Frozen by Fear [DEADLY SECRETS#1]

Kabanata 17

KABANATA 17

Waverly Rose's POV

London - January

I tip my head back and the whiskey burns down my throat on its way to my stomach. I slam the shot glass down on the bar and slide off the bar stool.

As I walk to the back of the pub, I pass by my target's table. James Donald is a man in his mid-forties, reddish-blonde hair, green eyes and known terrorist.

The British government is just having a little trouble proving it. That's where I come in.

I take note of the men sitting at the table with him. I recognize them from the surveillance photos that David sent me.

Two are his bodyguards, not particularly important in the criminal scheme of things. The fourth man, however, is extremely important in Donald's terrorist network.

His name is Brian Walker. He is Donald's second-in-command and bomb specialist.

The job was to kill just Donald, but I'm feeling charitable towards my anonymous employer of the moment. I think I'll throw Walker in for the heck of it. A nice little bonus.

When I enter the women's restroom, I go into the stall furthest from the door and check my weapons. Throwing knife tucked into each sleeve of my leather jacket, mini stun gun in the inside pocket of my jacket and a much more deadly handgun tucked in my jeans, at the small of my back.

I leave the stall and check my appearance in the mirror above the sinks. Blackwig with bangs, black sunglasses, brown leather jacket with fur lining andbrown leather gloves. The sunny, but cold, winter day in London is a valid excuse for the gloves, which will ensure that no fingerprints are left behind.

The old-fashioned pub in London doesn't have surveillance cameras and the wig and sunglasses help to hide my features from anyone with a good memory.

I don't feel entirely clear headed after drinking seven shots of whiskey, but I'm anxious to get the job done.

I've tried to keep myself busy over the past two months. Idle time leads to thinking about things that are better left in the past. Two months in the past. When I killed John Evans last November, seems like a lifetime ago.

I grip the sink and shake away the thoughts that are trying to intrude on the job. My plan is to follow Donald and his terrorist comrades to the car they have parked in the alley behind the pub. Where I will pull the trigger.

Maybe I should hold off on the kill and plant a bomb under his car. Seems like a more fitting way for Donald and Walker to die.

After all, they do love to bomb public places, where innocents get killed. Despite being a tad drunk, I don't feel very relaxed. I feel anxious and wound up. I close my eyes and roll my neck back in an effort to relieve some of the tension.

Ace's face flashes through my mind. I grind my teeth and reach back to grip my gun. The action soothes me, gives me a sense of control. It doesn't last long.

I can hear Ace's voice in my head when we made love for the first time, 'I love you, Rose'. Then I hear his bitter last words to me, 'I hate you so much that I think it's killed all the love that I had for you'.