Chapter One
The money dropped from his pocket, sealing his guilt. He didn't know why. He didn't know why he was on his back in a dirty alley. He didn't know why there was a wade of bills laying on the ground beside him and he didn't know why the sight of the money made his stomach fill with guilt. He groaned and sat up. A shock of white pain snapped through his head, making the world spin. With the world back in focus, he used a near by dumpster for support and hauled himself up. The wave of white pain snapped back through his head. He winced and his stomach heaved. Only to have stomach acid, burning his mouth and throat, a good indication that he hadn't eaten in a while. The pain in his head numbed, although the soreness in his arms and legs didn't go anywhere. Wincing again, he bent down and picked up the wade of money. Something, well two some things, caught his eye under the dumpster. It was his ID, well not exactly. It had his picture, but someone else name, Michael Cargahand. His stomach flipped at the thought of a fake ID. He looked at the second object, a gun. A thought arose and his stomach heaved again. Only this time there was nothing to come up. He put the gun on safety and stuffed it at the small of his back and pulled his jacket over it, then put the fake ID in his jacket pocket and walked out of the ally and onto the street.
The L.A Cafe was just down the street. He ducked inside and found a booth in a corner in the back. A pretty, little blond took his order and went to get his coffee. He put his head in his hands and rubbed his forehead with his finger tips, trying to remember what happened the night before, why had he woken in that ally and why he had a fake ID and a gun. The blond returned, setting his coffee on the table beside him. She gave him a smile and a look of sympathy. She thinks I'm homeless. He couldn't argue. His face was covered in dirt and blood from an open gash on his forehead, near his hairline. His clothes were in no better condition. Holes dotted his slacks and button-up shirt. The breast pocket had been torn away, allowing the tan skin of his chest to show. Grim and dirt coated his pants and shirt and coat. He was sure that he smelled just as bad as he looked, if not worse. He ran shaky hands through his grim matted hair and picked up the cup. It was then that his cell phone rang. He took it from his pocket and looked at the caller ID, Craig. Suddenly it was all clear. He was Bryan Conner, a.k.a Michael Cargahand. He was a director for Money, Time and Management Company, a.k.a trained killer-for-hire, the Viper and he had been burned.
He flipped it opened and pressed it to his ear. “Boss!”
“Bryan? Where the hell are you?”
“The L.A Cafe on Lincoln and Marshall.”
“I'll be there in ten.”
“Boss?”
“Yes Bryan?”
“I think I'm in trouble.”
He heard his boss sigh, “Yeah, me too.” he said and hung up. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and took a sip of his coffee. Ten minutes later, Max Craig came in the door just like he said he would. Bryan waved a hand, directing him in the right direction. His black, snake skin cowboy boots slapped hard against the tiled floor. Max Craig had been born and raised in Austin, Texas. His father had raised and rode rodeo horses. He'd also taught his only child everything there was in being a trained assassin. Then Max Craig had grown up and moved to L.A. He opened the Money, Time and Management Company not long after moving. He married and had a little girl. The marriage though, had only lasted a few years. The girl, Angel was now twenty-two and living on the coast in Long Beach. He had also kept the true family business going. It was that fact that had ultimately destroyed his marriage. As a result though, Angel could kill any man or woman with efficiency and grace, weather it be with a knife, gun, or even her bare hands. Bryan had learned that the hard way, earning him a broken arm. Craig slid into the set opposite him and looked at him. Bryan looked back.
It seemed to Bryan that Max Craig had gotten a lot older in the past couple of years. Although he still carried himself with importance and confidence, his hair, or what hair he still had had turned from its deep brown to an almost white. Laugh lines and wrinkles outlined his brown eyes and mouth. Bryan remembered the first time he had met Max Craig. He had been twelve and living on the streets.
“Bryan? Bryan?” The sound of Max's voice brought him back to reality. “Yeah, boss?”
“You look like you spent the night in the gutter.”
Bryan took a sip of his coffee and winced as swallowing sent waves of pain through his head. “It was an ally actually, not far from here.”
“Do you have any idea what's happened?”
“Yeah, I've been burned, but the details are a little fuzzy.”
“From the size of that goose bump, I would expect so.” Reflex sent his hand to his head and sure enough there was a bump, a good size one at that.
“Well that would explain the splitting headache I have.” Craig nodded,
