Samantha was ready. Her last target. Months of preparation came to a pinnacle on the night of the attack. This was always her least favourite, but most necessary element of any assignment. The money she was going to earn from this was going to be enough to finally retire and open that bakery somewhere far from her violent past.
All preparations had been cleared away and after this evening, the loft she had been renting for several months would be cleaned clinically so that no trace of her presence would remain. It would be the last time she would get ready in that bathroom and sleep in that bed. It had been one of her better abodes and in a way she would miss it. What she would not miss was the memory of what she would have to accomplish here.
She knew her target like the back of her hand and she had created a persona exactly as he would have wanted for a woman. Down to the colour of her nail polish and the smell of her perfume, she had spun a web of lies and promises around herself that he would not be able to resist. No man had ever been able to resist her. No man had ever known her or even loved her; everything came down to lust. The weakness of the flesh was the easiest to exploit. After tonight, she would never have to do that again. One last time.
Together with this one, her total would be 35 confirmed kills. It was a symbolic number to end on, as it was also the age at which her father had been killed. As a kind of final tribute to the man who had raised her, this would be the last time she killed someone in the same manner he had lost his life. She was still young, not even thirty herself. Young enough to start a new life and leave everything behind. She had quickly made a name for herself in the milieu of the underworld, but now was the time to climb out before the dark claws would wrap themselves around her neck, pulling her back and entombing her in its thrall. No one knew her real identity, and she had to keep it that way.
Her alarm went off. Time to leave. She checked her lipstick, which matched her nails, for the last time and with one last sultry smile she closed the door behind her.
She walked into the bar as if she owned the place. Self-confidence was always the first step in getting things done, she had learned at an early age. She smiled sweetly at the bartender who served her a glass of white wine. He lingered a little too long and her sweet smile turned to ice. The message got through and the man quickly went back to his work. She took the book she had bought a few weeks ago and since then had been treating it so that it looked weathered. It was some classic where the contents did not interest her, but she knew that her target would have to talk to her about it, because that was how he was. All men were like that. Easy to win over with just the slightest encouragement.
At a quarter to eight on the dot, he walked into the bar. Peter Mertens. Samantha almost shook her head in amusement. It was habits that got people killed and this habit of his was perfect for spinning her web around him.
With a loose hand, she held her glass of wine absent-mindedly as if she were so focused on the book that she forgot the world around her. She felt his eyes resting on her and she knew at that moment that she had him. Nothing would be able to take him away from her predetermined path now.
Peter put himself on the chair next to her and accidentally bumped her leg. She made an irritated little sound, but remained focused on the page. He mumbled something that she also ignored. The moment she tried to put down her glass to turn the page, she looked beside her. Startled, she put her wine glass on the edge of the napkin so that it tipped over, right into his lap.
"Oh, I am so sorry!" she exclaimed, quickly grabbing some napkins to try and stop the stain.
"No, no problem," he said gingerly. "A good book does something to a person."
She blushed. "Really sorry, I was so engrossed that I completely forgot where I was. Oh, and your lovely shirt. I am so, so sorry! Let me make it up to you."
He laughed it off and said, "Thank goodness it wasn't red." With a wave to the bartender he ordered another glass for her and a glass of whisky for himself.
"Put it on my bill," she called after the barman, but Peter waved dismissively.
"No need at all. I've just closed a good deal so I have something to celebrate. And I don't like to do it alone. To make up for it, you can celebrate with me."
After a brief hesitation and a glance at her watch, she smiled. "Good." She raised her glass and said, "Here's to what?"
"To outsmarting the police," he said with a wink.
"Oh," she mouthed with her hand in front of her mouth. "That's pretty naughty."
"I can be quite naughty; if a lady lets me."
She averted her gaze and after taking a sip, looked at her watch again.
"Are you expecting someone else," he said airily, but with a facial expression that betrayed plenty. For a lawyer, he had a very bad poker face, Samantha noted.
She shuffled back and forth on her chair and took her mobile phone out of her purse. "I was supposed to have a date about ten minutes ago, but I don't think he's going to show up. It's my own fault, always with my nose in my book. I'll never find a man like that, my mother always says."
Samantha had never known her mother, but it sounded like something a sweet, concerned mother would say about her bookworm of a daughter.
