Helloooo ppl, thank you soo much for your reviews! To be honest I wasn't expecting any messages considering how rushed and generally crap the first chapter was. Still I hope you can have faith in me just a leeeedle to do a better job. Hope you like it, enjoy!
Myra headed towards the baggage belt at a confidently fast pace, a hard task to acheive in a situation as busy as an airport. Smoothly she rolled her body out of the way of a businessman talking frantically on his mobile phone that would have otherwise ploughed straight into her. Her speed didn't falter as she continued to weave through the lagging and distracted people that made up the populace of the terminal, coming to an abrupt stop mere inches away from a little girl who had decided to sit on the floor directly in her path.
She balanced precariously on the balls of her feet, before retaining her balance. The mother scrambled over and hauled the girl up, muttering apologies,
'I'm so sorry, can't keep my eyes on them for more than a minute.' she said, laughing at herself.
Myra smiled briefly and politely before stepping up to the baggage belt, eyes skimming over the various pieces of luggage for her suitcase as well as surveying her surroundings.
Myra had characteristically unnerving eyes when and if she decided to settle them upon you, eyes with a calculating power and intensity. In such instances, you would normally regret having caught her full attention. It was part of her nature that her eyes were constantly looking, calm and relaxed but watchful, acutely aware of all that was around her. She opened up her cell phone as she waited, confirming the hire she had already organised for a van. She could kit it up as soon as it was handed over to her. She finally caught sight of her three large suitcases and swung them off the belt easily in turn, flickering a swift glance round to find a trolley to throw them on. She brought a trolley over and placed the bags on it carefully before ploughing back out through the crowd and towards the exit. Her steps were crisp and confident despite the weight of the trolley. She itemised in her head the equipment she had brought with her. Primarily surveillance but then guns had never really appealed to her. They were too showy and loud, caught too much attention. Any low-street thug could fire a gun, though she had been that herself in her time.
Her cell phone rang and she answered it without hesitation. Only two people had this line; her employer and her current client.
'Mr Reisert.' she addressed smoothly even before he had spoken, her boots clicking smartly on the pavement as she rolled up to the hired van, signing the release form with the phone tucked into her shoulder.
'Ah yes hello Miss uhhh Devlin is it?'
'Call me Myra.' she replied, flashing the man from the Van Agency a charming smile as he left. It had taken a lot of manipulation to get them to come to her at the airport, but she'd wanted to get set up as soon as possible.
'Myra then, I was just checking that your plane had landed safely. Are you sure you don't need me to pick you up?'
Myra smiled warmly for the first time in what felt like forever. You could tell this man had never done this before. In truth, the less contact she had with him and his daughter the better. Her arrival in their lives could cause curiousity to be aroused in both legal and illegal circles. If his daughter was being watched as carefully as he feared, the last thing she needed was a change in her routine that would cause action to be taken. And aside from that, noone was normally this courteous to her, especially on a job.
Maybe that was why she'd taken the job without waiting for confirmation from the company. The job they were sceptical might be too complicated by the characters involved.
The man had just seemed so damn nervous and polite. And, sucker for a love she couldn't remember, Myra had been touched at the lengths this man would go to for his daughter.
'I'll be fine thank you Mr. Reisert. My transport is already arranged.' she replied as she swung her cases into the back of the van and climbed in after them. She didn't doubt she looked unusual, climbing into a dusty white van in a relatively smart suit and heeled boots. But then dressing as inconspicuously as possible had been first on her mind. No one looked twice at a woman in a suit; she was instantly dismissed as a Power-Bitch Businesswoman, especially in Miami.
She pulled her hair out of its tight bun and sat up on her knees unlocking one of the suitcases and pulling out the changes of clothes that were wrapped around her equipment.
'I'll meet you outside your daughter's house in half an hour. You can explain the situation to her then.' she said as she unrolled the sleeping mat in one corner and started piecing together the wire connections of her video systems. Another sign of just how disconcertingly personal this job was. He hadn't even mentioned this affair to his daughter, she was only being informed upon Myra's arrival. She winced as she imagined how weird it would be; like one of those Confrontation meetings with an alcoholic or something before you shuffled them off to Rehab.
'Alright I'll see you there. Thank you.'
'Thank me when I've finished the job Mr. Reisert, not before.' she responded with humor before hanging up. Sighing she started to unbutton her shirt to get changed. She really needed a coffee. Or strong alcohol, whatever she could find first.
She winced as she peeled the shirt off a bandage she had on her upper arm. An inch deep, three inches across gash courtesy of some flying shrapnel from her last job. There wasn't many an occasion when she wasn't bandaged nowadays. Not that she'd lost her touch, her success rate was proof enough of that.
She sometimes wondered if she looked for difficulties, a little chaos in the formulaic killings she performed. Anything to prove to herself she could still function, she could still feel. She didn't have the excuse of past hurts for her irrationality, while they lived and breathed with her like an extra limb made out of raw feelings, those feelings had softened over time. She no longer could be reduced to sheer screaming despair, because time was meant to heal all wounds.
She leant against the cool metal of the van and closed her eyes, breathing slowly.
One year. Two years. Three years.
Year after year with no personal life creeping in around the eges of a job that was all she was. She wasn't sure what personality she had left. The only people she met were clients and people she intended to kill.She remembered to the word the last conversation she had had with someone she would describe as a friend. She felt no pity for herself, it was the life she had chosen. Feeling sorry for herself would change nothing.
Pulling a T-shirt on over her head she flipped out her thick hair and glanced at her watch. Twenty minutes. She needed to focus. She slid into the front and got behind the wheel, glancing in the rearview mirror at her reflection as she did. Her greeny-blue eyes were bloodshot, but bright and sharp.
He was a planner, not the assassin himself normally but in this instance it wasn't a job. He'd be less skilled with physical attacks, but skilled enough. Emotionally manipulating people into his control was his expertise.
She set the engine running and pulled out of the carport, eyes narrowing into the sunset.
He would be expectional at information gathering, and just as good at covering his tracks. The easiest logical plan would be to wait for him to begin surveillance on Miss Reisert again, but then she would be constantly chasing his moves instead of setting the pace herself. Besides she wasn't here to babysit, she couldn't keep an eye on the woman the whole time.
She turned out into the motorway traffic, reaching behind her and pulling her harness out of the suitcase as well as her jacket.
He wouldn't necessarily be using the same name. It didn't matter, she had managed to find out most of his aliases through different sources.
She changed lanes swiftly and received irate honking for her trouble. She coolly flipped the man off as she steered with one hand before removing a ten inch blade from its sheath in her holster. She smiled at the immaculately gleaming length of the blade. For the next however many weeks or even months, he would be her focus, her study, her passion, her sole occupation. The short-lived obsessions that came with being a killer, the intimacy before the hit. She wondered idly what he looked like.
'Jackson Ripner' she murmured, testing the name's taste on her tongue. She resheathed the knife in the holster, and sped up.
Lemme know what you think peoples, I know there's no Lisa and or Jackson in this but I'm trying to establish the OC. RnR! XXXXXX