Heart of a Killer Read online

  Contract killer Santana Masters doesn’t need anyone or anything except her next assignment and the lucrative payment that goes with it. Her life is just the way she likes it, well-ordered and intentionally devoid of emotion. Then a chance meeting with a beautiful stranger tempts her to do the one thing she’s always managed to avoid: fall in love.

  Tech company CEO Brooklyn DiVincenzo’s world is rocked when she witnesses her best friend’s brutal murder. Instead of turning to her dysfunctional family for support, she seeks comfort from someone who doesn’t have a stake in how she feels—the alluring and dangerous Santana Masters, who keeps her own feelings carefully locked away.

  Brooklyn’s decision to trust Santana might end up costing more than just her heart.

  What Reviewers Say About Yolanda Wallace’s Work

  Tailor-Made

  “An enjoyable romance that hit several harder-to-find demographics in the lesbian romance market: a religiously observant protagonist, an interracial relationship, and a gender-nonconforming protagonist.”—Veronica Koven-Matasy, Librarian, Boston Public Library

  “Wallace has proven to be a varied writer who crafts diverse characters in a wide range of settings, and this take on a simple, sweet, butch/femme love story really showcases her soft writing style and firm grasp of lesbian romance. This story reads easily and flows smoothly. It had me smiling from the first page”—Love Bytes Reviews

  True Colors

  “[In True Colors], Robby has three jobs, none of which is likely to endear her to the President or his advisors. As well as working in her friend’s shop, she also writes a pseudonymous political blog and performs as a go-go dancer in a popular lesbian bar. When [the President’s daughter] Taylor asks her on a date, Robby at first thinks only of the gossip she might pick up for her blog. As the two grow closer, however, Robby—as well as Taylor—has to work out how much, if any, of her life she is prepared to sacrifice for love. I really enjoyed this book. …I definitely want to investigate this author’s back catalogue as soon as I get some spare reading time.”—The Good, The Bad and The Unread

  Divided Nation, United Hearts

  “I found myself totally immersed in the story of Wil Fredericks, a woman who runs away to join the Union army disguised as a man and meets the woman of her dreams. …Yolanda Wallace has managed to write a wonderful love story set against the worst of times. I loved it and highly recommend this book. Five stars!”—Kitty Kat’s Book Review Blog

  “Divided Nations, United Hearts delivers on its promise.”—Just Love Reviews

  24/7

  “This story is intense, exciting, a bit erotic, romantic and very, very good!!”—Prism Book Alliance

  “Ms. Wallace as always delivers an entertaining read that is fun and well researched. Thrill seekers, this is your book.”—The Romantic Reader Blog

  Break Point

  “Wallace captures the spirit of the time, from the changing attitudes of the Great Depression, to the terrifying oppression of the Third Reich, working in real events and people to construct a vibrant setting. The romance is strong…”—Publishers Weekly

  “I adored this book. I’m not big into tennis but I cared about both of the main characters. I like that they both basically stuck to their morals to do the right thing rather than the thing that people were trying to make them do instead.”—Blow Pop’s Book Reviews

  “[Break Point] is so full of suspense, gads I nearly bit my fingernails to the quick! The characters are so easy to care about. The near constant anxiety as I worried endlessly for Meike’s life was almost too intense. It was interesting to see Helen grow and so painful to see what Meike was put through but when they were together it was such a relief!”—Prism Book Alliance

  “Break Point is a heart wrenching story set at the height of WWII with a refreshing perspective—of Germans who do not endorse of the actions of Hitler and his henchmen and of an American being manipulated by an FBI agent for government purposes. This is countered with the love story of two people, who might be destined to find completion together, but first, they must overcome obstacles that sometimes seem impossible—a compelling tale of history and compassion, destiny and enduring love.”—Lambda Literary Review

  “If you are a sports fan this book will definitely appeal to you. …[A] well written tale.”—The Romantic Reader Blog

  The War Within

  “The War Within has a masterpiece quality to it. It’s a story of the heart told with heart—a story to be savored—and proof that you’re never too old to find (or rediscover) true love.”—Lambda Literary Review

  Murphy’s Law

  “Prepare to be thrilled by a love story filled with high adventure as they move toward an ending as turbulent as the weather on a Himalayan peak.”—Lambda Literary Review

  Lucky Loser

  “Yolanda Wallace is a great writer. Her character work is strong, the story is compelling, and the pacing is so good that I found myself tearing through the book within a day and a half.”—The Lesbian Review

  Rum Spring

  “The writing was possibly the best I’ve seen for the modern lesfic genre, and the premise and setting was intriguing. I would recommend this one.”—The Lesbrary

