A Single Rose Read online

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  Forbidden Publications

  www.forbiddenpublications.com

  Copyright ©2006 by Marissa de A'mor

  First published in 2006, 2006

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  A SINGLE ROSE

  A Forbidden Publications production, October 2006

  Forbidden Publications

  PO Box 153

  East Prairie, MO 63845

  www.forbiddenpublications.com

  A SINGLE ROSE

  Copyright © 2006 MARISSA DE A'MOR

  Cover Art by DJ ALLING © 2006

  Edited by TERESA WILLIAMS—No copyright assigned.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web without permission in writing from the publisher. For information, please contact the publisher via regular mail.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  ISBN: Not Assigned

  A Single Rose

  By

  Marissa de A'mor

  CHAPTER ONE

  Marisol carefully placed the long stemmed black rose on the pillow of the queen sized bed. It was perfectly centered on the blood red satin sheets. The irony was not wasted on her as a smirk curved her full lips. She placed the final hearing device beneath the clock radio on the night stand then pulled her poem from the pocket of her black pants, placing it next to the rose. The poem was the same as all the others she so meticulously wrote for her assignments.

  Roses are red,

  Violets are blue,

  It's such a damn shame

  I have to kill you.

  Marisol Sanchez was the top special agent for a black-ops team of the CIA. Her missions were to eliminate terrorists and government threats as soon as her orders were received. Being the best sniper the agency ever had, she was the one always sent out on the more important hits. Not part of protocol was her rose and poem, but that's another thing that set her aside from the rest. It gave her the reputation she worked so hard to maintain. Anyone who saw the rose and poem knew their number was up. Rumors and gossip traveled fast, and she loved the attention, be it good or bad. It almost gave her a rush to see the look of utter fear on her marks’ faces. Her training had turned her into a heartless, cold-blooded killer, but that's what the government needed. They had the perfect killing machine with no family ties, and no social life to speak of.

  Checking her watch, she saw she had only fifteen minutes to get out of the apartment and make it to her spot in the building across the street. Being the kind of woman who liked to live on the edge, Marisol did a lot of her hits in the daytime. Her superiors were not too happy about that, but they had faith in how good she was. There was also the fact that if she ever got caught, there was no record of her existence. She had no real birth certificate and no way to be traced. It was the government's safety net for their undercover black-ops agency. Everyone had to cover their asses one way or another, especially the government.

  Marisol made it to the abandoned building in minutes, taking the stairs two at a time. The building was caddy corner to the windows of the apartment. The bedroom, kitchen and front door were in plain view from her perch. She had hidden her marine issued sniper rifle with long-range scope before leaving the rose and poem in the apartment. Taking the gun out of its spot in a loose floorboard, she pulled her long brown hair back in a ponytail to get it out of her face, a few stubborn strands managing to escape her grip. Kneeling by a broken window, she set her sight and waited for her mark to get home.

  All she was told about Robert Pissani was that he was responsible for the deaths of several innocent people, including children, in a senseless bombing of an American Diplomat's home in France on Christmas Eve. There was nothing she hated more than to see children get hurt. It burned her ass like nothing else. When the assignment came across the board, Marisol asked for it before it could be given to anyone else.

  An hour later, Marisol's patience was wearing thin. She checked her watch again. He was supposed to be home already dammit. Patience may be a virtue, but it fell short on her. Despite her impatience, she held her position. Pulling away from her scope for a second, she cracked her stiff neck. When she got back to her scope she watched as the front door to the apartment opened. It's about damn time. With trigger finger ready, she watched and waited for her shot while she raised the volume of her headset. The bugs set up throughout the apartment were sensitive enough to pick up everything. There was always a chance Pissani would reveal information vital to tracking any other men he had helping him.

  Marisol watched as Pissani walked in the front door and headed straight toward the kitchen. He opened the fridge, pulled out a beer, popped the can open and took a long chug. She grinned as she watched. I sure hope you're enjoying your last beer, darlin'. He suddenly reached over to the ringing phone on the far wall and spoke for a few minutes. The anticipation was killing her, but it gave her an adrenaline boost at the same time. She continued to watch as Pissani strode through the apartment and into his bedroom. He paused at the bed wide-eyed, dropping his can of beer in the process.

  Inching toward the bed, he reached for the note. Pissani crumbled the poem in his hand and threw it on the ground, shaking his head as he did so. He looked up toward the window just as Marisol's .22 caliber bullet zoomed through the center window she had purposely left open and struck him between the eyes. Bull's-eye!

  * * * *

  Marisol reported back to the office straight from the airport the next afternoon. There was paperwork to be filed. No matter how good she was, the reports had to get done. It was the only part of her job she disliked, and there was never anyone she could pay enough to do them for her. Of course there was also the fact that she got to rattle the cages of the other guys on the team. None of them could keep up with her and her record. There was only one other agent in the history of the black-ops team, he disappeared after a tricky and dangerous assignment, but Marisol had already broken all his records.

