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THE SMILING ASSASSIN
by NATHALIE GRAY

Copyright © NATHALIE GRAY, 2008
All Rights Reserved, RED SAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

EXCERPT FROM THE SMILING ASSASSIN

He wasn’t callous enough to kill the man while she still watched. But as soon as the skinny brunette scrambled off the bed to retrieve the rest of her ruined clothes, Uriel fired a single, economical bullet in the would-be rapist’s heart. A small target, yes, but he was a good shot. Usually, he pumped another round in his target just for good measure—he was careful if nothing else—but this time, with the woman’s gasp of shock and pale face, Uriel just let it be a one-bullet deal. He figured the poor woman had had enough. He wondered who she was, what had brought her up to infamous Foley’s apartment. Not pretty enough to be an escort, she was no prostitute or junkie either, not that it made a stitch of difference. There was something in the way she moved, in the way she yanked her clothes on with her back against the wall and her eyes on him and the dead prick. Nervous, understandably afraid yet alert. Judging from the dark mark over Foley’s nose and temple, she’d placed a few good ones too. Good woman.
       “Here,” he said, ripping the sheet off the bed and proffering it. “Wrap that around you. It’ll be windy on the way down.” There was blood on one corner.
     She took the offering without glancing into his eyes, for which he was glad. He may be an assassin—the best—who’d just caught his latest target but the sight of a woman’s pain or fear always tore at his soul. Rage bubbled to the surface. He pushed it down. Nothing came out of anger. Or any other emotion for that matter.
      “Where are you taking me?” she asked in a small, tight voice. Her dark eyes looked too big for her narrow face.
       He hated the dead prick even more. What kind of voice did she usually have? What change would her ordeal bring? What else on top of her dignity had this scumbag stolen?
        Uriel turned his back on her so she could adjust herself in her clothes and drape the sheet around her. “Down below,” he replied, surprised his voice came out strangled. What the hell was wrong with him? “You can call station security there.” He’d be long gone by the time they’d arrive.
        She nodded, held the sheet around her shaking frame while he pushed the remnants of the door aside so she could pass. He always made grand entrances. Either by busting through something or, if the occasion called for it, by showing up like a ghost ship, slowly, silently. Deadly. With his height, either way worked.
         For this present contract, he would’ve chosen the latter method hadn’t he heard the woman’s calls for help. He could’ve chosen to wait for a clear shot and usually did. Waiting for that one split second of perfect clarity was what differentiated him from the rest of the wannabes out there who thought owning a fancy gun and having a good eye entitled them to the title of assassin. But he hadn’t waited. Couldn’t have waited.
         Uriel threw a leg over the matte black air pressure bike’s seat, extended a hand to the woman, who took it. It was cold and bony but firm. For a split second, their gazes met. He’d never believed in any sort of link, mojo, karma or fate sort of crap. That stuff was for those who didn’t have the guts of asking for what they wanted, or taking it when it was available. But when he looked into those brown eyes, he couldn’t deny what he saw. There was something there. Something special. Strength tempered with wisdom. This was a woman who wouldn’t bend under the weight of life.
She opened her mouth, looked about to say something. He didn’t want to hear it. In case it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. In case it was.

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