All of his flamboyant outward posturing served as a full-body mask. Cairo Martínez was a hard man in his heart. And in the moments before he fired a shot that would change someone’s life forever, he was just plain hard. Cairo’s manhood wrestled to break free from tight-fitting spandex underwear—transformed his dark camouflage cargo pants into a miniature tent trapped shaft-down in the dirt. Cairo cursed the marvel of modern performance apparel to himself as he traced scattered freckles over the soft lines of exposed flesh up and down the little woman’s naked body through the laser scope of his customized rifle. 

      Perra…loca, he groaned. Tan jodidamente sexy.

      She was a striking, sensual woman. So many curves for such a small frame. Her pale skin glowed against wavy, up-do hair knotted loose that glinted red. The way she bopped around made Cairo want to pounce. She seemed to be taking the greatest of pleasures in hand-washing the remnants of a lonely dinner for one, pausing to reflect in silent contemplation. 

      Cairo pretended it was anticipation.

      He inhaled through his nose. Tightened the lens of his scope. Watched the little woman close her eyes. Smile—deep and slow. Bend over one more time to wipe down the final, fat drops of water that had splattered on the counter and beneath the sink on the kitchen floor.

      Que hermosa criatura, Cairo whispered.

      He wrestled away the thought of aborting his current mission to pleasure himself one last time at her unsuspecting expense.

      Cairo could feel his heartbeat throbbing in the dirt.

      And then he pulled the trigger.

                                                                                               :::

      Naked meant barefoot, and barefoot meant a natural slipping hazard. Aimee felt her right leg give as she started to slide on a small grouping of water droplets that had fallen as she washed the dishes. Not a cartoon-worthy, banana-peel wipeout. Just the first few inches of maybe doing the splits.

      And her clumsiness saved her life.

      For the moment.

      The single .308 caliber bullet ripped through the soft muscle in between her left shoulder blade and the back of her neck. Exited on a murderous path through the top of her left breast. Pinged with a sickening clink off the dark gray granite countertops and ricocheted up, shattering pieces of the subway tile backsplash.

      A violent, involuntary twist collided with the momentum of the impact—stopped Aimee from completing a full, double-legged split. Instead, she tumbled to the floor, clipped the edge of the kitchen sink as she fell, and landed hard on her left shoulder and ribs. Pain threatened to overtake the entire left side of her small body as bright red blood immediately pooled on the stark white tile around her.

      Her blood.

      Her pain.