it, too. Never could get a glass of milk down without a chocolate chip cookie. Cold or warm.”
    He went to the fire and opened the glass doors. Hunkering low, balancing on the balls of his bare feet, he tossed another log on the hot coals.
    “You warm enough?” He turned to look at her.
    “Yes.”
    She had changed out of his shirt and was wearing a blue nightgown she had packed in her bag. It was more like a long T-shirt, but it covered her better than his shirt.
    “Where is Matwau?” she asked.
    “Outside. He likes to go out at night. Run around, and see…”
    “His girlfriend?”
    He smiled at that. “I guess you could call her that.
    “Well, as long as you’re up, I’ve got some work to do in my office. If you need anything give a holler.”
    “What kind of work do you do?”
    “Computer research.”
    “I’m afraid I don’t know anything about computers.”
    “That you remember.”
    “That I remember,” she amended.
    He left her sitting on the couch and walked back down the hall. She watched him go, saw that he went past her room to the closed door at the end of the hall. She shoved herself up, curious.
    The pain in her leg slowed her progress, but she made it down the hall and peeked inside his office. The room was state-of-the-art, with not one computer, but four. And there were other electronic gadgets, too. Things she couldn’t name, nor begin to understand.
    She backed away before he saw her. But as she slowly made her way back to the couch, she wondered how a man like Moon had learned to operate all that fancy high-tech equipment.

    Otto knew he was off his mark the minute he squeezed the trigger on the VSS Silent Sniper. Number three on the list went down, but it wasn’t a clean shot.
    Sonofabitch.
    He pulled the gun from his shoulder and swore again. Then just as quickly he pulled the rifle back up and looked through the high-powered scope. The good news was his target had stayed down, and it didn’t look like he was going to get back up.
    A sigh of relief had him stepping back from the window on the tenth floor of the apartment complex. He disassembled his rifle, noting he was breathing heavily. Now he understood why Miss Pris had been so quiet after a kill.
    He had thought she was a novice to the world of killing, and not the kind of person who would relish hurting anyone. But now he realized it was more than that. Making perfect shots was stressful, exhausting work.
    Still, she had to be aware of her gift. No one except Holic could put a bullet on target every time. He’d just proven that and he was no novice.
    Without a doubt, even with more practice, he would never be as good as Miss Pris. She had Holic’s hands.
    He would admit he had gotten an adrenalin rush pulling the trigger. Holic had once said it was as euphoric as good sex.
    He’d killed before, only it had involved short distances with a handgun at close range. And there had been a few times when he’d used his bare hands.
    He didn’t see himself as a violent man, only a man who could follow instructions. His father Jakob had taught him that. Loyalty was everything. Loyalty and honor, and to take pride in doing the job as well as possible.
    The man lying in the street ten floors below would argue with how well he’d done the job—Trikoff was still in the process of dying.
    The