“I can't explain everything right now. Meet me at the office at six-thirty.” He slid out of the booth and turned to go. The little bell over the door chimed as it opened and closed behind him. Bryan drained the rest of his coffee before getting up and leaving himself. A baronet was coming in as he was going out. She seemed to be in deep thought when they collided, throwing her off balance. Instinctively, he reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her to him, managing to save her from the fall but the same could not be said for the papers she was carrying. He let go of her and bent to pick them up.
“Thanks.” she said as he handed them to her.
“No problem.” he said and held the door as she walked into the cafe. He grabbed a taxi and headed home, thinking a shower and some new clothes sounded like a good idea.
Despite the money he made from being a director to Craig's company and that of what he got from being an assassin, of which was a pretty good chunk, even after Craig took his share, Bryan still preferred his two bedroom apartment to an eight room Grand Victorian like the one Craig lived in. The apartment was smaller and cozier and Bryan new the place like the back of his hand. It was also, of course, the nicest apartment complex L.A had to offer.
The taxi pulled over to the curb. He handed the driver the right amount, plus a little extra and got out. Right away he got the feeling of being watched. He scanned the building, looking at every window. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a curtain move as if someone had just been standing there and moved away. He would have found nothing wrong with that if the moving curtain hadn't have been to his apartment. Instinct took over and he was running through the front doors, decided the stairs would faster. On the fifth floor he drew the gun and walked slowly to his door. A sent filled his nose, jasmine or maybe lavender. Female. He tried the door handle, it turned and the door opened with ease. Inside the feeling of being watched was even more intents. Keeping the lights off and making as little noise as possible he went from room to room. He found nothing though, but the feeling was there. Perhaps it was just his nerves. He shrugged and sat the gun on the coffee table and headed to the bathroom.
The warm water beat down on him, relaxing his muscles and smoothing out the dull ache. It did little though, for the beating ache in his head. Just standing made him dizzy and sick to his stomach. Unable to bare the pain any longer, he shut the water off and wrapped a towel around him. He grabbed the curtain and pulled it back. Something hit him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Then the head, right where the goose egg was. He went down, darkness threatened. He fought, shaking his head only to receive a burst of white pain strike through his skull, making the darkness heavier and unstoppable.
The feel of metal against his skin made the darkness lighten. The realization of a knife against his throat stopped it all together. The sent was stronger now, lavender. He opened his eyes and looked into the baby blues of a woman. They held no emotion, but at the same time he could see the emotion in them. Her hair, jet-black, was wavy and stopped at her shoulders, her skin a golden brown. She knelt over him, but even at this angle he could tell that she was tall and lean. “Good, your awake.” Her voice was that of honey, sweet and soft. The sound made his muscles tense and a lump formed in his throat. He swallowed,
“What do you want?”
She smiled, but it didn't touch her eyes. She pressed the knife harder against his throat. There was a pinch of skin and then the warmth of blood. She leaned close to his ear. “I wanted you to see the one responsible for ending your life.” Then she raised the knife and smashed the hilt into his temple, sending him once again into darkness.
“Bryan?”
He groaned, the pain in his head sharp.
“Bryan?”
He recognized the voice. It was Max Craig. He opened his eyes, the pain in his head growing sharper. He winced and closed them. The pain stayed and he opened them again. Looking around, he saw that he was on the couch in his living room. Craig sat in the armchair across from him. He groaned again and sat up, sending the room spinning. He rubbed his eyes, “What happened?”
“You tell me. I found you almost two hours ago on the bathroom floor, unconscious.” Then he remembered. The woman with the knife, his hand went to his throat. “Don't worry you'll be fine.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes.
“What do you know about a women in the business?”
“There's plenty, maybe more than men. Why?”
“Because one ambushed me as I was coming out of the shower.” Craig rubbed his chin.
“Describe her.”
“Blue eyes, black, wavy, shoulder length hair, late twenties maybe early thirties, 'bout 5'7''.”
Craig didn’t answer right away, just sat there and rubbed his chin. “That sounds like Alexis Johnson.”
“Alexis Johnson?”
“Yeah, top of the food chain. One of, if not the best in the business.”
“What makes her so great?”
“Besides the fact that her handler is Jac Tyler? The way she makes the kill. She sits and waits. There’s nothing more dangerous than a patent killer. And then, when you’re at your most vulnerable, she strikes. It’s said that she likes to be the last thing her target sees. That she likes to look in their eyes as the life drains away. Then, she’s gone, with no trace that she was there, except for the body laying in a pool of blood. It’s for that very reason she’s called the Ghost.”