  "Sanchez!” bellowed the Director when he saw her come off the elevator onto the secure floor. Entry was part of protocol; no one made it to that floor without proper clearance. As a matter of fact, there wasn't even a button or number to the floor. It would automatically climb to that level after a discreet retinal scan.

  Marisol rolled her eyes to herself as she nodded her acknowledgment to the low thunder of her name being called out. “On my way, sir.” Placing her duffle bag of equipment on the desk in passing, she headed toward the director's office. Closing the door behind her, she took a seat in front of his oak desk.

  "Is it done?"

  With a gleam in her deep blue eyes, “Sure is. I was able to intercept a call while I was there too."

  Director Miller leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped in front of him. “I assume you have a tape of the conversation?” Though Miller rarely smiled, Marisol did catch a slight grin curl his lips as he waited for her answer.

  "Actually, I didn't think you would want it so I just ignored it."

  "Don't be such a smart-ass, Mari. Gimme the damn tape and get to your reports."

  Marisol chuckled as she reached into her pocket for the tape. It amused her to harass her boss every chance she had. Being the only woman on the team had its advantages. The other guys hated that she got away with more than they did, but they were usually good sports about it. “Here you go, boss. Pissani named a few names, but he never said who he was talking to."

  Miller scratched his chin in thought, “Did the voice sound familiar at all?"

  "Not really, but it sounded like a woman and she was definitely pissed."

  He rolled his eyes, “Great, another pissed off woman to deal with."

  "Very funny, I'm not pissed, just a sarcastic smart-ass,” Marisol laughed as she rose from the chair. “Was there anything else you needed?"

  "Nope, you're good. Just be sure I have the full reports on my desk before you leave here tonight.” He popped the tape into the recorder he kept on his desk as he spoke.

  "Yes, sir.” She turned on her heel and walked out.

  From all the desks in the large office space, Marisol's was the neatest and most organized. Every once in awhile one of the guys would scatter her files across the desk just to try and piss her off. It was one of their only forms of amusement on the rough days. It took some time, but she finally learned to just ignore it and move on. That in itself pissed the guys off more, thus becoming her form of amusement instead.

  Marisol moved her duffle bag to the floor so she could get to her computer. The e-mail icon was furiously flashing on her flat screen monitor, informing her she had new messages. Getting comfortable in her leather chair, she double clicked the icon and her inbox opened right up. There w
as only one new mail message, but it had no sender name to it. How the hell did this get through the firewall with no name to it? As odd as it seemed at first, Marisol assumed it could be a message from headquarters or one of her precious co-workers trying to annoy her.

  Opening the email, her eyebrows furrowed as she read ... I know who you are, I saw you today. Pissani was a nobody in the scheme of things. I'll be watching you with camera in hand, so be sure to smile. Rolling her chair away from the desk, Marisol looked around the office. “Ok, which one of you assholes sent this e-mail?” There was no laughter in her tone. The guys’ practical jokes had gone too far this time.

  Jason, one of the other agents nearest to Marisol's desk, glanced up at her from his files, “What the hell are you talking about?"

  "I don't appreciate you guys fucking with me over the secured e-mails.” Marisol stood from her seat and walked around the office, eyeballing each of the guys as she passed their desks. That usually made them nervous enough to talk

  Jason spoke up again, “Why would we bother with e-mails when we can piss you off in so many other ways.” He chuckled, but stopped short at the look of death on her face.

  "I'm not amused; there was no sender name on the e-mail."

  Jason stood and walked over to her computer. “How could that have gotten through the firewalls?"

  "I said the same thing.” She paused at the look of confusion on Jason's face, “So you guys really didn't send this to me?” Now there was a shred of concern in her voice.

  "You better go tell Miller about this. It really wasn't us this time, I swear it.” Jason raised his arms in retreat as he shook his head in denial.

  "Well, hell,” Marisol rushed across the room and barged into Miller's office. “We have a problem.” She explained the situation.

  "That's impossible. Nothing can get through without proper authorization. Not even our best hackers were able to break the codes. They're supposed to be hacker-proof.” Miller was flabbergasted.

  "I dunno what to tell you, but you may wanna come take a look.” Marisol didn't know what else to say or do about it. The case of nerves had quickly turned to anger. Being threatened didn't settle too well with her. She usually didn't get mad, but she would definitely get even.

  Miller followed her to her desk and sat down to read the screen. “Whoever it is they've got some balls,” he looked over at Marisol. “If this person really knew anything about you they would have known better than to pull this shit.” He chuckled, knowing she was a bad-ass ready to strike at the blink of an eye.

  "Well, apparently they don't know me as well as they think they do. Never fuck with a Cuban woman, especially not one that's armed and dangerous.” Marisol folded her arms in front of her and cocked an eyebrow. The wheels in her head were spinning. It had been a long time since anyone had thought they could get the upper hand on her, but this person seemed much bolder than any of the others. “I just can't figure out who the hell it could be.” Someone that bold had to have a few screws loose.

