Kael stood in the bedroom in the dark. He had studied the house plan with his usual attention to detail and knew the boy was trapped in the bathroom.

He also knew the boy should not have been there. Mrs. Andresen had left her husband that morning, and he had been told by intelligence that the boy had left with her. Not only was he in the house, but he had seen Kael’s face and seen him hit the target.

Only that familiar prickly sensation on the back of his neck that alerted him to danger had made him turn around. At first he had no idea what it was: male, female, child, or adult. It was not until his foot hit the bottom step of the staircase that he saw a very slender naked male figure ahead of him running through the darkened house, and knew it was Andresen’s stepson.

There was nothing else to do. He had to kill the boy.

Kael stood in the bathroom doorway. His incredible night vision had always been an asset. The room was both dark and unfamiliar; added to that, it was filled with steam, and still he could see a vague outline of the boy plastered against the tiles in the big shower stall. It was one of those showers with three jets and room for an intimate gathering, bigger than his own shower at home.

From his pocket he removed the scalpel, placed his gun on the floor, and removed his clothes, smiling all the while. The blood would run down the drain, and he could rinse off any spatter. Why didn’t all his kills have the decency to hop in the shower and make his life easier? He stripped off his latex gloves and shoved them in his pocket.

When he was naked, the scalpel in his hand, he flipped on the light. A whimper issued from the shower. Kael crossed the bathroom and opened the glass door. He stepped into the shower and stood absolutely still. Flattened against the wall stood a lovely and utterly terrified boy. Blond hair was soaked to his head, and his big silvery gray eyes opened wide with fear, staring straight at Kael.

The smell of warm urine filled Kael’s nostrils, and he looked down at the boy’s legs to see yellow piss mingling with the water. The boy also looked down, then back at Kael, shame passing over his face.

“Are you going to kill me?” The voice was little more than a whisper.

An unexpected and overwhelming feeling gripped Kael in the belly. He wanted to take the boy in his arms and calm his fears. He wanted to comfort him, not kill him. “Why would I do that?” Of course he was going to kill him, but he wanted the boy’s fear to go away first. He enclosed the scalpel tightly in his hand, hiding it.

“Are you English?”

The situation was ludicrous, yet the boy’s natural curiosity forced him to ask a question that made it feel almost commonplace. “Yes. What’s your name, boy?”

“Angel,” he said softly. “Angel Button.”

“Angel,” Kael repeated and opened both his arms to the boy. “Come here, Angel.”

He thought he might have to repeat himself or take a step toward the boy to encourage him. He expected Angel to slide down the wall or piss himself again. Instead Angel took two or three quick steps and threw himself at Kael, wrapping his arms around Kael’s broad chest. At six feet five inches, Kael stood taller than most people. Angel was barely five feet eight, so his head rested against Kael’s chest. He looked down at the boy, cupping Angel’s head with his hand.

“Don’t be afraid of me, Angel. I won’t hurt you.” But that was a lie; he had to hurt him.

For a long time they stood with the water rushing over them, not moving. Kael could feel Angel’s thudding heart begin to slow as the boy calmed down. Overwhelmed with confusion, Kael did not know what to do. All he knew was that he felt happy the boy trusted him, and angry that the poor kid was putting his trust in a hired killer.