Bryan didn’t say anything for a while. Thinking about his next move, should he stay and wait for her or should he go to her. Finally he said, “Any idea where she stays.”

“No, Bryan. You will not go after her.”

“What choice do I have?”

“Angel and I can protect you. If the Ghost has you in her sight, then there is no way you can survive, but hiding may prolong her.”

“If she’s as good as you say she is, then I doubt you and Angel can stop her. Hell, I should be dead right now and you never would have known had I not missed our meeting.”

Craig exhaled deeply and rubbed his forehead. “Your right. You should be. Which raises the question. Why aren't you?” Bryan shrugged; the thought hadn’t crossed his mind until now.

“She’s got to have a reason. All the more reason for me to go looking for her.” Craig sighed again,

“All right. I’ll do some asking around.” Craig got up and walked over to the door. Bryan tried to follow, but the spinning room won’t allow it. “Get some rest. I’ll call in the morning. And Bryan, be careful. The Ghost isn’t something to mess around with.” Bryan nodded and watched as the door closed.

The buzzing of a vibrating phone went off for what seemed like the hundredth time. Bryan rolled over and pressed the silence button without even looking at the caller ID and closed his eyes again. Minutes later though, it started to buzz again. The thought of smashing it against the wall crossed his mind, but figured buying a new one just wasn't worth it, so he picked it up.

“This had better be good.”

“Good morning to you too sunshine.” It was Angel, Max Craig's daughter.

“I'm not in the mood Angel. What do you want?”

“Hey, no need to snap at me, I'm just the messager.” Bryan sighed heavily and whipped a hand across his eyes. “Alright, alright. Dad wants you in the office, says he has the info about the Ghost for you.”

“Alright, I'll be there in a hour.”

“So it's true? You’re really going after her?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Nothing, just be careful.” she said and hung up.

Bryan took the phone from his ear and looked at it. First Craig and now Angel, it wasn't like them. Sure they told him to be careful before every assignment, but not like this. They were really scared of this Ghost, and if that was the case, then he really should be careful. He groaned and sat up. The ache in his head was more annoying than actually painful a good thing, really. Hopefully, he'd manage not to get hit in the head today. He walked into the bathroom and turned on the water before stepping under the spray. He turned the water off and stood there for a moment, listening. He heard nothing though, so he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around himself, then flung the shower curtain opened and sighed when nothing hit him. He quickly dressed, grabbed his keys and wallet, locked the door and took the elevator down to the parking garage.

The jaguar was the only thing that showed that he had any money. It had been one of the first things he had bought. It was his pride. The silver exterior shined in the sunlight, and the black interior was kept clean and free of dust. Beautiful. A true man's ride. He walked around the vehicle, making sure the tires hadn't been slashed and nothing was busted. Finding nothing wrong, he got down on his knees and looked underneath. Again, finding nothing, he pressed the unlock button and slide into the driver seat and put the key in the ignition. He smiled as the engine roared to life; he backed out and pulled onto the street.

Money, Time and Management Co. was located in Long Beach, about a half hour drive from Los Angeles, depending on traffic. Of which was fairly heavy, so it was a good hour and half before Bryan pulled into his parking spot at the front of the building. He got out and locked the jag's doors and looked up at the ten-story, gray building. Craig’s office was on the tenth floor and his on the seventh, with Angel right down the hall. He ID the security officer and slipped into the closing elevator doors. The elevator climbed, the floor buttons lighting up. On the tenth, it stopped, a bell chimed as the doors opened into a hallway. Unlike the other floors, this floor was reserved for Craig himself. It had two doors, one leading into Craig's secretary's office. The other was Craig's own office. Bryan took the first door. Martha Green, Craig's secretary, looked at him over her lime-green eye glasses. She told everyone that the lime-green made her feel young. At sixty-three, Bryan supposed she needed all the help she could get. Now if only, she could get some object to help her lose weight. “Craig wanted to see me.”

“Yes, he is expecting you. Go ahead in.”

Bryan nodded his thanks and went across the hall, knocking. “Come in.” came Craig's voice. He did, closing the door behind him. Like his home, Max Craig's office was supplied with only the best. The hardwood floor was done in ebony, the very best and most expensive. The furniture was also made from the best and the most expensive wood money could buy, along with the finest security equipment. Just by looking at Craig, one could tell he had money and he wasn't afraid to show it. “Bryan. Come, sit down.” said Craig, gesturing to one of the chairs across from his desk. Bryan did as he was told, his eyes resting on a filing folder, laying in front of Craig. “How's your head?”

“Fine.”

Craig nodded and sighed. “I'm guessing there's no why I can change your mind about this.” Bryan shook his head,

“Do you really expect me to sit around and wait for her? I've been burned, Max. What would you do?” Craig sighed again,

“She lives in the Sunshine Apartment Complex, on 23rd Avenue in Los Angeles.” He handed him the folder.

“The Sunshine? That sure is an expensive part of town. More expensive than the one I live in.”

