Free The Clone Assassin by Steven L. Kent

was the first word that came to Watson’s mind. Other words like “spoiled,” “controlling,” “clingy,” and “needy” followed.
    Emily didn’t like her, either. Sunny Ferris was a smart, beautiful, well-educated lawyer who knew both how to turn on the charm and how to shut it off. Even when she smiled, and she normally only smiled for Harris, there was something unpleasant about her.
    Emily, who had spotted it first, hadn’t liked Sunny from the start. Watson fell for her charm in the beginning, but the pretty face and the witty banter soon wore thin for him as well.
    He dismissed it as a consequence of her wealthy upbringing. Sunny had grown up in mansions, spending vacations in the best resorts around the galaxy. Neither the alien invasion nor the clone uprising had touched her family or their wealth. Her father’s shoe-manufacturing company continued producing shoes, and his sports-gear business kept on selling sports gear. Over dinner, she sometimes talked about the trials of maintaining friendships on both coasts and of taking extravagant vacations.
    “Look, M, I want you to go to her apartment . . .”
    “Oh, Trav, no. Don’t do this to me.”
    “M . . . M, somebody has to go sit with her. You know how she is. We can’t let her go through this alone.”
    “Yes we can,” said Emily.
    “No we can’t,” said Watson.
    “Call her when you get home, then you can sit with her.”
    “What if someone else tells her?” asked Watson.
    “Who?”
    They both knew who. The law firm that employed Sunny represented the New Olympians.
    Emily changed her tactics. She said, “Send somebody else. Travis, she doesn’t like me. She always ignores me when we go out with them. She only talks to you and Wayson. You know that. That’s why I told you I didn’t want to go out with them anymore.”
    “What if it was me who was missing?” asked Watson. “Wayson would send Sunny to help you . . . and she’d go.” The words rang hollow in Watson’s ears as he said them. He knew better, and so did Emily.
    She said, “No he wouldn’t. Harris? He wouldn’t bother telling me. He’d wait until I found out on my own. And Sunny . . . Wayson never sends his little princess anywhere she doesn’t want to go.”
    It was true. Watson didn’t try to deny it. He said, “M.”
    “I don’t like her, Travis. No, that’s not true. I specking hate her. I do. I hate that bitch. I don’t know why I hate her so much, but I hate her. I’m not going. Don’t ask me again.”
    She remained silent for a few moments, then she sighed and asked, “What’s her address?”
     • • • 
    During the minutes between his call to Emily and the call he dreaded, Watson poured himself a drink, a half-filled tumbler of Scotch and ice. He didn’t bother watering the Scotch, not on this night. He hoped the drink would take the edge out of the guilt he felt about sending Emily.
    In his heart, Watson hoped Sunny would not pick up the phone, but she answered on the third ring. Sounding tired and confused, she said, “This is Sunny.”
    “Sunny, this is Travis Watson.” The clock on the cabin wall showed the time as 10:23 P.M. , but that would be Mazatlán time, which was two hours behind Washington, D.C. For Sunny, it would be just after midnight. He said, “Sorry to call so late.”
    “It’s okay, Trav. I wasn’t asleep.”
    A chime sounded on her end of the connection. She said, “That’s strange, there’s somebody downstairs. Can you hold for a second?”
    The line went silent.
    During the next few moments, Watson allowed his thoughts to meander. Sunny was Harris’s girlfriend. At least, Harris had stopped seeing other women when he took up with her. Watson didn’t know if Sunny shared the commitment.
    “That’s strange,” she said, sounding more confused. “That was building security. Emily is downstairs. I told them to send her up. Did you send her?”
    “Yes, I did,” Watson admitted.
    “Travis, is