Page 8 of Bullet Unleashed

CHAPTER TWO

CHASE DANIELS

Never make it personal, I remind myself. Hope Moore, the girl with dangerous curves and equally sexy smile lives somewhere in Sance. I spotted her as soon as she came in the store. She may not have immediately recognized me, but I could never forget her. Nice, dark eyelashes and eyebrows. The same number of moles spread alluringly on her neck. And those eyes. Aquamarine blue eyes which remind me of the clear tropical sea on a sunny day. Sable colored hair pulled into a ponytail. She was older now, but still had the same seductive...something about her, whether it was her sense of justice or simply her sympathy. The one woman who could make things personal for me is an inhabitant of the small town I chose to get away from it all. Life seems to be full of irony.

“Here are the keys, Chase,” Yvonne says to me with an open, extended hand. With the other, she twirls a few strands of her hair around her fingers.

“Thanks.” I don’t have any many more words for her other than what I’ve already said, without becoming rude. We’ve already worked through and signed all of the contracts needed for me to purchase the home and the land. She’s interested in more and I’m not.

“Well...okay then,” she responds and bites her lip.

“Have a good day, missus Barber.”

“Oh, it’s miss. Miss Barber.”

“Huh,” I grunt and give her a nod of my head, jutting my chin towards her left hand. “I would have thought the ring would say otherwise.”

“Oh, this?” She asks as her cheeks change from pink to a bright red. “It’s a vanity ring.”

“On your left hand? The one closest to your heart?”

“Wow. You know your stuff.”

“Have a great day, missus Daniels.”

With a bit of a frown, she gets into her car and drives off, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Finally. After a long assignment, all I want is the peace and quiet my lifestyle affords me. It’s why I purchased this home sitting alone on five acres of land. Sance is the kind of small town in the middle of nowhere a person in my profession needs to get away and get off the grid. Except, after bumping into Hope last night while I was away from my hotel room to stock up on snacks, I’m beginning to rethink my choice.

The home is secluded and sitting by the lake, fully furnished and completely paid for. I have neither the time, nor desire to worry about a mortgage. It’s part of the reason Yvonne was so enamored with me. As the real estate agent, she told me she’d had a tough time selling the location as the house had been on the market for months. The previous owners had disappeared under mysterious circumstances, and no one wanted to touch the place. But in all my travels, I’ve learned there’s nothing unexplainable in the world. This place was perfect for my needs and I’ll be damned if a couple of people who probably decided to up and move keep me from this prime spot.

The exterior of the house located at the end of Worsley Lane is stunning in its simplicity. The white stucco built in the early seventies was upgraded and reimagined with all new construction to include a new atrium with a garage, maid’s room and mudroom. Cherry and magnolia trees are housed in a courtyard.

The interior is modern and clean with floor-to-ceiling windows blending with the exterior. This allows me a breath-taking view of the lake to set my mind at peace, while also bathing the home in natural light. Glass walls make break-ins easier, but I feel sorry for the fool who attempts to take what belongs to me. The second-floor has a three-bedroom suite with media and recreation room.

Moving in is simple and takes me less than half the day as I have the bare minimum. Traveling light and remaining unattached is a necessity for my way of life, which brings me back to Hope. Never make it personal, I remind myself. It’s rule number two of only two rules meant to govern my world. And for good reason. Feelings do nothing but get a person killed, and I mean to live.

My communicator chirps, meaning it’s time to check in. I have an assignment waiting for me.

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NEVER MAKE IT PERSONAL, I remind myself as I sit on the ridge above. Peering through the image intensifier tube currently pressing against my eye, I’m able to see everything with perfect clarity. The day is clear and warm, with a few soft clouds making their way across the blue sky as if they don’t have a care in the world. The birds sing in the trees like one would see in a kid’s movie full of cartoons and family feel-good moments. The wind is gentle and negligible as it brushes across my face, and even the fly humming in my ear isn’t a distraction. The day is perfect by all accounts and couldn’t have been better scripted for this memorable occasion.

