Chapter One     St. Christopher’s Catholic Church seemed to complement the irony that was Josephine’s life. The hushed echo of the faithful deep in prayer surrounded her with unease while an assortment of saints kept watch over the vast cathedral. Their expressions of hope and love seemed beautiful in an artistic sort of way, but Jo knew the real truth of it. The sculptures were a ruse; a simple attempt to lull the ignorant into a sense of false hope and security. Foolish.Jo reached in her pocket for a rosary, a pious illusion to those in attendance, when her fingers momentarily caressed the cold metal of her custom forty-caliber pistol.Her research didn’t reveal how long a normal parishioner would kneel in prayer and every minute she remained, placed her mission in jeopardy. Her target was late and her gut feeling told her to leave. There would be another time, another place. But, she was so close to closing this chapter of her life and beginning again. Yeah, she’d wait a little longer to end the scripted evil that had become her life. Concentrate on the goal. Jo scanned the area. Fourteen misguided people knelt in prayer in front of her; 11 women, five men, with heads bent and lips moving, a false sense of security practically flowing from their pores. A sudden gentle touch on her shoulder caused an involuntary flutter of her heart; training kept her still and quiet. She lowered her hands, placed the rosary in her left while slowly moving her right near a hidden pocket. For a moment, she allowed her fingers to feel the outline of her weapon, hidden but close and she’d reach for it, even here.A deep, hushed voice spoke from behind. “My dear, you’ve been here for some time. Do you need confession?”Jo almost snickered at the thought. She relaxed her hand.Confession. A priest, he would run screaming if she recounted the events of her life. What would he say if she told him that she was in his church to kill a man? “No, Father, thank you,” she responded softly in her practiced nondescript accent, could be Midwest, could be south Florida. Returning her hands to the top of the pew in front, Jo interlocked her fingers and mocked God as she gently caressed rosary beads in simulated prayer. The cool air tinged with the aroma of incense and burning candles swirled around her as the Priest made his way to another lost soul. Everything depended upon her blending in, becoming one of the faithful in order to sin, “Thou shall not kill.” Or so she had heard.Jo glanced around in front under lowered lids knowing that too much time had been spent kneeling in prayer. Too many variables so last job or not, it wasn’t a good day to kill. She tucked the rosary-beaded necklace into her pocket, crossed herself while mumbling something no one could understand and stood. Smoothing her skirt, she registered a closing door behind her and a responding silence that filled the large cathedral. She glanced toward the front; a woman turned and made eye contact. Damn.  Sidestepping, Jo moved from the middle of the large pew to the aisle, pivoted and bumped into a large, fleshy man. Images of a photograph intruded from her memory. Her target. “Excuse me,” he whispered.He stepped aside, his bodyguard standing alert and ready behind him.Her target gave her an admiring once over and smiled. Perhaps at one time a nice looking man, but his obvious enjoyment of rich food had expanded his waistline. He easily tipped the scales at three hundred and fifty pounds resembling a very, very pregnant woman. He hesitated, then took a deliberate step in her direction. She glanced up into his mousy brown eyes, which sparkled once he made eye contact.  Hard to believe this man was a known weapons smuggler and rumored to have close ties to the Middle East. Her experienced eye thought it odd that he would be so out of shape with only one bodyguard. But, her information had never been wrong before and she didn’t have the time to question it now. “Pardon me, miss, have we met before?” he asked in hushed tones. “Something about you is familiar - in spite of that intriguing veil.”“I’m certain I would remember, your presence commands attention,” she huskily whispered.  Then took a few steps away from him toward the vestibule, turned slightly and curved her lips into a demure invitation. Maybe it was a good day to die, after all.  He took the bait and walked toward her.His dossier recounted a man who totally enjoyed the pursuit. She’d have to play this one carefully, though, enough flirtation without seeming too eager. Her target held out a beefy hand in introduction.“Miss…” He left the question hanging.“Andrews,” she said. “Melissa Andrews.” She placed her hand in his. “What a pleasure, indeed.” The man placed his left hand over hers and caressed her knuckles with his thumb.  Jo’s stomach rolled in revulsion. No turning back now. She averted her gaze to the large double mahogany entryway just feet away, colored lighted filtered in through the stained glass.“Were you about to leave?” The target snickered, “Well, of course you are, how foolish. I’m not normally so forward, but I believe in grabbing opportunities, especially those which are so very attractive.”She listened to him as he walked with her toward the exit, his bodyguard a footstep behind.She hesitated in the vestibule then glanced to the large man behind him. The man scanned the surrounding area, reinforcing his position. She allowed a semblance of nervousness to cross her face behind the veil. A childhood friend turned bodyguard, an anticipated complication. Her stomach rolled again and she knew she should stop now, leave and walk away. Listen to her gut when apparently her target sensed her unease.“Not to worry, he is dedicated, loyal and has the highest discretion in matters such as a new friend.”Jo moved closer to her target, as if the bodyguard intimidated her. Yep, play on the man’s testosterone; manipulate his instinctive protectiveness. “Must he be so close? He’s making me uncomfortable.”Her target shook his head. “David, we’ll be fine, wait in the car.”The bodyguard looked at Jo and assessed her. She knew the look, measuring potential threats and apparently discarded her as just another woman interested in his boss. With a final scan around the area, the bodyguard left the church. “Better?”“Yes, thank you.” Jo listened absently as her target boasted about his financial endeavors, his political allies and powerful friends. Act interested. She told herself.  