“Yeah. She lives in apartment 3C. It's listed under a Marie Carlson.”

“I'm guessing the real Marie Carlson is long deceased.”

“You guessed it right. Five years ago, self inflected.”

Bryan nodded, “Any idea where our Ghost is spending her day?”

“I have Angel on her. Her last report said that she had left about an hour ago with Jac Tyler, hasn't been back sense. Bryan, look at me,” He did, “I want you to be especially careful with this one. The Ghost isn’t something to mess around with, she’s been trained by one of the best.” Bryan stood.

“So have I.” Craig nodded.

“You have a meetings all day. Your first starts in ten minutes, so this problem has to be solved after hours.” Bryan nodded and headed to the door. “Oh, and Bryan…” Bryan stopped, the door have open, and looked at Craig. “You’re doing exactly what I would do.” He smiled and closed the door behind him.

The elevator doors opened on the seventh floor. He walked to his office and sat down behind his desk. His office wasn’t as grand or expensive looking as Craig’s, but it was good looking and cozy, just the way Bryan liked it. He looked at his watch, five minutes before his first of many meetings.

Chapter Two
The chilling wind blew in his face. Bryan had been standing across the street from the Sunshine Apartment Complex for twenty minutes, hidden in shadows. He looked up at one of the darkened windows on the third floor. The Ghost was behind that window. He looked at his watch, five minutes to midnight. He hiked his collar higher stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and started across the street.

“Can I help you, sir?” said the security officer, a fat, stub of a man.

“I’m here to see Marie Carlson. She lives in apartment 3C.”

“At twelve in the morning?”

Bryan ducked his head, as if embarrassed. “We had a fight. I just want to make sure she got here okay.”