John Sliver had made plans with his long-time girlfriend Jan Orlovsky to go hiking up the Gray Heights, a mountain range known as an excellent place for rock climbing. The day before, John had gone shopping with his two best friends, Sam and Christopher. Diane was Jan’s best friend. With Diane’s help, and Sam and Christopher cheering him on, John purchased an internally flawless, seven-carat, princess cut diamond, set in pavé diamonds and rose gold engagement ring.

Christopher then made plans for dinner. A table for two at Catch 35, where John would treat his betrothed to a night of fine dining and dancing. John would then whisk his new fiancé off to a private beach reserved for them by Sam, where they would spend the weekend swimming, and sunbathing in blissful seclusion in full view of crystal-clear, shallow waters. It was all very romantic and hopeful, the kind of story they would tell their grandchildren about, before they died in each other’s arms.

Except, only part of the fairy tale would be true. I don’t allow myself a moment of introspection very often as I watch them from a distance, but this one struck me. The two of them walking up the trail, him stopping to pretend as if he’s tying his shoelaces, her oblivious to his actions. Anyone could see this coming a mile away without the aid of binoculars. The look on her face when he whips out the ring and gets to one knee is comical. By all accounts, Jan is a sweet girl.

Straight A student at the top of her class, ready to graduate summa cum laude in another month from one of the highest institutions of learning in the world, Jan was a dual threat. Pretty, and highly intelligent, the world was ready to be at her beck and call. She’d spent a lot of her time the previous day on the phone with her mother, gushing about how she thought tomorrow could be the day John asked her to be his. Her mother, Sara, gushed just as much as her daughter did at the possibility of her only child going off to live the life young girls dream about. Sara tried multiple times to end their conversation to make travel preparations, with each attempt stymied by her daughter who cautioned her mother not to do anything until she knew for certain. Jan didn’t want to risk throwing off the universe by making plans ahead of time.

Sweet girl, it’s a shame the circumstances of life brought her to this moment. The moment when she and John stop, as he planned, to look over the edge and marvel at the picturesque scenery afforded them by the clear, blue sky. Under this backdrop, this is the moment she’d waited all of her twenty-four years for. And it would be hers. She didn’t know this would also be the moment when I press the button on the detonator, setting off a series of small charges designed to collapse the rock foundation under their feet. Everything is explainable, but the charges are untraceable, so even to the most trained professional it will look like a freak accident. The headlines will read something like “Billionaire playboy plummets to his death,” and the poor girl will be nothing more than a sentence fragment in the story. I’m not unfeeling, but rule number two governs my every action.

Never make it personal. The minute I allow feelings to get involved, is the minute I become compromised, and the minute I become compromised is the minute B Corp cancels my assignment. I’ve been with them for twelve years, and in that time, I’ve had to cancel a few assignments for them. It’s always a nasty affair, but even with canceling a peer, it’s never personal. Rule number two runs the world I exist in, but rule number one owns it.

I pack up my gear at a methodic pace, making sure to erase any markings I may leave behind. I was never here, on this ledge, ushering in the time of two people’s death. With my gear in my bag and slung over my shoulder, I casually make my descent down the mountain. An assassin never runs. An assassin is meticulous, and careful, planning every moment down to its finest detail. At least, the assassins employed by B Corp are. We’re ghosts, and the best at what we do, and I’m at the top of the ladder. The two lovers’ bodies should be discovered in a few hours, after nature has had a run at them. The first responders and local investigators will give it a thorough look, and come up with jack shit. Because, when they do they’ll slam headfirst into rule number one.

Never leave witnesses.

Jan was never the target, only collateral damage. My pre-planning revealed John would only be vulnerable once. If I missed this opportunity...well, it didn’t matter, because I never miss. It’s why I was given the assignment in the first place, and why the two rules work in perfect harmony.

Never leave witnesses and never make it personal.

This is my life. One I’ve lived for a very long time. So why now, after all this time, do I see Hope and rule number two no longer feels as if it applies?

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