Contrary to what Carly, Spencer and the rest of the world thinks, Freddie Benson and I've been dating since we shared our first kiss with one-another about a year ago. It was a while before we consented to remain in the same room with one-another on an actual date, but eventually we found a little café on the other side of Seattle where we could go and retain that air of secrecy.

Eventually, though, we kissed each other goodnight. And last night was the first time we'd actually slept together; having somehow gained the permission of his overprotective mother, Freddie found himself at an apartment my mother had begun to rent for me, and which I was beginning to secure with money from a job I'd been lucky enough to snag recently. Unfortunately, though, it was a job where a lot of things could go wrong in a very short span of time. As much as I hate to admit it, I like the adrenaline rush I get. I guess it's something I like to do, even if it does mean doing something some people find so appalling that it's impossible for them to even think about it.

My work phone rang, startling me out of my peaceful sleep. "Hey. I'm here."

"Puckett," said the voice on the other end, "we've just received intel that puts a very dangerous foreign diplomat from North Korea has arrived in Seattle. He's staying in a hotel room at the Mariatt, thirteenth floor, Presidential Suite. He's known for negotiating treaties with our country, always at our expense. We need him taken out. One shot, Puckett. Twice the usual rate if you're successful on this one."

"I'll be there in half an hour."

"Don't be late."

The call terminated, and as I turned off my phone and placed it in my pants pocket, Freddie stirred next to me and propped himself up on an elbow. "What's goin' on, Sam?"

I smiled and kissed his lips. "Go back to sleep, Babe. I've gotta get to work. Emergency."

"You sure you don't want to suck me off, first?"

I smiled. "I wish, Babe. But it's a real emergency. I'll see you in a couple hours, 'kay?"

"Yeah." He smiled and placed his hand between my legs. I smiled and closed my eyes, my breath hitching, then took his wrist gently and lifted his fingers to my mouth so I could taste myself. "You dirty, dirty girl, Sam Puckett!"

"You know how to turn me on, Dipshit!" I said, using my pet name for him. "I've gotta go."

I pulled on black cargo pants and a matching shirt that came with the job, then donned a black military-issue cap and picked up my toolbox.

Somehow, my employer had acquired a full, legal driver's license for my sixteen-year-old self. While I loved the freedom it brought, I also couldn't help but wonder who it was, and how they'd done it.

At three AM, Seattle was the most beautiful city in the world, and when the rain pattered the windshield of my Benz, it reminded me of the kind of world we ought to have; the kind where everyone stopped and smelled the roses. I loved the rain, and I wasn't about to give it up. As much as I'd pretended I was tough, I was actually a big ol' softie. I smiled to myself, almost forgetting to stop for a red light, even in spite of the fact that I was the only car at that intersection at that time of night. Morning, I guess you could say. I smiled to myself, letting myself go in Sabaton's Atteros Dominatus. I hummed along. "Atteros Dominatus, Berlin is burning... The Reich has fallen." Sabaton was the only reason I'd passed my last three history classes at the World War Two section.

Pretty soon I arrived in front of a building five-hundred yards from the Presidential Suite of the hotel.

I stepped out of the car and quickly climbed the staircase of that parking garage, my toolkit in hand. My heart hammered, sending pure adrenaline rushing through my veins, not giving it time to mix with the blood that ought to be coursing through me at that same time. I was short of breath, but it was one of the things that kept me going, allowing me to complete each job successfully. I'd never been caught, and if I kept following orders, I wouldn't get caught. Sometimes, though, I was lucky. You can't rely on luck.

Thirty or forty feet shy of the top floor of the garage, I stopped. There was no one on this level, and there were no cars here. Still, I knew from my very brief criminal career that the security in this garage was lax. Smiling at the familiarity, I ran over to the far corner at a crouch, set down my case, and unlatched it. Every time I opened this case, I couldn't help but smile as I pulled out the familiar instrument with which I had been trusted; fifty-and-a-half inches of steel and plastic, nearly sixteen pounds of deadly firepower.

I picked up my Savage 110 BA and ran my fingers down the length of the stock, then loaded five rounds in the clip and cocked it; lucky I'd sighted in for five-hundred yards the last time I shot. Any more or less and I'd lose precious time.

I rested the barrel of my rifle on the concrete wall between me and the street below, plucking the lens cap off my scope. I peered through and made a slight adjustment. This is it. One Korean motherfucker down, Puckett. He'd be lucky to have any grey matter left when you're through with him. There was a pause as the activity in the suite across the way ceased; I guessed maybe they'd pulled their dignitary out of the room because of the threat I posed, but then he stopped in front of the window, his hands clasped behind his back. I ceased my breathing as he was handed a drink. Let me kill this asshole. Let me be swift and accurate. He sipped on his drink, and as I felt my heart reach the interim between beats, I squeezed the trigger. The recoil was deadly beautiful as the projectile launched itself from the barrel of my weapon.

Before I could reach the bolt with my trigger hand, I saw the grass between the diplomat and me cracking, and he went down with a spray of blood.

I opened the bolt, removed the clip, which had four rounds left, and placed both the rifle and the clip back inside, taking care to quickly place the lenscap back where it went. Yes, one foreign diplomat-terrorist hybrid down, an assload to go.

Closing the case, I picked it up, running at a crouch to my car, careful to take a different route out than I'd taken when I'd infiltrated this building to kill the guy; it wouldn't do for my employer to lose me because of an elementary mistake. As much as I'd love to get back to that Benz the same way I came in, the longer way was the most logical way, the one that lent me the least danger of being killed. Scratch one. I nodded as I made my way hurriedly down the staircase and out into the cool, wet night air.

As I rounded the corner to where I'd parked my car, I saw three guys in gray hoodies removing the tires on the car and moving cinderblocks into place. Heh... lucky they don't know I'm a career criminal... or was. I smirked and marched over to them; they were so busy they didn't notice my boots falling on the pavement.

I swung my case and hit the first one across the back of the head, turning to the second one. He was a big, beefy guy. He wasn't black, but he talked like he was. "Yo, whatch'u-!"

My case collided with his face with a big, dull thunk. I turned to the third one, who was going to run, but just as he was getting out of throwing distance, I picked up a rock by my foot and threw it at his head. He went down, his face hitting the pavement with a silent smack.

Taking a closer look at my car, I realized that the tires weren't loose quite yet. I tightened the rivets and pulled open my car, set my case down, and turned the key in the ignition, satisfied. I nodded, pooching out my lips. "Yeah, baby," I muttered to myself.

Now... I believe I owe Freddie a blowjob.