she had wanted something to soothe the agitation and restlessness after the bloodshed.
She simply hadn't expected it to end in such an intense "workout."
Still—
she didn't hate it.
Soon fully dressed, the Black Orchid prepared to leave.
To track down the Colombian Drug Lord Don Luis who, over a decade ago, had ordered her parents killed
and then vanished under CIA investigation,
Catalina had become a professional killer after graduating from her uncle's training.
Since her debut two years ago, Catalina has already killed over a dozen targets.
Among them were formidable Drug Lords, gang bosses, corrupt politicians, even high-ranking officials of entire nations.
To lure the Colombian Drug Lord Don Luis—now hiding god-knows-where—Catalina, after every completed mission,
leaves on the body an orchid that shares her name.
That orchid grows only in a tiny region of Colombia.
And that place is Catalina's former homeland.
Catalina believes that as long as her enemy
the Colombian Drug Lord Don Luis is still alive, the moment he sees news reports of her victims
he'll immediately realize she's provoking him.
Knowing the Drug Lord as she does, she's certain he'll send men to hunt her down.
Exactly the reaction Catalina wants.
If he keeps hiding, the world is vast and she might never find his lair.
But if he loses patience and sends people after her, some information is bound to surface.
Then, by capturing one or two of his men, she can extract useful leads
and follow the trail straight to the Colombian Drug Lord who murdered her parents.
Until she finds him, Catalina knows her flamboyant signature after each assassination
has already put her on the radar of both U.S. police and the FBI.
So she has no wish to bring trouble
to the handsome young asian painter she has met only twice
and with whom she shared an intimate night just hours ago.
She must leave quickly, get out of this city where she just eliminated a target.
"Wait for me. Once my revenge is done, I'll come back to you."
A famous Eastern authoress once wrote that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach; seize his palate and you seize the man.
The shortcut to a woman's heart, however, is the sewer.
After their hours of abandon, Catalina is undeniably pleased with Hunter's stamina and physique.
So inevitably, he has caught her interest.
Fully dressed again, she steadies herself against the wall and can't help glancing once more at the man still asleep on the bed.
With some effort she walks over and plants a soft kiss on his handsome, youthful cheek.
Then prepares to leave.
A few steps from the door she eyes the overly plain apartment,
hesitates, and pulls out ten thousand us dollars.
Because of her profession, Catalina avoids credit cards.
Each assassination pays at least tens of thousands of us dollars,
sometimes hundreds of thousands. At her age she's already a little millionaire; money is no concern.
She sets the cash on the nightstand, finds a sheet of paper and writes: "I love your paintings; your talent should not be buried by reality. I hope next time we meet you'll have created even greater works."
"Love, Leah!"
Picking up the painting Hunter had meant to give her, she admires it with satisfaction.
Canvas in hand, she heads for the exit.
At the apartment's front door she notices a set of keys hanging on the wall.
She sees three identical sets.
Testing one, she finds it opens the main door.
Without hesitation she slips a key inside her sports bra.
She opens the door, steals one last lingering look at the sleeping young asian artist,
then closes it and, steadying herself against the wall, slips away into the darkness…
PS: New book released—check out my previous work supernatural: i have a small world.
Chapter 153 – Plans for the Future
The instant the door clicked shut, Hunter—who had appeared fast asleep—opened his eyes.
"She's gone?"
The pillow beside him still carried her heavy perfume.
He sits up, leans against the headboard, and with a casual wave produces a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his private space.
He lights one, inhales, and slowly exhales a string of smoke rings.
"Whew…."
The FBI's bugs and cameras are still in the apartment—but none of them are working anymore.
A few days earlier, while the FBI was too busy dealing with its own mess,
Hunter had sabotaged the wiring and everything else.
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