Free Kill on Command by Slaton Smith Page A

in the chair on the other side of the table.  He leaned back in the chair.  The sun was full on his face.
     
    Sandy figured Sean was still clueless and decided to chance being this close.  She walked up to the counter.  “Grande black coffee.”
     
    “Sure thing,” Monica said.  Sandy paid, took her coffee and a copy of The New York Times and moved to the seat by the window.  She was literally three feet from Sean.  She looked at his long tan legs stretched out on the chair in front of him.  The muscles in his legs were rippling.  Running like a lunatic will do that to you.  She went back to her paper.
     
    Across the street, Sandy’s back up watched.
     
    “I am getting sores on my ass,” Bill said to Bob.
     
    “Just be patient.  I can feel something is going to happen.  She’s going to fuck up.  Look at her.  She’s lost it.   He is going to make her.  If you need motivation, go look at your bank account,” Bob said.
     
    “True.  Good point,” Bill replied.
     
    “When she does fuck up, I am going to put a bullet in her pretty little head,” Bob said menacingly.
     
    “Wow!  That’s some hostility.”
     
    “I am sick of her pushing us around!” Bob said, nodding in her direction.
     
    “Fine with me.  Just remember that you are not dealing with a girl scout.  She could just as easily kill us.” 
     
    “Whatever,” Bob said with growing frustration in his voice.
     
    “You had better get your head back on straight.  Shit.  She can read our minds for all I know.  Let’s avoid a confrontation,” Bill said, ending the discussion.
     
    Sandy pulled out the international section of the Times .  She scanned the headlines.  Middle East.  Shootings.  Bombings.  She was sick of it. 
     
    Below the fold, in the bottom right corner, was a report out of Saudi Arabia.  Apparently, there had been an accident at sea off the coast of France.  A Prince had drowned while swimming near Cannes.  She skimmed the article.  She knew the truth.
     
    She looked out the window at Sean.  Just sitting there in the sun.  His dog next to him.  Oblivious.  Happy, and as always, having a great time. 
     
    She took a sip of the coffee. 
     
    Sean looked down at Bailey and caught the blonde looking at him through the window.  He smiled to himself.  He looked at his coffee cup.  Monica had drawn a little picture on his cup like she always did.  How does Starbucks get such good people? He leaned over to check out Sandy’s bike. 
     
    Sandy saw him.  She didn’t care.  She had her gun.
     
    Sandy took a second sip of the coffee and did something on impulse.  Impulsive action was something rare for her. She was a person who thought things through.  She always knew all the angles.  What she did made Bob and Bill’s jaws drop.  She got up from her seat and walked outside.
     
    “Hi, can I sit down with you?” she asked Sean.  Several things happened at once.  Sean shot straight up in his chair.  Bailey popped up and pressed herself to Sean’s side.  A low rumble erupted from her throat.
     
    “Quiet girl,” Sean whispered to Bailey. 
     
    “Sure!”  Sean said motioning to the chair he had his feet in.
     
    “Thanks.  I saw you were looking at my bike.  Do you ride?” Sandy placed her coffee and bike pack on the table.  She left her hand on it.  The gun was inside.
     
    “Yeah, I used to ride a lot.  I have a red Cannondale too, but nothing like your bike.  This is the new Trigger Carbon isn’t it?” Sean said looking at the bike next to the table.
     
    “It’s is.  I love it.”
     
    “My name is Sean by the way,” he said, extending his hand.
     
    “I know who you are,” she said, taking his hand and releasing it.  Sean paused.  She had really disarmed him.  He stared at her blankly.  Bailey had not blinked since Sandy had come to the table.
     
    “It’s on your cup,” she said, pointing at his cup.  Monica had put his name on