“ID?” he said, although his tone made it clear that he didn’t really give a damn. Bryan took his ID out of his pocket and handed it to the man. After squinting at it for a moment he said, “Okay, Mr. Car-ag-hand. Make sure to sign in and then out once you leave.” He handed the ID back.
Bryan nodded and stuffed it into his pocket. After signing in he took the stairs up to the third floor. He pressed his ear up to the door of 3C. He heard nothing, but the scent of lavender was evident. He waited just a few more seconds, before looking around to make sure no one was around. He had the lock picked in seconds. The door opened silently and he stepped in, closing the door as quietly as he could.
“Good. You’re here.” said a voice, like honey. Bryan stopped, he was caught.
The light came on and he found himself looking into the baby blues of the Ghost. She sat in the living room, in a chair. Her hands rested in her lap and one leg draped over the other. Relaxed. As if she wasn't looking into the eyes of her would be death. “I give you brownie points. Using the front door, I didn't expect that.” She smiled. His stomach knotted. She'd known. She knew he would have come after her, but how? His muscles tightened, ready for a fight. The smile faded and her eyes flashed. She got up out of the chair and walked towards him, slowly. Still relaxed. Almost too relaxed, as if she was with a friend not an enemy. Her eyes again, hard and so light that they appeared white not blue, held no emotion as they did just seconds before. As though she could turn them off with a simple switch. A skill many assassins learned, it helped them do the job and not feel the guilt and pain of taking a life. Bryan had never seen someone that could be so relaxed with it as she was now. She stopped a few inches in front of him. “Go ahead. Make your move.”
His eyes narrowed and he lashed out with a fist. The blow would have connected with her mouth, had she not ducked at the last moment. Surprised at her speed, the force of his blow made him stubble. He retained his balance, but only just. She came up with a jab of her own. He moved, but the blow clipped him in the jaw well enough that it sent him spinning face first into the wall. Her knee pressed hard into the back of his and her hand held his neck. Her fingers digging into the soft skin between his collar-bone, making him wince. Even so, he couldn't help but notice the closeness of their bodies. So close that he could feel her heart beat against his back. Her lavender scent seemed to rap around him, filling his senses. Her fingers dug deeper into his flesh. Damn it. He should have known, she'd be expecting him. Should have known it wouldn't have been an easy fight. He should have come in here with his weapon drawled. Click. His eyes widened as the mussel of a gun was pressed against his temple. She shifted, getting closer to his ear. “You know, knives really are my specialty, but I've been told that I'm a pretty good shot as well. Do you want to take that chance?” He began to shake, more so from her breath in his ear, rather than the sting of her words.
“What do you want?” he managed to say. He felt her smile.
“A favor.”
“What for?”
She let him go, pressing her fingers just a little deeper to get the point across. He turned facing her, hands in the air. It was his gun she had pulled on him. Stunned, he hadn’t even felt her pull it from the small of his back. Definitely someone to watch out for. “Come. Lets talk.” she said, her eyes once again their normal blue. She led him out of the little foyer and to the kitchen. “Go ahead and sit down.” He pulled one of the table chairs out and sat, looking around. The apartment looked much like his. No over stuffed furniture or expensive paintings lining the walls. He looked at her, jeans and a light blue T, no big money there either. In fact the only way to tell she even might have money was the way she held herself. She had that self-confident air about her. An air that told everyone around her, that she worked and worked hard for what she had. She took the clip out of the gun, emptied it and dropped everything on the counter. “Coffee?” she asked, getting two glasses from the cabinet before he could answer and poured the hot, steamy liquid into the cups and sat one in front of him. She pulled out the other chair and sat across from him, just as relax as she was before. As though she hadn't just held a pistol to his head.
He looked at the steamy liquid, sure that this was a trap. After all the woman had had plenty of chances to kill him. But, why do it now, in her own home, rather than then? She smiled. Again with that smile, enough to take a person's breath away. She picked up her cup and took a sip, before setting it down again. She looked at him, those blue eyes holding his as if saying, see. He picked up the cup and took a sip. The bitter liquid warmed his insides as it slide its way to the pit of his stomach. “So, what is it you need? Or it a who rather than a what?” She sat her cup back down, as she had been using it to warm her hands, the smile faded and her eyes flashed.
“Johnathan Peters.” The name fell off her tongue like acid. Johnathan Peters? The name rung a bell, but he just couldn't seem to remember. It appeared that not everything from the other night had came back yet. It must have shown on his face, because she said, “He's the man that you were suppose to take out a night ago.” He remembered now. Johnathan Peters was a king of the underworld of Los Angleses. He ran everything, from small drug deals to human trafficking. Every bank robbery, every missing person, you could bet that Peters had a hand in it. He had connections too. High connections. Nobody was exactly sure as to what or who, but he had to have had someone, because every time the police tagged him with something, he walked away scot-free. Most thought of him as a modern day Al Capone. Not someone to be taken lightly and the man who had burned him.
“What do you want with him?”
“He has my sister.”
He wasn't surprised. Peters had figured out someone had put a hit on him, so naturally he had hired someone to take the threat out and sense he had the money, he could afford the best, the Ghost. But why take her sister? “Peters hired me as... well... as a bodyguard, so when the threat showed I could take it out. I did some asking around and your name came up.” She meant the Jaguar, his business name. A name he earned because of his ability to blend in as a jaguar might in trees. It was because of that, that he was able to survive his time on the streets.
“Okay, but why take a sixteen year old.” The Ghost arch an eyebrow, no doubt surprised at his use of her sister's age. It was his turn to smile, “You think your the only one that does her homework?” She sighed,
“Mr. Peters isn't the trustworthy type. He took her was an insurance policy, to insure I'd take you out, all it did though was piss me off. So when I found out the name of the threat, I did a little more digging and found who you really were. I followed you, took mental notes about your features, your build, and daily routine...” His eyes widened in surprise. She smiled, “I'm the Ghost remember, I'm known for being untraceable and the last part wasn't so easy.” He grinned and let out a little chuckle. “Anyway, I knew it would only be a matter of time before you struck, so I just waited. Escorted Peters to every function he had, every meeting. He's a very busy man, you know, but very boring. Thankfully, I'd only been on the job for two days before you showed up. You took Avery and Johnson out easily enough, two of Peters biggest and best guards. I was around a corner watching. I figured we could work together, so rather than kill you, I waited for you to get closer and when you did I blind sided you. With you out, I went over to the others and checked for a pulse. Neither were dead but out cold. I managed to wake one of them and had him help me get rid of you. I told Johnson to tell Peters that the job was done, but somehow he knew that I hadn't done the job fully so he transferred my sister somewhere out of the country while I dealt with you. I knew if I was to get her back, I would need help. So I went back to the alley I had dumped you in and followed you to the cafe. When Max Craig showed up, I slipped away and went to your apartment to wait. I knew that once you fully remembered you would come after me. And well, here we are.”
Bryan didn't say anything for a while, letting all of this sink in. He sighed and took a sip of the not so warm coffee. The bitterness was so great that it was all he could do, to not push the cup away. His stomach knotted, he had a feeling it wasn't from the coffee so mush as what the Ghost had just told him. He wasn't sure why what Peters did angered him so. Perhaps it was because it was a child he had taken and that was something you just didn't do. “Okay, so if I help you what do I get in return?” Her eyes flashed with hope, turning them an even lighter blue for split second.
“Simple, you get the man that burned you.”

-Ch. 3 coming soon-