Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

“Yes?”
    “Are you home for a while?”
    “Excuse me?” A whisper—ultra fine, barely there at all—ghosted through her mind. A warning, maybe? She couldn’t tell.
    “Oh, sorry, miss. Didn’t mean to alarm you,” the man said, no doubt reacting to her frosty tone. “It’s Nick…Mr. Cannon’s assistant?”
    Oh, right. The superintendent’s assistant. Tania relaxed. Mr. Cannon was a gem. A potbellied, tacky-mustache-wearing, all-around good guy. Although the fact he had an assistant surprised her. Then again, her building was older. A real charmer with its 1920s throwback vibe, but one that needed the kind of upkeep that ran the super ragged most of the time. So, good for Mr. Cannon for getting help.
    “What can I do for you, Nick?”
    “The tenant two floors below you just reported a leak,” Nick said. “We need to check your apartment to see where the water is coming from. We’ve turned off the water, and the plumber is on his way. Can you let him in when he gets there?”
    Ah, crap. She didn’t want to wait around for some repair guy. “Yeah, sure. When will he be here?”
    “Shortly.”
    “All right,” she said. “I’ll be here.”
    Hanging up, Tania grabbed the latest Cosmo off her bedside table and plopped belly down on the silk coverlet. Looked like she had some time to kill.

Chapter Twenty-five
     
    Lying belly down in the damp dirt, Angela adjusted her grip on the M25. The butt of the rifle nestled against her shoulder fit just right as she sighted her target through the scope. The smell of fall swirled on a rising breeze, tousling the tops of huge oaks above her head, sending colorful leaves pirouetting toward the ground. It was a slow dance. Colorful. Grace-filled. A yearly event in which the trees got a haircut and lost their abundant foliage.
    She measured the distance to her target. Checking her windage, she zeroed in on the yellow flag that waved from a steel pole planted at the edge of Black Diamond’s compound.
    Nope. Not good enough. Time for a readjust.
    Without lifting her head—or losing sight of the pumpkin sitting on the stone wall—Angela uncurled her finger from the trigger and fine-tuned her long-range optic scope with a click. Seven hundred and fifty feet sat between her and the target. Two and a half football fields. Big, big distance without any room for error. She needed to be bang-on accurate. The slightest miscalculation and the bullet wouldn’t reach its intended target.
    Another click and…
    Jackpot. Oh, so much better.
    Resighting her mark, she listened to the treetops rustle as a north wind blustered, bringing a glorious chill with it. She loved it when fall turned cold, dipping closer to winter, moving into the beginning of her favorite season. The days got shorter. The nights grew longer. Soon, she’d enjoy the nip of frosty air while skating outside.
    There wasn’t much better.
    Although some things topped a triple salchow jump. And one came to mind right away. Rikar. A close second to her man was the rifle in her hands. She tested its weight, loving the M25’s smooth contours and elegant lines.
    God, what a gift.
    She appreciated it even more than the 9 mm armor-piercing ammo, and considering how much she loved the Glock strapped to her thigh, that was saying something. So yeah, as much as she enjoyed skating, the activity came in a distant fourth on her best of list, ’cause…duh. Gourmet coffee always landed in the top three. No matter what.
    Addicted to Rikar. Addicted to guns. Addicted to caffeine.
    In that order.
    Her mouth tipped up at the corners. She was really going for addict of the year here. Not that she cared. Rikar made her happy. She laughed with him. Loved with him. Missed him when he was away from her. Wanted to be with him the second he came home, and despite the unfamiliar tether of dependence, felt more like herself than she had in years.
    Gag…just shoot her now, please .
    With a snort, Angela shook her head even as she accepted the inevitable. She was good and caught. Too far down the rabbit hole to ever get out.
    Not that she wanted to. No way. She was locked and loaded, sights set on him. So screw the hardcore independence. Rikar was worth the adjustment. Her job. The few friends she possessed and the life she knew. She was all in, 100 percent AWOL…out of the human world and now a part of his.
    Not that it was perfect. Oh, no, nothing quite so humdrum.
    Perfection had its perks, she supposed, but she didn’t want