Author's Note: Forgive the wait – I got caught up in another Fanfic, plus I was having issues with my brain on this scene. Also, my math for Mireille's age won't come out right, but I'm getting it as close as I can.

Prepared

With a click that signaled the preparation for death, Mireille drew back the hammer to her pistol. Checking her wristwatch, she waited. This job was a bit more complex, requiring perfect timing and perfect aim. The target itself was not all that impressive, just some gang member who was leaking information to the authorities. Fellow gangsters could not eliminate him due to some internal politics. Mireille couldn't help smirking to herself. Gangs with a code of conduct – who would have thought. The job could have been a simple night job, but Uncle Claude took the opportunity to add a few obstacles.

First, it was known that the target entered his apartment building at 7pm every evening by the North stairs. Windows gave a decent enough view of a person's progress up the flights, and Russel Krauss lived on the sixth floor. Her uncle had positioned her on the building across the street, ten yards away from the windows. A pistol wasn't designed for longer ranging shots, but it was something she would have to adapt to.

Second, when the client had approached Uncle Claude with the deal, they had warned that Krauss knew that his partners were plotting against him. Because of this, the man had taken to wearing a bulletproof vest under his cloths. It meant that only a head shot would be a sure thing.

And the final challenge came from the rapidly darkening clouds overhead. Not that Uncle Claude could control the weather, but it would be a very close thing if it began raining before she could finish her job. A night shot, in the rain, with only the building's stairway lights for illumination. She would never have chosen these conditions, but she could understand why the practice was needed.

"You can plan everything to the finest detail, Mirielle, but you must be able to adapt to any change."

Uncle Claude was waiting in Krauss's room as her backup. However, he had warned her that he would only take action if he never heard the shot – or the breaking of a window pane since she had attached a silencer to her pistol. They would take separate routs back to their small apartment once the kill was confirmed. She knew that her uncle had been watching her extra closely as of late. He had been a fierce taskmaster in training, but she understood that it was only out of kindness. They were all that was left of the Bouquet family, with no one but themselves to rely on and the wits and skills of an assassin were the only way to ensure their survival. Besides, she had asked for it.

Mirielle took a firmer grip on her weapon. She was seventeen and talented in terrorism when most girls her age were talented in clothing and makeup. Not that she didn't, the elegant dark green blouse spoke otherwise, but her concerns ran along a level of darkness that most people tried to ignore. A man was going to die tonight, not that many would care. But she knew that somewhere, a mother would cry at the news and perhaps a wife, or in the future, a child would wonder who did the executing.

The sky grumbled.

Checking her watch, Mirielle rose to peek over the edge of the roof. Seven o'clock was thirty seconds away. To her surprise she could see someone walking up the stairs, catching a flash of red in the window on the third story. Hissing under her breath, she raised her gun, rapidly trying to calculate his speed of ascension.

One… -one, two, three, four,

Two… -one, two, three, four,

Three… -one, two, three…

The man appeared in the seventh floor window and she pulled the trigger. With an almost musical chiming, the glass shattered and the figure vanished. The spray of clotted blood on the wall gave her enough confidence that he would never recover. Quickly unscrewing the silencer from the muzzle of her pistol, Mirielle tucked it into the garter beneath her short jean skirt. The pistol was tucked into her handbag. She could hear a woman screaming in the building across the alley but paid no attention to it.

Just for fun, she sat down on the banister of the spiral staircase that led down the fire escape. It was well maintenanced for being a run-down building. She slid all the way down to the bottom with a muffled giggle. Taking a moment to straighten her clothing, she carelessly breezed through the lobby of the apartment complex.

It was raining by the time she reached the door. She paused with a sigh.

"Can I help you?"

She turned, instinctively clutching her bag closer. The man who asked her the question raised an eyebrow, looking her over. He was a large man, but not unfit by the way his black cotton shirt stretched over well muscled arms. Brown eyes skimmed over her figure, and white teeth gleamed in an easy smile. His light brown hair needed a trim, but he was quite charming. Mirielle played along.

"I seem to have left my umbrella at home. Is there a way to call a cab?"

"Well now, not many cabs like to come out here after dark. What's a lovely lady like yourself doing out here? The gangs would like to get their hands on someone like you."

"I had a friend who needed my help."

He turned to walk to the back of the lobby. "A good friend you are, to come to a place like this."

Mirielle shrugged. "If you could get a cab here, I would appreciate it. If not, then I'll walk."

The man nodded and picked up the phone. She looked out through the watery window and frowned.

The information they had been given about Krauss was sparse saying only that he was six feet tall, two hundred pounds, had short red hair, and had a scar on the back of his neck. Why was there a man fitting that description except with black hair standing outside the apartment complex?

She took a closer look. The man was calmly lighting a cigarette and deliberately fixed his gaze across the rainy street at her. With a gasp, she tried to recoil, only to feel the muzzle of a gun pressed to the back of her head.

"Didn't expect an assassin to be so young. Shouldn't you be in bed little girl?"

Mirielle tried to play innocent. "What are you doing?"

The man chuckled. "Don't play with me miss, we knew that it was a set up – we wanted it to be predictable. There are more than one red-headed men living in that building."

Slowly she turned to face her captor; the charming smile on his face had faded into a smirk. Hands raised, she smiled in return. "Well I think we're at an impass. The people across the street will see you assaulting a teenager."

"No," His gun never moved. "They are too preoccupied by the mess you made. But if you tell me who hired you, you might get out of this with only a spanking."

Her smile dropped. "I'm sorry if that thought doesn't appeal to me."

Smoothly hooking her left wrist around the one holding the gun to her face and pushing it away, Mirielle brought her elbow harshly up and into the man's throat. The pistol went off, making her left ear go temporarily deaf. Using the momentum from her first blow, she planted one palm in his shoulder, and slipped her right leg behind his own and levered him over her hip and onto the floor, still holding on to the wrist with the weapon.

The man had the advantage of brute strength, but she had speed and agility. Her purse dangled from the arm that held him captive, just for an instant. In that instant, she reached into her bag and withdrew her own pistol. His eyes widened and she pulled the trigger.

Blood splattered her skirt. Her ear was ringing. She stood and took a shaky breath before switching into her escape mentality. A glowing red exit sign looked like the best bet. Gun cocked in her hand, Mirielle pressed the handlebar and blacked out.

Author's Note:

I'm not abandoning this story – but I'm going to be busy.