by Eve Langlais
Copyright © 2018/19, Eve Langlais
Cover Art Razz Dazz Design © 2018
Produced in Canada
Published by Eve Langlais ~ www.EveLanglais.com
eBook ISBN: 978 177 384 065 9
Print ISBN: 978 177 384 064 2
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
This is a work of fiction and the characters, events and dialogue found within the story are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, either living or deceased, is completely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to digital copying, file sharing, audio recording, email, photocopying, and printing without permission in writing from the author.
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Introduction
Can a woman with her past and secrets ever take a chance on love?
Being a single mom is tough, but Carla doesn’t mind the minivan and the PTA meetings. What does concern her are the random acts of violence striking too close to home.
Has someone discovered her secret alter ego? An assassin for hire, Carla’s done her best to cover her tracks.
Is it enough?
The coach who keeps flirting with her doesn’t appear to suspect that she’s more than she seems; however, when danger threatens, Carla won’t be able to hide the fact that she’s a killer mom.
And she’ll do anything to keep her son safe.
Chapter One
The meeting was going about as well as expected, which was why when Carla’s phone rang—a lively song called “Fireball”, which could only be one person—she announced, “Excuse me a moment while I take this call.”
Mr. Ramirez looked none too pleased, but he didn’t say a word.
Sliding her phone free from her pocket, a press of her fingertip answered the call. “What is it, mijito?”
“I scored. Three times!” Her son’s excitement burst from the speaker, and she beamed.
“That’s amazing! So those new shoes we got are working, then?” She’d splurged and bought the expensive soccer shoes for her boy. He deserved something extra given that her work was going well and he’d gotten As on his last report card. The budget didn’t appreciate the stretch, but it was for a good cause. Her son, Nico, was an up-and-coming soccer star.
“I am super-fast now, Mami. I wish you could have seen me score.”
“Me too, mijito. Next game. I will be there cheering loudly.”
“When are you coming home?” The plaintive query tugged at her heart. Nico hated when she traveled out of town, but sometimes, her job required it.
“My flight leaves tonight, so I’ll see you in the morning.” Not entirely true. She was actually only about an hour’s drive away. However, she would have to pick up her car at the airport and drop off the rental paid for in cash. After she wiped it down, of course.
“Love you, Mami.”
“Love you more,” she sang before hanging up. How she adored her boy. She hated being away from him, but sometimes, duty called.
She slid the phone into her pocket before turning her attention back to the fellow she was meeting with. The knife she held against Ramirez’s throat hadn’t moved at all during the call, not even when she juggled the phone to answer.
It helped that Ramirez was duct taped to a hotel chair.
Good thing she’d already sealed his mouth shut before answering. Ramirez seemed like the type to not respect a mother taking an important call from her son.
“Where were we?” she mused aloud. A sham. Carla always knew what was going on. She had to in her line of work. “That’s right, you were going to tell me where you stashed the money you stole.”
The big man, in a suit now showing sweat stains in the pits, and sporting a ruddy complexion that implied an unhealthy lifestyle, glared. She could just imagine what he’d say if she ripped that tape off his face—after he was done yelling. She’d bought the good stuff. The kind that didn’t come off even if soaked.
Which was why she didn’t bother tugging. She’d heard it all before.
“Fucking bitch, I dare you to hurt me.” She never was one to refuse a dare.
“Cunt. I’m going to mess you up something fierce.” Actually, she messed him up something good.
And then there were the pussies who begged. “Please don’t kill me. I’ll do anything you want.” Those were the worst types, the ones who’d sell their own mothers to make a buck or save their skin. Carla made the world a better place by taking them out.
It didn’t take the file she’d read beforehand or the drink she’d shared with Ramirez to lure him into her trap to know that his ego, and his misogyny, couldn’t fathom a woman causing him harm. Even when he woke tied to a chair a few hours after she’d fed him a mickey in his drink, he held on to his arrogance and demanded she let him go.
The idiot thought he was in charge. He’d soon learn. Men always underestimated her. She knew what they saw when they looked at her. Petite Latina, weighing a hundred and ten pounds with a slim and trim figure, who, with her heritage, must surely be ready to suck the cock of any guy who bought her a drink.
Little did they know that she was more likely to cut it off.
Carla crouched before Ramirez and dragged her knife down his chest, flicking each button on his shirt along the way until the tip of the blade pressed against his groin.
“You know, there’s a reason why my boss specifically gave me this job.” Carla was the one they sent to do the dirty work. “I have no problem hurting you. You remind me of my father.” Which wasn’t a nice comparison. The man who’d raised her was a violent drunk. He’d also stolen money from those less fortunate. Such a shame he stumbled onto those railroads tracks just before the three o’clock came roaring past. They’d saved money on the funeral because there was so little of him left to bury.
