Chapter 1
Aaron Turner fumbled his key into the lock, twisted and pushed the door open. The odour of mildew and stale smoke clung to the air inside like scum on the surface of a pond. Home, sweet home.
Flicking on the light, he dropped his keys in a dish on the table by the door and tossed his kit onto a pile of dirty laundry that occupied the unused corner of his couch. He scratched absently at the Nagra welt on his left hand as he crossed the five feet from couch to kitchen. It was a small one-bedroom apartment, even by New York standards.
He grabbed a beer from the fridge, twisted the cap off and took a deep swallow. There was nothing like a cold beer after a grueling three-day hunt. He rubbed the back of his neck and winced when his fingers touched raw skin. Sunburn. That’s what he got for not wearing his shemagh on Meruvia. He was getting too old for this. Raising the bottle to his lips again, he took another swig and closed his eyes.
From behind his bedroom door, the sound of metal hitting wood made his eyes pop open again. The penny he had placed in the door frame of his closet had fallen out. He placed the bottle on the counter, careful not to make a sound, and slid his gun from the waistband of his jeans. Clicking off the safety with his thumb, he inched towards the closed door, each step taken with slow precision, until he stood right next to it. He took a deep breath and whirled to kick the door open, but before he could, it swung open from the inside.
He paused, uncertain. “You? What are you doing here?”
By the time he saw the gun, it was too late.
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