E. Seymour - Final Target

A division of HarperCollins Publishers www.harpercollins.co.uk

Killer Reads

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by Cutting Edge Press 2014

This ebook edition published by HarperCollins Publishers 2017

Copyright © Eve Seymour 2017

Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers 2017

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Eve Seymour asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks.

Ebook Edition © November 2017 ISBN: 9780008271718

Version: 2017-09-21

For Susie Davis, my friend, writer-in-arms and the only woman on the planet who makes me laugh out loud.

‘Before you embark

on a journey of revenge,

dig two graves.’

Confucius

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-One

Chapter Sixty-Two

Chapter Sixty-Three

Chapter Sixty-Four

Chapter Sixty-Five

Chapter Sixty-Six

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Essay on Final Target

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading A Deadly Trade

About the Author

Also by E. V. Seymour

About the Publisher

As soon as the lights went out I knew I was in trouble. Power cut, blown fuse, act of God – happens to honest folk. My dirty past ensured a different scenario. I was a cigarette paper away from a hole in the head.

Streetlight ghosting through the window made my body a perfect target. I stepped away from the door and dropped down onto the floor, belly-low. Unarmed, fear stuck like a chisel in my chest. At any second I expected the stutter of gunfire, the shatter of glass, the room stitched with metal. Game over.

Black seconds thudded past.

Killer-calm, I went through the moves. My prospective tenant hadn’t yet shown. Booked through an agent, the elusive Miss Armstrong could only view my rental property after work. The lady was, allegedly, hardworking and couldn’t spare time during the working day. From my new perspective on the floor, it seemed that she was the bait for someone out to get me, and there were dozens of possibilities. Odds-on my attacker was a hired assassin, someone who’d filled the void I’d left behind and, if he didn’t shoot within the next five seconds, he was on his way in. I’d always preferred to get up close and personal. It was a fair bet that he was cast in the same mould.

Eyes adjusting to the darkness, I used my elbows for traction and scooted across the carpet to the kitchen. A knife offered little protection against a gun, but it made me feel more secure. It was also possible that I’d strike lucky. I didn’t intend to die without a fight.

Cracking the door open, I slid inside. Windowless, the room pooled with dark, shifting shadows and that gave me an advantage. In one swift movement, I stood up, reached out, swiped the biggest knife from the block and stepped behind the door. Mute, breath sucked in, I waited.

‘Hex, is that you?’

I froze, peered dead ahead, exploring the darkness. The mention of my soubriquet, known only to a favoured few, sounded at once intimate and incongruous.

‘McCallen?’

‘Apologies for the subterfuge.’

I don’t like surprises. One moment I believe death is about to wave me through its checkpoint, the next the only woman who has ever truly fascinated me rocks up and wants to play games. Displeasure gave a cutting edge to my voice. ‘Is this your idea of a joke?’

‘I pretended to be your new tenant because I didn’t think you’d agree to see me.’

‘What about the light trick?’ I hissed.

‘Nothing to do with me.’ The air around me parted. Citrus and sandalwood and hints of tobacco, then McCallen’s breath on my face, her lips brushing my ear, then my mouth. If she’d come to kill me, I was a dead man, but at least I’d die happy. I kissed her back, long and slow. Sure, she’d rattled me, but then McCallen always did.

‘Must be a power cut,’ she murmured.

‘You think?’

No sooner had the words left my lips than we were flooded with light. McCallen took several paces back and we blinked at each other.

She looked even better in the flesh than I remembered and, if I were honest, I’d thought about her a lot in the intervening twelve months. I took a moment to appreciate her full lips, neat nose and her voluptuous figure. Her copper-coloured hair was longer. It suited her.

‘Are you going to put that down?’ The amusement in her green eyes implied that I’d overreacted. It wasn’t as if the location was some rural backwater where power surges and consequent electricity cuts are commonplace. This was Cheltenham, big population, home of GCHQ and high tech. As far as I was concerned, the jury was still out. I don’t do coincidence. What I could be certain of was that today was not my time to go.

‘Old habits.’ I replaced the knife in the block.

‘You’re looking good. More rested.’

Not one for small talk, I cut to the chase. ‘How the hell did you get in?’ It wasn’t the most obvious question, but it was the one that sprang to my lips first.