Free Playing Dead by Allison Brennan Page B

as she slid it down. A little shirt, it ended at the top of her panties. She sat at her desk and opened a book. Homework.
    The disk cut to a scene in the same room, except that Claire was nineteen and not alone.
    She was with a boyfriend. Because the assassin had watched her closely for years, he knew that this was the first time she’d had sex.
    He hated it and loved it. He pictured himself in the role of Ian Clark, the asshole who’d taken Claire’s virginity.
    Kissing her lips.
    Licking her breasts.
    Spreading her legs.
    It was him, only him.
    As he watched the disk, he pulled the towel off and took his hard cock in hand. He’d had the camera perfectly aligned with her bed, so he saw everything. The look on her face when the dipshit put his mouth on her breasts. She looked both nervous and excited.
    Because she was Claire, she ended up taking over. She let the fool start, then she positioned him beneath her and controlled her own deflowering.
    The assassin couldn’t see her face, so he closed his eyes. Listened. Claire’s moans. Gasps. Her “awww” as she controlled entry. Her “ummms” as she enjoyed new sensations.
    He pictured himself taking Claire’s virginity. Felt himself entering her—but he would be on top. He would be in charge. He pummeled her, over and over, making her his, making her want him.
    Closing his eyes, he watched Claire beneath him. Her black hair, long and silky, just like Bridget’s. Her eyes looked into his, so blue, so bottomless, so expressive.
    It’s always been you.
    With Claire, he never had problems with release. In his mind, he climaxed into her, then opened his eyes as the image that sent him over flashed in his head.
    His hands around her neck. Her bloody eyes bulged, her hands clasped around his wrists in a death grip, her mouth open, lips blue.
    No!
    He didn’t want to kill her. Unlike the others, Claire was meant to be with him forever. But he wasn’t ready for her yet because he would kill her, and he didn’t want to, which is why he had to practice on others.
    He wanted to protect Claire. The runaways died so she could live.
    He opened his eyes, turned the DVD off, whipped the wet and sticky towel from his waist and tossed it in the hamper. He needed another shower.
    He turned the water on cold. Dammit, he didn’t want it to be like this. He didn’t want to have to kill Claire. He wouldn’t. That’s why he hadn’t touched her in fifteen years. He’d had opportunities, but he never touched her inappropriately.
    Fifteen years ago fate had stepped in and saved him. He’d never admit that to the blackmailers, but sending him to assassinate Chase Taverton had changed his life for the better.
    *   *   *
    He’d followed Chase Taverton three days to get a feel for his routine. Taverton didn’t have one, other than working long hours at the district attorney’s office. He’d considered taking him out that first day, but the blackmailers were concerned about the circumstances of Taverton’s death.
    It was Judge Hamilton Drake who had proposed he should frame someone. Drake knew Taverton was having an affair with a married woman. He didn’t know who, but it was a not-so-secret secret in the building.
    It didn’t take the assassin long to learn the identity of Taverton’s lover. Taverton went to her house Monday during lunch, stayed just under an hour, then left. He did the same thing on Tuesday. While he was inside fucking the whore, the assassin carefully broke into Taverton’s snazzy BMW and read his schedule for the week. Taverton had “Lunch w/ L” written every day that week. Scanning back, he’d been having the affair for a long, long time. They even had a weekend trip planned in two weeks. The assassin called his blackmailers and suggested they wait until the trip to kill him.
    Negative. Taverton had to die as soon as possible. He was working a case that would get the judge and other important people in deep shit.
    So the assassin promised he’d