Boston born barmaid Charlie Moore might not be an angel, but she hasn't committed any crimes worth noting either. Until the night she murders a U.S. Senator in cold blood.
He wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. Deep down, he knew that he could never have pulled it off. He knew that they would come for him, that they would stop him. But he still held on to the hope that someone out there could do what he couldn't. Finish what he started. Finish them once and for all.
He thought about scribbling a note, but knew it would be futile. They were clever. They would turn this room upside down looking for anything that would lead back to them.
Unless... Unless the note wasn't in the room. His eyes fell on his laptop, still on the desk. They would destroy it, of course. But they couldn't destroy something they didn't know existed. He wasted precious seconds waiting for the internet page to load, and then hit a few keys, typing out a short message. Something crashed through the door, breaking his concentration.
The body of his bodyguard flew across the room, smashing into the wall opposite, slumping in a limp heap at the bottom. The culprit of such feat walked in seconds later. Each step, each movement was graceful, calculated. The perfect killing machine, in the perfect disguise.
The woman raised her gun, taking aim at his head. She watched him with cold eyes and a mocking smile, dragging out the inevitable for a few seconds, enjoying the sheer terror starring back at her. It was all he needed.
He pressed send.
She pulled the trigger.