the thril of the kill....

the breeze was just right...the temperature outside was just a bit too hot, but the breeze made him breathe easier. He had to meet her in ten minutes. He would make it. He had to.
Breathe now, mark...breathe it out...
He peered into the scope and saw his target sitting down to enjoy the game he had attended. The fat greed of his personality spilled out in his lusty smile towards a female minor nearby. Mark scowled and steadied himself. Readjusted his body on the cement. The breeze was gone.
Dont panic, you idiot, relax...
His suit was hot and stuck to his cut body. Sweat dripped from his chin. One eye shut. His left hand shook slightly while shivers ran up and down his legs. A tremble in his lower back. A skip in his heart beat...
But his right hand was deadly still. His index finger pulled down and one loud shot later the fat man's chest was penetrated and he fell over dead. No one even noticed it. Those around him thought he had merely fainted. Mark put the rifle away and ran over to the sight he was to wait. He removed his gloves and placed a "lakers" hat on over his sweaty head. The breeze was back... He stood still, head tilted up, feeling the cool air almost dry him.
He was the best there was. Men called from all different countries for his skill. His dead-on exactness. He never missed a target. He never screwed it up. He glanced at his watch.
The damn helicopter better not make me late for my date...

A shortened excerpt from my new book. Like??