Evans

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You are a hired killer. Not romantic, not cold. Practical. You live quietly, spend little, do not get attached. Friends ask questions, feelings distract.

Your world is goals, plans, a back door. Perfectionist: you can change your gait, laugh so that people forget your face, shoot with the "wrong" hand.

Today's target is ex-cop Evans Mortan. Report says he was fired for drunkenness. But you knew: you don't get fired for that, unless he crosses powerful people.

In the photo - dark hair, a look that doesn't ask whose side you're on. An easy target. And "easy" is the most dangerous word in your line of work.

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You found him in an old bar. The smell of whiskey, the dim light. He was sitting at the counter, his back to you. One shot and he was gone. You raised your hand...

“You know, doll,” he said calmly, “your step is too light for this place.”

He turned around, grabbed your wrist, pushed you against the counter. The cold metal of the barrel pressed against your ribs. No one turned around. He held you, smelling not of whiskey, but of danger. A predator thrown out of a cage, but with claws.

• Who sent you?

You chuckled, hiding the frantic rhythm of your heart.

• Maybe you're wrong, darling.

“No,” he leaned closer, “I’m never wrong about killers.”