  Heart of a Killer

  Brought to you by

  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  By the Author

  In Medias Res

  Rum Spring

  Lucky Loser

  Month of Sundays

  Murphy’s Law

  The War Within

  Love’s Bounty

  Break Point

  24/7

  Divided Nation, United Hearts

  True Colors

  Tailor-Made

  Pleasure Cruise

  Comrade Cowgirl

  Heart of a Killer

  Writing as Mason Dixon:

  Date with Destiny

  Charm City

  21 Questions

  Heart of a Killer

  © 2019 By Yolanda Wallace. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-63555-548-6

  This Electronic Original Is Published By

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, NY 12185

  First Edition: October 2019

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Cindy Cresap

  Production Design: Susan Ramundo

  Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])

  Acknowledgments

  My wife has a thing for action movies, so I’ve been exposed to dozens of lethal assassins over the years. All were good at what they did, though some seemed to take more pleasure in it than others. My titular killer, Santana Masters, was partially inspired by John Wick, the haunted hit man so memorably played by Keanu Reeves in an ongoing series of films, though (spoiler alert) no puppies are harmed in the pages that follow. I hope to spend more time with Santana in the future, but I will be sure to ask her permission first.

  I would like to extend my continued gratitude to Radclyffe, Sandy, Cindy, and the rest of the Bold Strokes Books team for giving me and my fellow authors roots while allowing us to grow wings.

&nbs
p; I would also like to thank the readers for their continued support. I love the fact that you are as excited about lesfic as I am. You are my inspiration, and I couldn’t do what I do without you.

  As always, I would like to thank Dita for continuing to indulge and, in most cases, fuel my fantasies.

  Dedication

  To Dita,

  You slay me.

  Prologue

  Santana Masters was good at her job. Great, in fact. That didn’t mean she had to like it. Every time she pulled the trigger, she felt a piece of herself die along with her victims. She hadn’t chosen this life, but she had to keep living it until she finally repaid the debt she had incurred long ago.

  She took a few deep breaths to slow her heart rate, peered through the scope on her rifle, and waited for her target to appear in her crosshairs. Jeong Park was a high-ranking cabinet official who had apparently reached the limits of his usefulness. The cash-strapped government of the rogue nation he called home had placed a seven-figure price tag on his head, and it was time for her to collect the bounty. She would receive only a small percentage of the payout. The rest would be deducted from what she owed. By her reckoning, that amount should have zeroed out years ago, but her handler seemed to think otherwise and, unfortunately, he had the last word. She had to keep going until he finally gave her permission to stop. If she didn’t, she would lose everything she loved. Permanently this time.

  By nature, her profession had a limited timeline. Its proponents could stay sharp for only so long before their skills started to erode. She had been in the game since she was fifteen years old. That was almost twenty years ago. How long would it be before a younger, more ruthless version of herself came along? How long would it be before she, like Park, would be considered extraneous? Before she became the target instead of the shooter. Probably sooner rather than later, but she didn’t have time to think about that now.

  “Take the shot and get out” was her mantra for a reason. It helped her stay focused and didn’t leave any room for doubt. Hesitation could get her caught. Getting caught could get her killed. And despite how much she hated her life, she wasn’t ready for it to end.

  Unlike most targets, Park had made her job easy for her. A creature of habit, he never instructed his driver to take any alternate routes as they made their way around their nation’s capital. He also stuck to the same daily schedule he had kept since his nephew had appointed him to his current office. The same nephew who was now paying to have him killed. Apparently, not all family squabbles could be solved sitting around the dinner table.

  Today was Saturday, which meant Park would put in a cursory appearance at his office before spending the afternoon with his mistress, a member of the state-run media who was either about to become part of the story or part of the cover-up. Santana didn’t plan on sticking around long enough to find out which.

  She felt a surge of adrenaline course through her body when Park’s limo pulled into view. She tamped down her emotions so her hands would remain steady. She had set up her sniper position more than half a mile from the apartment building Park’s car was currently idling in front of. At that distance, the slightest deviation in her aim would alter the trajectory of her shot by several feet, not a few inches. Close-range kills were easier. Long-distance ones posed more of a challenge.

  Syncing her breathing with the rhythm of her heartbeat, she waited for Park to exit the vehicle. The air was still, meaning she wouldn’t have to make many adjustments to her shot She resisted aiming for where Park was now and anticipated where he would be in the time it would take for the projectile to hit home. She had been watching his comings and goings long enough that she didn’t have to guess where he would move next. She already knew.

  “Take the shot and get out.”

