Aware his bride once worked as an assassin for The Company, Dawson Pelletier marries her despite the past she tries to leave behind. Now, all efforts are to keep her alive when her former employer sends its best to kill Julia. Wounded and angry, the former hitwoman vows all-out war against them. Alone, trying to spare her husband, she systematically hunts each killer, as Dawson fights for his own life. Even if they survive, can the newlyweds overcome distrust, hurt feelings, and rekindle their love?
I found it difficult to imagine the warm and caring woman I’d married was once a ruthless killer until from behind a tree I watched her practice. Julia no longer existed. She became J—the gray woman. I held my breath when she dove forward, tumbling head over heels to come up shooting with her suppressed work pistol. Although never admitting an actual number, stories she once confided meant her kills went over fifty or seventy-five, perhaps even a hundred. Shots from the .22 Ruger were silent from where I watched. A few rounds fired then a run, dive, roll, or summersault and come up shooting again—empty magazines exchanged with others carried on her belt. More bullets went downrange while barrel-rolling without slowing her rate of fire. Blazing away from her side with her weak or strong hand, J stopped only when her gun ran dry after shooting her way back to the bench.
A voice at my shoulder shocked me. “Jesus Christ…” Automatically drawing the .44 Magnum Colt Anaconda on my belt, I turned fully prepared to kill our intruder. Scotty stood a few feet behind me but his gaze never shifted from Julia. His mouth left open, he observed slack-jawed while she switched from empty to loaded magazines. My drawn revolver got ignored, and I holstered it. “I…holy shit…” Scotty was finally at a loss for words, holding the shotgun he promised to bring.
“How long have you been watching?”
“Long enough,” he whispered back.
“Buddy, you’ve gotta get out of here. She can’t know you saw.” I tried to edge him away.
He tried more gawking over my shoulder. “What the hell, Pelletier?”
“Scotty, as God is my witness, you have to leave. Run!”