Free Killer Focus by Fiona Brand Page B

platitudes. Rina knew better.
    Finally, Rina spoke. “Tell me what happened. I need to know everything.”
    Taylor’s rendition was brief. If she drew it out, she’d end up crying on the sidewalk, and she was tired of losing control, of wallowing in emotion.
    A taxi swerved into the curb. Dana motioned her to get in.
    Pain seared her chest, her back and all the way down her left leg as she climbed into the rear of the cab.
    Rina’s voice was urgent. “Are you sure it was Alex?”
    Taylor rubbed at her temples. “It was a professional hit. The guy rented a room and waited.”
    â€œWhat was the payoff?”
    Black humor surfaced. “You ask me that?”
    â€œThe calling card bothers me. Alex doesn’t use gimmicks and he doesn’t go in for revenge unless there’s a payoff. So what was the payoff?”
    She stared out the window of the cab. “Lopez wants me dead.”
    â€œNot enough. He doesn’t waste time and he doesn’t create unnecessary complications. Think about it, that’s what you’re good at. Maybe you’re right, and Alex does want you dead, but it won’t be personal. If you don’t have something he wants, then you must know something.”
    Taylor stared at the weaving traffic and tried to think. Alex Lopez had waited more than two decades to obtain what he wanted from Rina. It hadn’t been an act of revenge. He had been patient, methodical, efficient. He had waited behind the scenes, controlling her life, eventually marrying her. The payoff he had been after had been huge, an account number locked in Rina’s mind worth billions of dollars.
    â€œMaybe you’re right.” The only thing Taylor could be certain of was that she no longer saw Lopez clearly. Bayard had been right. She had lost her objectivity.
    Weariness dragged at her, a cold sense of premonition. “It’s no longer my problem. Bayard has the case.”
    â€œI know. He’s good. I’m just worried,” she said softly. “If it’s not Alex, that means it’s someone else. Watch your back.”

Eight
    A month later, her chest still healing, Taylor, now known as Taylor Jeffries, watched as a moving firm unloaded her furniture and carried it into a condominium in one of the beachside suburbs of Wilmington, North Carolina.
    The condo had been an obvious choice. The security was good and it had a swimming pool. In order to help her damaged lung regain its normal capacity, she needed to do aerobic activity, but she wasn’t allowed to jog yet. Aside from walking and the breathing exercises the physiotherapist had given her, all she was allowed to do was swim.
    She stepped aside as two burly men maneuvered a couch through the front hallway, and watched as they unpacked furniture and possessions she hadn’t seen since the morning of the shooting.
    Aside from the loss of her job, the WITSEC placement meant separation from Dana until Lopez was caught and it was safe for Taylor to resume her normal life. Dana had also had the option of a WITSEC placement, but she had chosen to stay in San Francisco. According to the FBI report, the attack on Taylor had been viable because of Taylor’s routine. The risk that Lopez, or one of his people, would make a second attempt now that Taylor was protected by WITSEC was minimal. From Dana’s point of view, if remaining outside the Witness Security program posed a threat to Taylor’s security, she would go, gladly, but until then they could leave her life the hell alone.
    For Taylor, there had only been one option, but walking away from the commitment she’d made to the Bureau, the years of specialized training and the knowledge that her skills could make a difference, had hurt. Every day she checked the papers and the Internet for career options. Enforcement of any kind was out, and she had signed an agreement to stay away from anything that made her publicly visible or was