Dawn. The Parking Lot.
Hunter waited behind the Mustang for ten full minutes.
No follow-up shot. No movement.
"She's gone," he concluded.
Whoever the sniper was, they were disciplined. If they couldn't confirm the kill within a narrow window, they disengaged. Lingering was amateur hour, especially with the police likely en route.
Hunter retrieved the damaged DEA helmet, stashing it in his Inventory. He couldn't leave government-issue gear lying around as evidence.
He decided against driving. The Mustang was shot up, and starting the engine might attract attention he didn't want right now. Instead, he walked, sticking to the shadows of the alleyways.
As he moved, his mind worked overtime.
Why target the car but not blow the tank?
A .308 round into the fuel tank would have turned the parking lot into an inferno. The sniper had aimed for him, specifically through the driver's seat. Precision over destruction. That suggested a contract hit, not a terror attack.
"Someone wants me dead, but they want it clean," Hunter mused.
He changed his plans. Going back to Stella's was dangerous; he'd just lead the killer to her door. Visiting Margie and Tally was also out of the question.
He would stay solo for a while. Let the hunter come to him.
Hunter felt a strange calmness settle over him. His enhanced Intelligence allowed him to multitask effortlessly—scanning the rooftops for glints of glass while simultaneously analyzing the sniper's tactics. His memory was photographic; he could recall every detail of the last ten minutes with perfect clarity.
He deliberately chose a deserted route. If the sniper was still tracking him, let them try. In an alley, Hunter could summon an assault rifle from his Inventory instantly. He wasn't prey; he was a trap waiting to be sprung.
But the attack never came.
Three Days Later. Malibu Beach.
The sun blazed overhead, turning the Pacific Ocean into a sheet of diamonds.
Hunter Sun carved through a massive wave, his body moving in perfect sync with the water.
[Skill Up: Surfing LV3]
He grinned. Over the last three days, he had thrown himself into training. With the threat of a sniper looming, he felt the need to grind. He had picked up tennis, pushed his surfing to expert levels, and unlocked two new combat-related skills.
[System Alert: 6 Skill Levels Gained. +6 Free Attribute Points. +6m³ Inventory Space.]
He distributed the points evenly across his stats. The incremental gains were smaller now, but he could feel the difference. He was faster, stronger, sharper.
Every day, he deliberately exposed himself. He walked in the open. He sat on park benches. He visited the beach.
He was baiting the sniper.
Come on, he thought, scanning the coastline as he rode the wave in. Take the shot.
But the sniper was a ghost. Three days of silence. It was maddening. The unknown was worse than the violence.
Hunter rode the board onto the sand, hopping off with practiced grace. He shook his wet hair, water droplets flying in the sunlight. His physique—lean, muscular, and perfectly defined—drew appreciative stares from tourists and locals alike.
But his mood was darkening. The adrenaline of the surf was fading, replaced by the gnawing irritation of being hunted by an invisible enemy.
He picked up his board and started walking toward the rental shop.
"Hey, handsome!"
A sultry voice cut through the noise of the beach.
"Mind if I introduce myself?"
Hunter paused. The voice was husky, confident, and dripping with charisma.
He turned around slowly.
Standing there, wearing a black bikini that showcased a body sculpted by gods and devils alike, was a woman who stopped his heart for a second.
Raven hair. Piercing eyes. Lips that promised sin.
Hunter blinked, his System-enhanced brain momentarily short-circuiting.
Angelina Jolie?
No. Not the actress.
Jane Smith.
The woman from Mr. & Mrs. Smith. The assassin.
And if she was here...
Hunter's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. The hunter had finally stepped out of the shadows.
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