  Her breath puffed in the frigid air as she said the words. She had been lying prone on the nearly frozen ground for over an hour, but she no longer felt the cold. She pulled the trigger, waited for the burst of blood and gore that signaled she had hit her mark, then did what she did best: she disappeared.

  She disassembled her rifle, collected the spent shell casing, and policed the area to make sure she had left no trace of her presence behind. She had already stashed a QBZ-95 near the demilitarized zone, allowing her benefactors an opportunity to blame either Chinese or South Korean operatives for the assassination. The bullpup-style automatic rifle fired a much smaller round than the military grade weapon she had used, but in certain parts of the world, the story was much more important than the facts.

  No matter. The “truth” would sort itself out eventually. In the meantime, she had a plane to catch. She could finally allow herself to relax once she got to Japan. Tokyo, one of the most populous cities in the world, was a convenient place for her to get lost before she slipped back into the shadows while she waited for her next assignment.

  In Tokyo, there were not only plenty of people but plenty of places to party. As soon as she made her way across the heavily fortified two-and-a-half-mile swath of land that lay between her and her getaway vehicle, she would find one. She had earned a chance to let her hair down, and she meant to take it.

  Chapter One

  Brooke Vincent liked being the center of attention. Brooklyn DiVincenzo, on the other hand, did not. Brooke Vincent was a glamorous tech company CEO who had never encountered a party she couldn’t crash. Brooklyn DiVincenzo was a geeky computer nerd whose idea of a perfect evening was sitting cross-legged on her couch in her favorite pj’s while she wrote lines of code and ate a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. Brooke Vincent was a sophisticated world traveler. Brooklyn DiVincenzo was the youngest member of a close-knit middle class family who hadn’t been expected to acquire either the ways or the means to escape the confines of the New York borough for which she had been named.

  As unlikely as it might seem to some, Brooke and Brooklyn were one and the same.

  Brooklyn became Brooke whenever it was expedient. When she needed to deliver an energetic speech to motivate her employees or when she needed to make a few provocative statements on social media to get her company some much-needed press attention. As far as she was concerned, there was no such thing as bad publicity. Not as long as it accomplished her goal of raising her company’s profile and its bottom line at the same time.

  She was in Tokyo for a tech convention. Representatives from companies headquartered all around the world had convened to offer sneak peeks at some of the innovations they were working on, share a couple of drinks, and kick a few ideas around while they were at it.

  Everyone was there. From the billion-dollar conglomerates whose success she hoped to mirror as well as the smaller companies with whom she often competed for contracts and employees. She and her team were holding their own, but she looked forward to the day when they could finally pull ahead of their peers instead of keeping pace with them.

  These kinds of events were necessary but exhausting. Brooklyn had been on for three days now. Tonight was New Year’s Eve, and she wanted to celebrate it as herself.

  Her hotel was located in Tokyo’s Shibuya district, which was illuminated by the bright lights that made the city seem like a cross between Times Square and the Vegas Strip. The four-star dwelling featured nine restaurants, an art gallery, and four bars.

  In Japan, the New Year holiday, known as Shōgatsu, was traditionally a quiet, solemn affair. Many people returned to their hometowns to spend time with their families, share moments of quiet reflection, and make plans for the coming year. Western-style celebrations, complete with fireworks and countdown parties, were becoming more popular, however. A fact made obvious by the large number of people Brooklyn spotted wearing festive hats and sunglasses after she left the quiet confines of her hotel room.

  Bypassing the rowdy dance clubs and karaoke bars, which were already crowded with revelers, she headed to the main bar on the hotel’s top floor. The ten thousand yen cover charge, which converted to around ninety US dollars, entitled he
r to a welcome cocktail, all the sushi she could eat, a complimentary champagne toast when the clock struck midnight, and unlimited access to some of the best views in the city.

  She snagged a cherry blossom martini from a passing waiter’s tray and took a seat at a small table near the floor-to-ceiling window. A game show that was long on visuals and seemingly short on rules was playing on the flat-screen TV behind the bar. To her right lay the city of Tokyo in all its Technicolor glory. She sipped her drink while she watched dozens of digital ads assault her senses. Normally, she would have been overwhelmed by the visual overload, but the refreshing combination of sugar and alcohol in her cocktail provided the perfect counterpoint to the kinetic imagery.

  She held up her glass, which was filled with sake, plum wine, cranberry juice, and a splash of soda.

  “To all the people who said I would never reach this point. Look at me now.”

  She hadn’t achieved all the goals she had set for herself, but she was well on her way. She had a foothold in the tech industry, she had a solid business plan, and she was starting to be noticed by all the right people. The next step would be taking her company public. It would most likely never be on par with the corporate giants like Apple and Microsoft, but she could dream.