Carla pressed a little harder, digging the tip of the knife deep enough that she knew he felt it. “You ready to tell me where the money is?”
Ramirez glared. Daring her.
Without changing her expression, she shoved on the hilt of her blade. It pierced fabric and stabbed him in the balls.
Ramirez attempted to scream from behind the tape. Tried to thrash, too. It didn’t get him anywhere. Another reason she invested in the sturdy shit.
She wiggled the knife before pulling it loose. Blood immediately stained his slacks, and the man whimpered. No longer so brave.
Resting on her haunches, she waited for him to calm down and focus. She hummed patiently, not bothered at all by her actions. Her ability to feel had been broken a long time ago. Nowadays, only a few people could get her to care, and this scumbag wasn’t one of them.
Ramirez calmed to a hiccupping whimper.
Dangling the blade in front of his face, Carla said, “Ready to tell me now?
It took a few more jabs of the knife before he frantically nodded. Once the tape was ripped free, in between sobs and snot, Ramirez spilled where he’d stashed the funds he’d embezzled from the church.
What kind of scum stole from a place that helped the poor? The kind that didn’t deserve any more chances.
Carla relayed the information she’d learned to her handler, who confirmed the money was being transferred back to the proper owners before giving Carla final instructions.
There was no sympathy in Carla’s eyes, no regret in her soul when she sliced Ramirez’s throat. She let him bleed out on the hotel carpet as she went about creating the scene of his robbery and murder.
The cops would mention in their report the missing cash and credit cards from his wallet. The empty bottles of wine. The glass with the remnant of a drug. What they wouldn’t find was any trace evidence such as fingerprints or hair. Not real hair, at any rate.
The only thing they’d have would be some video footage. The hotel cameras would have caught Carla accompanying him. A blonde woman with heavily made-up features and a padded shape with high heels skewing her height. The wide-framed sunglasses added an extra layer of concealment.
Scene set, Carla stripped out of her disguise and cleansed her face with the wipes she’d brought, stuffing those used tissues into her purse. The wig joined it, along with the dress she’d worn. The padding in her bra and around her hips deflated with the jab of a pen. It also went into the bag. From her large shoulder purse, she pulled out black leggings and a long-sleeve T-shirt. She dressed quickly.
She slung the purse strap around her torso before leaving by the balcony door, climbing with ease down the various outdoor terraces until she reached the ground. She’d chosen this place specifically for its design.
With quick steps, she left the area. Not that she expected anyone would follow or even care. Ramirez had signed his own death warrant with his actions. Sadly, another would probably take his place. Scumbags abounded, and Carla was one of the few people who took them out.
For a fee. Assassins didn’t work for free, although this assassin would offer a discount if the target were an asshole who deserved it.
Having planned her route beforehand, it didn’t take long to reach the jogging path that lined the city’s sluggish river. The purse with the bloody knife and all her gear was quickly weighed down with a rock and dumped into the water.
By the time the news reported on the murder of financial advisor Tony Ramirez, Carla was pulling into her driveway.
A much richer woman.
Chapter Two
All the money in the world wouldn’t save her from the stupidity and pettiness of others. Carla held in a sigh as the various soccer moms and dads continued to argue about who was to blame for the team’s coach deciding to accept a new position that allowed him to marry his long-distance girlfriend and move out of state.
Yes, it was inconvenient, especially with the big regional game coming up. It came as a surprise that Coach Mathews would quit so close to that event. But, at the same time, he wasn’t making a ton of money being a coach in the public school system and even less volunteering as the soccer coach for some inner-city kids.
Couldn’t blame him for accepting the position at a private school that probably offered him benefits. Despite the disruption Mathews had caused, Carla wasn’t in the camp of parents who argued he should be blackballed from coaching again, even if his actions made her son upset enough that he’d pushed away his dessert the previous night. Given it was Nico’s favorite, blue Jell-O and whipped cream, it showed how much the change affected him.
And more change was about to hit.
The league had already hired a temporary replacement. That worried Carla, especially since no one had heard of this Moore fellow before. Apparently, the new guy wasn’t local. He’d just arrived from the West Coast and landed the position.
The parents—whispering and ranting among themselves—all wondered about the new coach’s credentials and worried about their precious darlings. Except for Carla. No worry on her part. She already knew that Nico was the best player on the team, and even the most inexperienced of coaches would recognize it soon enough.
As the parents gathered in the school’s gym, all having arrived early for the team’s parents’ meeting, and continued to argue and lament, Carla checked her phone. Her message-less phone.
It had been six months since her last job. Longer than usual. Enough that she’d contacted her handler to ask if she were being passed over for some reason.
