Perfect Assassin

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Jacy promised. To the young woman seated in front of him, he said, “Put your arm around my waist and hang on tight. The ride will be rough.”

“I’ve never ridden a horse before,” she whispered against his chest.

“That you remember.”

“Ja, that I remember.”

Chapter 4

He felt betrayed, but mostly he felt an overwhelming amount of guilt. He should have seen this coming. Her skills were flawless, but her heart….

Though she was Holic’s daughter, and had his blood flowing through her veins, he had always felt she was more like her mother Mady, a gentle spirit. And it was that wholesome spirit that he had fallen in love with.

Da, he loved her. No one would ever know how much, or how much he needed to have her return that love.

Otto pulled up the collar on his leather coat, then brought the pale-gray scarf he’d given Prisca to his nose. Her sweet scent collected around him. It soothed him and made him anxious at the same time.

When he had found her gone, he had also found the cashmere scarf. He had vowed in that moment, as he’d slipped it around his neck, not to take it off until he found her and returned it to her.

Three months ago when Holic had given him the assignment as his daughter’s keeper it had felt as though he’d been given the keys to the king’s castle and all the golden eggs in the cellar. And with the gift, suddenly his life had purpose. Prisca was his purpose. To guide and protect, nurture and love.

That was the best part. His reward in return was to be close to the woman he loved. To enjoy a life where every minute of every day put him in her company.

He had loved Miss Pris forever, from the moment he had seen her at age ten. He’d been twenty and yet he had known that she was the one. He’d waited and kept his eye on her as she grew to become an adult, and in that time his love had grown, too.

Why had she left? Had she left the mission, or had she left him?

Their work was timely. It was critical that they stay on schedule. She knew that. Knew the importance of each kill. They had talked daily about their agenda. The kill-file was like a detailed map. If they followed the plan to the letter it would be as easy as shooting ducks out of the water at a summer carnival.

The only catch to the entire mission was to stay on schedule. One delay made the file useless.

He had called her phone when he’d realized she was gone. When she hadn’t answered, he had left several messages. But she hadn’t answered any of them.

Why? What had happened? Had she willingly left him?

The thought of her hurt made him crazy. He would never forgive himself if he had allowed harm to come to her.

Did she know how worried he was? How he hadn’t been able to sleep since she had left?

He had been careful not to push her too hard in the work. He’d also been careful not to show his feelings too much. She was young, and he hadn’t wanted to scare her. But he often wrestled with the idea of telling her.

Secrets were the seeds to unhappiness. That’s what his father used to say. It would be good to share his feelings with her. It could bring them closer. Maybe she felt the same and she was just waiting for him to make the first move.

He needed her to love him as he loved her.

Otto walked past the flight schedule in the airport and saw a dozen delays. Thankful that none of them affected him, he headed for gate seven. His destination, Poland.

He raised the gray cashmere scarf and brushed it slowly across his cheek. Then brought it to his nose and inhaled sharply. Like a stiff snort of cocaine, the scent of sweet ginger and spice energized him and refueled his cause, as well as his love for Miss Pris.

Prisca woke up in a warm bed, the smell of bacon heavy in the air. She woke up slowly, groggy, aware she was sharing her pillow with something furry.

She sat up, startling awake whatever was sleeping next to her. The fur pile jumped up with a growl, and Prisca screamed.

The door burst open and that startled her, too, and she clutched the blanket to her bare breasts as a stranger appeared with a metal spatula in hand.

“What the hell is wrong?”

“That’s what’s wrong,” she hollered back, because he’d shouted the question at her.

“Weeko, dammit, Moon told you to stay out of here.”

“Weeko? What’s a weeko?”

“That’s her name.”

“What is she?”

“A raccoon. You’ve never seen one before?”

“No. Does it bite?”

“If she’s cornered. I’ve been bitten a few times.”

“Then get it out of here.”

The stranger scooped the raccoon under his arm and started out the door.

“Wait.”

He turned. “Yeah?”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Vic Krandle.”

“Moon’s friend?”

“That’s right. I worked on your leg last night. You don’t remember?”

“Vaguely.”

“That’s because I gave you a shot to put you out while I sutured your leg.”

Moon’s friend was average in weight and thin. He wore fashion jeans and a lemon-yellow sweater. He didn’t look like anyone Koko’s grandson would be friends with. He had a city flair about him, his hair short, and his hands looked as though they hadn’t ever been dirty once.

“Where’s Moon?”

“He left before dawn with the BLM to go back up to the crash site.”