The Mercenary: The Savage Seven. Katherine Garbera

foot slid off the gas as she realized she was looking into the eyes of a cold-blooded killer. And then her heart stopped as she recognized her fiancé as the man holding the gun.

      “Oh my God!”

      She heard Anna’s voice coming loudly over the phone, which she had dropped, but she couldn’t pick up the phone. All she could do was stare at Ray until he lifted the gun toward her and she snapped out of her fog. She found the gas and stomped on the pedal, speeding away.

      Oh. My. God.

      Ray Lambert, her darling fiancé and the man everyone said was a total catch, was a murderer and he was going to kill her, she thought.

      She’d seen it in his eyes. She couldn’t think of anything but getting as far away from him as possible, but then panic set in and she started to worry.

      What was she going to do?

      Where would she go?

      She had given up her life in London and her parents were currently on a world cruise. Finding them and getting back her old life would be nearly impossible.

      She felt shattered and lost. She was shaking so hard she couldn’t keep on driving, so she pulled off the road once she reached the busy highway that would lead her back to her home.

      She sat there for a minute, breathing deeply and trying to figure out what she could do next.

      Chapter Three

      AUGUST 1, NOUAKCHOTT, MAURITANIA

      Kirk Mann wasn’t a people person. So that made him perfectly suited to his job as part of the Savage Seven. He was actually second in command and his specialty without fail was as a sniper.

      He didn’t work with a scout because they didn’t have enough extra manpower to have someone designated that way on their team. There were only six of them. When he’d been in the U.S. Marines he had relied heavily on his sniper scout, Joe Gibbs, but that was a lifetime ago. And Joe was dead now. Kirk sometimes thought that Joe’s ghost was with him on his missions.

      Today he was in another unstable republic in Africa—this time he was killing the deposed president of a corrupt “republic.” This part of the world changed leadership the way models changed their clothes at a fashion show. Kirk had spent a lot of time here.

      They were working for the new government run by a man in a large African country most people in the States had never heard of. The Savage Seven had no political alliance and worked for the highest bidder. Kind of like Blackwater, except smaller and choosier about who they worked for. Jack Savage, their leader, took jobs in places that paid well.

      “Are you taking the shot or what?” Jack asked in Kirk’s ear.

      Jack was halfway around the world in London at their headquarters, watching the setup through the camera mounted to Kirk’s helmet. The reminder that he wasn’t alone was the one reassurance that Kirk liked.

      “Give me a second.”

      “What are you waiting for?” Jack asked. “Wind?”

      “Yes. There was a slight gust a minute ago. I want one shot.”

      “That’s what you are known for,” Jack said.

      “True that,” Kirk said. He pulled out an anemometer—a handheld weather station, and waited for his reading to come back. There wasn’t much difference between where he was and where the target was, but Kirk had always been a careful shooter. He had his shot lined up. He glanced down at the anemometer and made the adjustments to his trajectory to account for the wind.

      He was in a run-down apartment building that ran along the alleyway from the headquarters for the Al Tarvaani faction. They were a group of Muslim fundamentalist who had been trying for years to reclaim land in this part of the world, which had been theirs centuries ago.

      Kirk didn’t care what their beef with the current government was. He did care that he got this job done and kept moving forward. After a while he realized that when he stood still the world didn’t make sense to him.

      “I’m lined up now,” Kirk said.

      “You are good to go,” Jack said.

      Kirk was not the only member of the team in-country. JP “Laz” Lazarus was downstairs in a car waiting for a quick escape. Laz and Kirk had done this same job many times and worked together like a well-oiled machine.

      “Laz?” Kirk asked.

      “I’m ready when you are.”

      Kirk took a breath and held it, letting out half of it he lightly squeezed the trigger as Karzon—his target—stepped away from the table where he had been sitting. He stood and leaned over the table pointing at something on the map he had been studying with his men.

      Kirk exhaled and pulled the trigger. He watched as the bullet struck his target between the eyes and the man fell back into his chair. He was dead. Kirk always struck true and lethal. He watched for a moment through his sight to confirm his target was dead.

      “Tango down,” Kirk said.

      “Copy that,” Savage said. “Now move.”

      Back in the Corps he would have had to get a DNA sample to affirm he’d hit the right target, but with Savage there wasn’t really any paperwork trail. He packed up his Barrett .50 sniper rifle. Kirk grabbed his bag as the men with Karzon scrambled to their feet, firing bullets toward his location. But he suspected they didn’t really know which apartment building he was in because none of the bullets came close to him.

      Kirk was down the three flights of stairs, out onto the street, and into the waiting car in less than sixty seconds. As soon as Kirk was in the back, Laz took off, driving not like a man with escape on his mind but slowly through the light traffic. They kept moving away from their target toward the airport. Kirk didn’t look up or around, but concentrated on putting his weapon away.

      He was a weapon of war and had been for the better part of his adult life. He was a tool that was used for the purpose that it had been made. Hammers didn’t think about the nails they put in the wood and Kirk Mann didn’t stop to think about the man he’d killed. But sometimes, Kirk felt all those deaths added up.

      “How’d it go?” Laz asked.

      “Same as always. Sweet and clean.”

      “You okay?”

      “Perfect, why?”

      “I don’t know. Just checking. This is our third operation in a row…”

      The very last thing he wanted to do was discuss how much time he hadn’t taken off with Laz while Jack was on the line. “Yeah, so this is what we do—keep the world a safer place.”

      “Hell, yeah,” Laz said. “But everyone else has had a few weeks off—

      “And you want some, too?”

      “Yes. I’ve got a sweet little piece waiting for me Stateside, but I can’t get back to her until you take a day off.”

      “Am I cramping your style, loverboy?” Kirk asked.

      “Screw you,” Laz said.

      “Boys,” Savage said.

      “Yes, sir,” Kirk said.

      “Laz’s love life will have to stay on hold. I need you two to head to Johannesburg ASAP.”

      “I’m surprised. I was thinking we’d hit Somalia next,” Laz said. “All those pirate attacks off their coast.”

      Kirk was, too. Lately there had been a lot of attacks on shipper freighters and yachts in the Indian Ocean.

      “Not yet. I’m in talks with our contacts in the area,” Savage said.

      Kirk wasn’t surprised. The pirates operating off the coast of Somalia