Mother, the name her handler went by, had replied with, “Business is slow. Be patient.” In other words, none of the jobs needed a hitwoman. Pity.
Carla didn’t want to be patient, though. She was only a million dollars away from having enough to retire from the killing game and not worry about her or Nico’s futures. She kept her riches socked away in an offshore account, untouched but available. One day, she’d start laundering it in her direction, but until then, she kept building that nest egg. An egg that wasn’t quite ripe enough yet.
But money wasn’t the only reason she fretted. Boredom plagued, as well.
The life of an insurance adjuster didn’t offer much excitement. Mostly paperwork and more paperwork. Investigations into whether a claimant truly deserved the money they applied for or if they’d faked an injury or staged a catastrophic event to their home/vehicle. It never ceased to amaze Carla the lengths people would go to in order to get a payout they didn’t deserve.
She actually did quite well in her job. Her record of detecting fraud had earned her one of the top spots in the company. Which meant, more paperwork.
Given her so-called normal life consisted of working and being a mom, she didn’t often get a chance to truly let go and get her adrenaline pumping. Other than her job, her last thrill had occurred more than ten months ago when she helped out a friend of hers with an ex-boyfriend problem. Carla hadn’t gotten to kill anyone on that trip, though—and came home with an embarrassing bruise because she’d not seen the threat posed by an old lady. That adventure had ended up with her bud, Audrey, finally getting rid of the dickhead threatening her. Fist pump. But then her friend, a woman she called “sister,” did the unthinkable.
Audrey fell in love.
It still blew Carla away that Audrey had let another man into her life after what her ex had done. Carla would certainly never let a guy get that close to her again. However, despite all the reasons not to, Audrey got herself a boyfriend—another mercenary to boot.
Talk about a killer couple.
They’d just completed their first mission together, and the agency they worked for—titled, interestingly enough, Bad Boy Inc., a worldwide realty company—helped them out with daycare, cover, and protection.
Kind of cool. Especially the part where Audrey didn’t have to hide who she was from her lover.
No one knew about Carla and her double life except for those she trained with and Mother. A few Bad Boy operatives knew Carla by face and first name, but for their sakes, they’d better keep their mouths shut, or they’d be sleeping at the bottom of a river. And if a body of water weren’t handy? There was always a construction site somewhere pouring concrete footings.
Carla wasn’t dumb enough to let wet panties rule her life, not since Nico’s dad. That wasn’t to say she was celibate. She enjoyed sex. On her terms. Casual hookups that involved satisfying an urge and nothing more.
Clingy men who tried to tie her down found themselves brushed off and blocked. She had no time for that kind of shit. She didn’t need a boyfriend or a husband. As for those that might claim Nico needed a father? Fuck ‘em. Fathers weren’t always the be-all and end-all for a child’s wellbeing. In some cases, a father intentionally stood in the way of happiness. Hence why her daddy had stumbled on those tracks.
A sudden hush filled the room, and Carla lifted her head to see the cause. A man had entered, taller than she was but not quite six feet she’d wager. He had brown hair that waved thickly on top but was trimmed short on the sides. He sported a close-cut beard and mustache that followed a jawline that wasn’t quite square but held some strength. His collared, white polo shirt and casual k
hakis didn’t scream athletic, yet he appeared fit enough, judging by the forearms bulging from his sleeves.
He cast a glance over the room, his eyes—a shade of blue-gray—not resting on anyone until his gaze met Carla’s. He paused a moment where they exchanged a stare before he looked away and spoke. “Good evening. As I am sure you’re all aware, Coach Mathews has resigned.”
“More like he let some chick crack a whip,” someone heckled.
“Be that as it may, he is now gone, and I’ve been chosen as his replacement to finish out the season. My name is Philip Moore.” Said with a deep timbre that had her shifting in her seat with a frown.
“We don’t care about your name. What’re your qualifications?” The bold demand came from Fergus, a hulking fellow in plaid and denim with narrow-set eyes and a soft double chin. His son looked nothing like him or the boy’s mother, which made Carla wonder if Mrs. Fergus had a secret.
Moore stood at ease, feet slightly apart, and addressed them. “I started playing soccer at the age of four. Given my father was a diplomat stationed in Europe, once my talent was noticed, I was enrolled in a soccer academy. I played all throughout school and received a soccer scholarship for college. I was considered talented enough that a few European leagues headhunted me.”
“Why did you stop playing?” The query came from Josee King, the team goalie’s mom.
Carla could have answered because there was only one reason a pro athlete ever stopped playing.
Moore pointed to this knee. “Ripped ligaments. The doctors fixed them, but it ended my career.”
“What’s your experience teaching a team?”
