When she ran out on the balcony he’d started to leave, but an unusual impulse had sent him after her. She looked terrified enough to jump, and he didn’t want that. Going out there had been risky-hell, the feds had to have Salinas under constant surveillance-but ultimately worth it. He’d touched her arm and felt the burn and sizzle of an almost electric connection, and within seconds she’d been responding-still frightened, but she’d felt that potent chemistry as strongly as he had.

He liked taking his time with sex, but today had been unusual. Once Drea had gotten over being so scared, she’d turned hot enough to scorch him. In the intensity of her response, he’d read how starved she was for attention, for being seen as she truly was, seen how much she needed to be stroked instead of being the one doing the stroking. Salinas had to be a lousy lover, selfish and lazy, to leave a woman that hungry.

As enjoyable as the afternoon had been, the assassin didn’t plan a repeat. As he’d told her, once was enough. Now he would disappear until Salinas made contact again, and focus on turning this developing situation to his financial advantage.

Forty minutes later, an elderly gentleman with stooped shoulders and a slightly tottering gait left by the front entrance. He used a cane to steady himself as he made his way to the curb and waited for the doorman to hail a cab.

High above the street, Xavier Jackson and Rick Cotton noted the old man’s exit, but they’d seen him coming and going several times before and a cursory investigation had revealed he was a tenant in the building, so their interest promptly moved on.