Page 2 of Stripped

Chapter 1

Wraith drove the short distance to Eden Court Theater in Inverness, turning his black Mercedes GT into a tight parking spot. The blustery February wind skirted across the river Ness, cutting through him with frigid fatality and constricting his breath as he made his way from the car park to the entrance of the newly renovated building. He reached for the accursed inhaler in his pocket and took two puffs, opening up his scarred lung as he looked around at the modern building. Eden Court housed two theaters, two studios, two cinemas and three galleries, bringing the arts to the Scottish Highlands and the future.

He adjusted the bow tie on his tuxedo, making sure it was straight. It was opening night of the ballet, and anyone who was anyone in the influential Highland society would be here this evening. His grandmother used to take him to the ballet in Edinburgh every Christmas, to see the Nutcracker, but he wasn't here tonight as a spectator. He was here for work. He pushed his past down. It was no longer relevant in his life, and he rarely let himself think about it. In fact, it no longer existed. Funny, the memory would pop up now after eleven months. He gripped the trombone case he held tight, showing the usher at the door his Scottish Ballet Orchestra badge.

"Take the hall to the left and down the stairs," the older man said, pointing to the forestage.

Wraith gave the man a brief nod. "Thank you." He proceeded down the hall, stopping when he got to the stairs. Instead of going down, he went up to the third floor and veered off to the right, going through a set of double doors and into the auditorium. He looked down; the orchestra was already in the pit. The sound of string and wind instruments being tuned vibrated through the air. He made his way to box forty-one, located house left, and set the trombone case under one of the blue seats, taking the badge off. He looked out over the theatre. This box gave him a horrible view of the stage, but he wasn't here for the show. Again, he was here for work. A nervous energy tickled his spine, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand up. This was his first assignment, so he couldn't afford to make a mistake. He already knew where all the exits were located. He had spent the greater part of yesterday scoping out the venue. He knew his exact path, running through it in his mind one more time.

Guests and patrons would be arriving. He exited the theater. People mingled at the bar and restaurant, dressed in their finest attire, a sea of black suits and designer ball gowns. Wraith used the lavatory, keeping his eyes peeled the entire time. He was careful to blend in with the gathering crowd. He returned to his box seat, shutting the door. Ten minutes, until the show started. He stood at the back, out of view, and pulled a pair of theater binoculars out of his pocket, scanning the audience. There was movement in box thirty-six, on the opposite side of the theater. He tightened in on the space, bringing Angus McNeil into focus. The older man was alone. That was an advantage. He had spent the past month in Glasgow, trailing the business tycoon as he learned his mannerisms and patterns. For a man in his seventies, he still managed to throw off a threatening presence with his blocky build and face like a cratered moon. McNeil unbuttoned his tuxedo coat as he sat down. His white hair was slicked back, and he ran his hand along his tightly manicured goatee, a gesture that only added to his menacing self-assurance. Few people crossed this man. The lights flickered, indicating the start of the ballet. Wraith laid out his gear and waited.

The theater went dark and the music began. He knew the musical score by heart. He knew exactly when to make his move and had it timed out to the music as he counted the beats. His own tormented dance with death wouldn't begin until right before intermission. His eyes drifted to the stage as Odette emerged, the white swan, ethereal and graceful. It was Angus' granddaughter, Primrose McNeil. When she was suddenly thrust into the starring role after the unfortunate and suspicious accident of the Russian principal dancer, Irina Beilkov, it opened up the perfect opportunity and place for Wraith to carry out his mission. Most of the time, his job was spent watching and waiting, as he collected the necessary data the tactical plan required, demanding extreme patience. But he had all the time in the world now, nothing but time. His life wasn't his own anymore. He waited, the music ticking down the minutes in his mind. At the start of the second act, he put on his night vision goggles, adjusting the chin strap as his attention was focused singularly on box thirty-six. He took his high-powered rifle from the trombone case. The .338 Lapua Magnum cartridge was already loaded; he had one shot. He knelt behind the seats and brought it into position, adjusting the scope. Angus sat watching the stage, entranced and unguarded. A bouquet of two dozen white roses sat next to him. He was infatuated as he watched Primrose float across the stage, fragile and beautiful, and it left him vulnerable. The music began to build as the story and dance unfolded, powerfully melodic in its synergy. Wraith closed his eyes briefly, letting the notes become his guide. He put his finger on the trigger as the coda climbed and the tension of the piece reached its climax. He and Angus were about to become one.

A shadow in the box made him blink. No more than a dark presence, he watched as the old man struggled, trying to stop the intruder but not before he was silently pushed over the edge. The curtain closed, and people began to scream as twenty-four white roses accompanied Angus down in a wicked and lethal pas de deux to where he lay face down on the cement floor. Act two was complete.

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