This is her final assignment and after spending so many months preparing, she wouldn’t screw it up now. She was so close to freedom, she could almost taste it.The door to the church opened behind her and an old man stepped inside, then shuffled between them. Jo moved aside and looked away shyly as he entered the cathedral. “You know,” her target interjected, “When I got up this morning I just knew it would be a day I’d never forget.” He said with enthusiasm. “Can you stay?” Jo knew that now was the time. She stepped toward him, but demurely glanced away, then leaned in and whispered, “I suppose I could change my plans, for a little while, anyway.” She glanced around. “Is there somewhere we could go that’s more, well, private?”He reached for her hand and nodded. “There’s a library at the bottom of the stairs where we could - get to know each other, uninterrupted.”She nodded.He led her down the stairwell. Jo focused on each step. Pushing all thoughts from her mind, she consciously slowed her breathing so that each breath was equal to the next. In, out, concentrate and close off everything. No noise, no distraction, nothing.The Zone.A welcoming place of emptiness and detachment that she’d perfected long ago; a shield of protection over her sanity. A normal person would probably relate to it more as an out of body experience, but to her, it was salvation. She reached into her right pocket, grasped the custom grip of her weapon and caressed the cool feel of the pearl handle. Her target continued through the stairwell unaware that each step he took, led him to his last.Her target opened a door on the right. She knew from her research that he often used this room for clandestine meetings. He stepped aside and allowed her to enter.Jo moved to the center of a small, windowless room no larger than two hundred and fifty square feet. Each wall was covered from floor to ceiling with bookcases holding leather-bound books embossed with gold titles. Four leather chairs with a small table separating them offered a very masculine atmosphere while the carpet ensured quiet, peace and death.A metal click signaled the closing of the door and metal scraping metal indicated interlocking chambers engaged.The air moved around her, cool but laden with the oppressive aroma of Brut aftershave. He was near. Turning, Jo gripped her weapon, removed it from the pocket and brought it to his heart just as he glanced down at the offending object. Jo pulled the trigger once with graceful ease. She watched him fall to his knees on the carpeted floor. Stepping forward, she moved the site of her weapon an arm’s length, aimed, fired perfectly in the forehead, the force pushed his body backwards on top of his lower legs. She listened. Quiet. Jo retrieved the two expelled shell casings from the floor. She found a slug lodged in the bookbinding of Joan of Arc. Reaching for a letter opener on the small table, she wedged it under the slug and pried it from the leather binding. Her eyes scanned the floor for the second.Nothing. Jo knelt down beside the body and lifted his head. It didn’t go through, no exit wound. She set his head gently on the floor, stood and paced the small library.  She glanced at her watch. Almost a minute passed - too long. She should have listened to her gut and left this mission for another day. Leaving behind evidence wasn’t acceptable. Her weapon and ammunition were untraceable, but Jo demanded perfection. It kept her alive.Kneeling, Jo placed the letter opener at the impact point and closed her eyes. She inhaled a deep breath and swallowed. Breathe in, breathe out, enter the zone. Jo couldn’t avoid her gaze slipping to the man’s surprised expression, his eyes wide with the fear of death. Her stomach convulsed. She couldn’t do it. Jo could not bring herself to pull the slug from his brain.She swallowed bile as if it were her first assignment, inhaled and listened. Nothing. Depositing the shell casings and slug in her left pocket, she detached the silencer, returned it with her weapon and letter opener into her right pocket.  Opening the door, Jo glanced left and right, the hallway vacant. She quietly closed the door behind her, turned right and exited out the side door. ####     Returning to the motel, Jo slid into her room’s interior.  She closed and locked the door, threw the rental keys on the bed and walked to the shower. Turning on the faucet as hot as the water would go, she stepped to the T.V. and flicked it on. Glancing at her watch, 6:05 p.m. She reached for the remote screwed into the nightstand, pressed the buttons until she found the local news.She tugged off her uncomfortable shoes and noticed the steam rolling from the small shower into the vanity area, exposing vulgar words written by unseen hands. She threw the horrendous patent leather sling-backs across the room and they landed under the cheap faux wood table. Unzipping the back of her dress, she wiggled out of it and dropped it to the floor, followed by bra and panties as she absently listened to the news. As anticipated, the newscaster interrupted a goodwill story of a boy and his dog. She walked over to the sink and wiped the steam-covered mirror.“This just in, a terrible scene is unfolding at St. Christopher’s Church off East Main in downtown Philadelphia.”Reaching for her face cleanser, Jo squirted the aloe scrub into her palm and applied it vigorously on her forehead, cheeks, and chin, scrubbing off the thick makeup.  The newscaster’s story vibrated through the plastic speaker of the old television. “St. Christopher’s is no longer a tranquil place of worship, the Governor… stand by a moment, something just in.” Jo stopped scrubbing and stared into the mirror for a millisecond before rushing to the antiquated television. She dropped to her knees, her heart pounding. She turned up the volume and sat back on her haunches. The news anchor hesitated, apparently listening to an earpiece with one hand at her ear, nodded, then looked at the camera, her words dripping with drama. “It has been confirmed, the Governor, Jeffrey Wingate, elected in a landslide victory in November, was found dead today. A victim of an apparent assassination in the Library of St. Christopher’s Catholic Church.”Jo tried to remain calm. On her end, there was no mistake. Slowly, realization dawned.One last job and she’d be free. They promised a new life, a fresh beginning deep in the hills of Tennessee. Jo was going to be Sharon Smith, vintage bookstore owner in the heart of Gatlinburg, a future of mundane tasks, routine days, paradise.Instead, her target wasn’t a bad guy, a gunrunner, spy or thief. He was a politician, but not just any politician; the governor of Pennsylvania. They weren’t going to let her go and this was their way of ensuring she knew it.She’d been framed.She was screwed.She had nowhere to run.