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The hit man walked to the parking garage that disfigured the far western side of the shopping center and took the stairs to the third floor. He used the automatic key to unlock the doors of his rented BMW 330Cic convertible, silver-blue with a black leather interior. At the hotel he'd said that he was a master carpenter called in to work on a fancy house some wealthy doctor was building nearby, which explained the van and the odd-looking cases. But he wanted as few people as possible to see him in that van, just in case something went wrong and he had to run, so he rented the BMW under another name, a car for tooling around town and, when his mission was completed, for escaping the city. He hadn't expected this much free time, but since his American client couldn't make up his mind about liquidating his wife the convertible had been worth the trouble.

The hit man drove north, past the endless malls and superstores the size of football fields, until he left the congestion behind and found a long, straight, four-lane road. Ten minutes later her reached the large park that provided a leafy refuge for the denizens of the city's northern suburbs. A large lake sat at the center of the park, with a 5.5 mile road and bike trail along its perimeter, and the hit man drove around the lake several times, the breeze ruffling his light blond hair. As he drove he carefully studied the pretty girls enjoying this warm June day, and lost himself in thought. He thought about his mission, about his most recent phone call, but mostly about the gorgeous young woman he was contracted to kill. ...

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