Page 17 of Hit Man
Despite my recent setbacks, I was born to do this job. I get off on it, the adrenaline rush from stalking my prey, being one step ahead of my targets, working people over like they’re putty in my hands. Put a bullet in some moron’s head? No problemo. Take a lover to help my cover—like I’d done with Diana, during round one of my stay at Casa Bella? Yeah, she was only too happy to share my bed. Nothing stimulates me more than fucking up assholes who don’t see me coming.
And sex.Lotsof sex.
Though I never broke a bed before. . . .
“Say the word,” Hayden warns.
“I’ve got this.”
“You spent months at Casa Bella and Fahder was a no-show. Pitched a fit and informed me you were hitting the streets. That if you can’t lead a terrorist to water . . .”
“Well, I’m back and going to wait it out. Have a little patience because this is going to work. Just hit a little bump in the road with thatgilipollasfalling. Fahder will show. It’s just taking longer than expected.”
“Patience,” Hayden snorts. “I give you a week max before you grow bored and want to switch things up. Again. We can’t afford any more screwups.”
Two weeks. Yeah, I know my limitations. Fahder better hurry the hell up.
“I found another way into the room hidden beneath the mansion.”
“Guns? Drugs?” he asks.
“Empty.”
“Not for long, I’m thinking.”
“I agree. The cave was built for a reason. Mendoza has beefed up patrol and has placed even more security cameras throughout the estate. He’s preparing for something.” And Big Brother isn’t just watching the sprawling grounds of his estate; he’s got a camera inside each of the bungalows.
Unlike his father’s impenetrable former residence, Casa Bella for all its grandeur is low-tech. You get what you pay for, right? What Mendoza gets is sporadic power outages that knock out his entire surveillance system. With the convenient timer on my expensive little black box, I control the outages, when they happen, and when they end. Something, though, that is best used on the rare occasions when I’m alone with a few security guards and an overabundance of household staff. Something used sparingly, before it becomes obvious someone is fucking with the power grid.
With Mendoza’s return, I’m going to have to get creative. No time like the present; I’ve got a meeting with him and his crew in half an hour.
“Any other unforeseeable complications I need to know about?”
“Let me get my hit man’s crystal ball out and I’ll fill you in,” I mutter. Still, I refrain from sharing my other problem.
The brunette saw me.
Which makes her someone who needs to be dealt with. I can’t have witnesses running around, gabbing about me and my peculiar actions. How I’ve done something out of the norm. Something that will likely cast unnecessary attention onto me.
With Mendoza’s crew away on business, the timing had been perfect to more closely investigate the cave built into the foundation of the mansion. Accessible in three ways. By taking the hidden stairwell beneath the living room, which is heavily monitored by cameras as well as routinely patrolled. Or making a miserable descent down the long, steep pathway leading to the waterfall and the cave hidden behind it. Miserable because of its unnaturally high volume of trip wire traps and security cameras. Clearly, Mendoza believes most perpetrators would be stupid enough to take the steep hike down Obvious Way.
The least obvious access point is through the living room. A scenic twenty-foot-drop over the waterfall and into the waters below. Like taking a barrel over Niagara Falls, sans the barrel.
Sans anything but my waterproof supply pack, which contained a waterproof flashlight, a rope, a change of clothing, sneakers, and a baseball cap. If by the off chance an outside camera picked up my movements, I can deny it was me and back my lie up with the proof captured on one of two cameras set up in the living room under which I’d strategically posed in my suit. The man walking across the lawn in shorts and a T-shirt could be anyone out for a casual stroll. Yet I’m counting on not having to explain myself. It pays to know where the camera are located and where the blind spots lie.
I planned it perfectly, right down to ensuring a fire was lit in the living room so I could burn my suit. A shame and waste of TORC money yet it’d be too bulky for my pack and added weight once wet. Everything was planned to perfection. Except what I didn’t count on was the company—I was too preoccupied in positioning my black box over the power grid to realize visitors had arrived.
And the brunette caught me, red-handed. Stripped down to my briefs, bare-chested, and with my thousand-dollar suit clutched in my hands.
I did what I had to. Seduced her. Fucked her for information. Made my presenceknown. Except the joke’s on me because she dodged my questions like a professional. And once I was insider her . . .dios mío.
“I’m here for financial reasons”—how freaking convenient. If she’s an investor in Mendoza’s daddy’s business, I’m Donald fucking Trump. She lied about not understanding Spanish. . . .
I shake my head.
Did her lie stop me? Hell no. “I want fast,” she’s snapped. Three words a man like me, someone who loves fucking, frequently and vigorously, takes on like a goddamn battle cry. Yet her aggressive words didn’t match the tight feel of her sweet pussy, her wicked body unable hide the truth—she’s not as experienced as her behavior suggests. Still, she played me like an amateur who let his dick do his thinking.
She’s another unnecessary complication. And for all I know, she could be working for Mendoza or even another private contractor like TORC.
