Beta: Fran

Prereaders: Jill, Ariel, and Pearly

My heart belongs to: My readers

I don't own: Twilight or the FBI

Does the Human Intelligence Unit really exist? Unfortunately, that's beyond your security clearance.


My process when I get a new job is very simple.

Gather information. Seduce. Kill.

I give myself about a month to watch my new victim. I learn their routines, their spending habits, who would miss them, any responsibilities they may have that I would need to cover for when they're not around anymore.

The seduction part is easy. Especially with the kind of men I hunt. It's not necessary, but it's a way I can get closer to them without them being suspicious. It doesn't always have to be a date. Usually, it's just a pick-up at the bar. But it gets me in, so they're not confused when I show up at their door. So they go with me to the place where they'll breathe their last breath without a fight.

Men will do anything if they think they're going to get their dick wet.

And the kill? Well...that's my own special little secret.

When I say my new victim fell in my lap, I mean it.

I was out with a friend I hadn't seen in years, dressed to the nines in a blue dress that fit me just right and my hair in long waves, when a waiter tipped a tray of drinks in my lap, soaking me with sweet, sticky alcoholic drinks.

The problem didn't come until my eyes met the man who was the cause of the crash.

A man who was so gorgeous, he hardly looked like a man at all.

And fire filled me instantly. A mixture of frustration from the situation at hand, embarrassment at the state I found myself in, and anger for this person having the audacity to look like that when I needed to kill him.

"I'm so sorry," he rushed, his voice warm and liquid silver. "I'm not usually clumsy. Would it be too corny to say you're so beautiful I tripped over myself?"

"Yes. Yes, it would." I don't hide my ire, and he physically shrinks a bit at the bite in my tone.

"Truly. I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you," he pleads, gripping a linen napkin between his fingers to hold it out to me.

I snatched it from him, dabbing at my chest and glaring at him when he held his hands up in mock surrender.

"I think you owe me at least that."

Motherfucker is lucky he's next on my list.