  "Don't worry,” Miller sighed as he rose from her chair, “we'll get it figured out."

  "I'll trust you this time, but I'm taking over if you can't find whoever it is.” She moved past him and sat in her chair, closing her e-mail window.

  "Let's not jump the gun. If this person is really keeping an eye on you, then letting you head up the task force would be stupid.” He let out another deep sigh. “We'll play it by ear for now."

  "I'm not gonna live looking over my shoulder all the time, Blake. This needs to get resolved, and fast, or I'm gonna take matters into my own hands."

  "Ok, I get it,” he turned on his heel and headed back to his office. “I still need those reports on my desk before you leave tonight."

  "Yeah, yeah, I don't doubt that.” Marisol spun her chair to face her screen again. She had a lot of paperwork to do before she could finally get home to her condo on the beach. “Can I do the short version?"

  "Nope."

  She shook her head and laughed. There was never a shortcut when it came to reporting an assignment. Just once Marisol would have liked to take the easy way out, but it really wasn't in her nature to skimp. That was another thing that made her so good at what she did.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It was after nine that night before Marisol finally finished with her reports and was able to go home. She was very meticulous about her work and went over it three times before she was satisfied enough with it to turn it in.

  Unlocking the door, Marisol stepped into the foyer of her beachfront condo. The old hardwood floor squeaked beneath her feet. She dropped her keys on the small round table by the door and walked through to the living room.

  "I thought you wouldn't be home till tomorrow,” came the voice of her best friend and roommate, Staci. The two had met in college and been friends ever since. “How was France?"

  "It was fine,” Marisol began her newest series of lies. She hated to do it, but it was her job. “I met with the clients early, so I decided to leave sooner than planned."

  "Are you shitting me? You were in France and you left early.” Staci shook her head as she stood from the couch to face her friend. “How boring can you be? I would have checked the place out. They say French men are very romantic.” She wagged her eyebrows and wiggled her hips in gesture as she dragged out the words.

  Marisol walked into the kitchen, “I have no time for all that crap. Men are pretty worthless anyway. They're only good for one thing."

  "Yeah, but you haven't gotten that one thing in months,” Staci laughed as she followed Marisol into the kitchen. Staci had a tendency of telling it like it was. She usually just blurted stuff out without thinking it through first.

  Marisol turned to her with her eyebrow cocked and hair in her face, “You're such a bitch."

  "Yeah, I know, so what's your point?” she threw her arms up in admittance and defeat.

  "My point is, I'm tired and I'm going to bed. See ya in the morning.” She grabbed a beer out of the fridge in passing and kept on going. Her bedroom was up a small wrought iron staircase a few feet from the kitchen. It was a loft bedroom, but she loved the open spaciousness of it. Being that the condo was hers first, Staci had to take the slightly smaller extra bedroom off the living room. It did have its own bathroom as well though, so that was a plus.

  "You're gonna see I'm right one of these days,” Staci yelled up after her as Marisol disappeared up the staircase, “and all I'm gonna say is I told you so."

  * * * *

  Morning came all too quickly. The bright Florida sunshine came through the small openings in the blinds and hit Marisol in the face with a vengeance. Groaning in her sullen state, she turned over in an attempt to avoid the piercing rays of light. The attempts were futile and her alarm went off seconds later. “Damn it.” Flipping her arm around from behind her, she smashed the alarm off and stretched her tired body.

  Just as she was about to finally get up, her cell phone rang. Double damn. “Hello.” Her voice was still a little groggy as she answered.

  "Sanchez, get your lazy ass into the office. I have a few leads on your mystery e-mail.” Miller's deep voice boomed through the receiver.

  "There's no need to yell. Lemme get up and get some coffee, and I'll be right in.” She flipped the phone shut and eased her way out of bed. She could already tell it was going to be a long day, but hopefully a promising one as well.

  * * * *

  Marisol stepped off the elevator with her large latte in hand. There was no way she could possibly function without a good dose of espresso. She noticed Director Miller in his office and made her way around the maze of desks. Waltzing in like she owned the place, Marisol took a seat across from him. “So, whatcha got for me?"

  Miller shook his head as he sat in his brown leather chair. “One of these days you're actually gonna knock before you come in here."

  "Yeah, but then that would make me like everyone else.” She gave him a big smile and took a sip of her coffee."

  "God forbid that shit should happen."

  "My sentiments exactly,” she grinned again, taking another sip. “Besides, your door was wide open."

  Miller shuffled around some files and picked up the big screen remote. Pressing a button, the screen dropped down from the ceiling against the far wall. He flicked on the screen, with files in hand; three faces appeared in full color. “Ok, here's the deal,” he began as he turned to briefly face her. “We were able to trace the e-mail to a computer in one of the U.N. buildings within the US Embassy in..."