Disclaimer: Twilight and all related characters are owned by Stephanie Meyer.

A/N: I'm floating out this first chapter to see if I should continue this story. The characters are OOC but I will be staying with canon couples. There will be lemons later if I get a big enough response.


It's amazing how people react when they see someone standing in public half-naked and bloodied. You'd think they never saw a horror movie. The young couple who were waiting for the elevator I was on had decided to catch the next one when the door opened and they saw me leaning against the wall, my blouse an improvised bandage tired around my arm. Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke. I still had my bra on.

Damn, I can't believe I was so stupid. I should have taken the head shot first like they teach you to do, but no, I put two to the guys chest and when I go to get his wallet the fucker sticks me in the arm with the knife from a damn keychain gadget. Who knew he was paranoid enough to wear Kevlar on a date? I put the rest of the clip of .380 hollow points from my PPK into his fucking head on general principal. The contract didn't specify the shape his head had to be in, just that he was dead and I get the flash drives he kept in his wall safe.

Lucky for me the bastard was a sucker for cleavage and a lightweight drinker. It's amazing what a guy will tell a woman when they're drunk and you flash them some tit. This moron let out that the combo for his wall safe was his driver's license number at dinner. That made my life a hell of a lot easier. I didn't have to crack the safe, which, while I'm good at it, is a pain in the ass. Especially the keypad ones like numb nuts had. I hated lugging the extra equipment around. There are only so many places you can hide stuff when you're in a skirt and have only a clutch purse.

The elevator finally got to my floor and I made my way through the buildings garage to the black Porsche I had stashed here in the morning. I was a redhead in a business suit then. Now I was a blond in a black skirt and a now ruined low-cut black blouse. I also had a different face on both times. I had enough latex in different places each time to keep any facial recognition software from connecting the two faces right away. Having wigs styled to keep the hair in my face and avoiding the cameras as much as possible helped.

I jumped into the sexy looking 911 and made my way out of the building and headed to one of Denver's seedier neighborhoods. When I got to the Capitol Hill section I parked on Colfax and jumped out. A half naked woman on a summer night would hardly go noticed there. Even with a bloody arm.

A kid on the corner was eyeing the Porsche and me up with equal interest. I threw him the keys to keep his focus on the car. "You have twenty-four hours before it's reported stolen. Have fun." By the look on his face it would probably take that long to figure out I wasn't toying with him and just saved him a hard night of boosting Hondas.

I quickly made my way to one of the many No-Tell Motels on the Boulevard. I was looking like any other hooker on Colfax when I rented the room. Once inside I got out my first-aid kit, one could never be too careful, and went to work on my wound. I'd have Newton stitch me up later, now I just needed to stop the bleeding and clean my arm.

After a quick shower I threw on jeans and a tee, put back on my hooker face, then headed for the beat-up VW Bug that was parked in the lot. I threw my bag in and headed a few miles away to a nice, quiet residential street. There I took off the wig and the facial prosthetics then threw them in a bag with the clothes I had been wearing. They'd end up in some random 7-11's dumpster miles away from the scene of the crime. A girl can't be too careful.

I pulled into the parking lot of Denver International Airport and peeled off the thin layer of latex that was on my hands as I walked towards the entrance to the terminal. Even if they connected the VW to the killing the trail of fingerprints would stop with the car. The handy Clorox Bleach wipes I had took care of any blood evidence I left behind.

Not that my DNA is on any database, or ever will be for that matter. Same goes for my fingerprint, but I like to be cautious. The less the Jugglers had to clean up the better your standing with them. And that meant juicy contracts like this one.

See, the U.S. government has a policy against assassination. Does that mean they don't do it? Of course not. It just means there are about a million layers of deniability between the decision makers and the trigger pullers. The government grooms and trains certain people that fit a certain profile as assassins and after they are trained they are either discharged or quit their agency to go into the private sector to be used later.

People like my team and I.

After I got off the train at Concourse B I headed to my gate. A skinny brunette woman and a stocky, sandy blonde haired man came over and hugged me.

"Hey, sis. Almost thought you were going to miss our flight. Mom and Dad wouldn't have liked that."

"Mom and dad can kiss my ass, Mikey. Sometimes business dinners take longer than expected."

The brunette nodded towards my shoulder. "Looks like you had an especially rough meeting, Bella."

"Just a scratch, Jess. Mike can look at it once we get to LA."

Mike Newton and Jessica Stanley were my back-up on this assignment. They would finish the mission if I failed, but also filled in the roles of team medic and intelligence officer, respectively. They were two great operatives. The only problem was that they were balling each other's brains out when they thought nobody was looking. It was a bit unprofessional, but so far it hadn't affected their performance. The moment it did they were gone. As my arm showed, there was no room for mistakes in this business.

The flight was uneventful and we made our way to the hotel. We stopped at a newsstand along the way to get a magazine.

The magazine held the details of our next contract.

Mike tore open the plastic wrapper, pulled out a folder, and opened it as Jessica drove. "Where we headed next?"

"Forks, Washington."

You have got to be shitting me. "Where?"

He turned to look at me. "Forks, Washington. You've heard of it?"

I shook my head in disgust. "Yeah, I've heard of it. Jesus Christ, don't those idiots handing out the hits do their homework? That's my fucking hometown!"

Jess looked at me through the rearview. "What me to cancel it?"

I shook my head. "Nah. I just have to be extra careful. Let me see who the target is."

Mike handed me a picture with a stat sheet. "Hope it's no one you know. That would suck ass."

"I don't really care one way or the other. You can't have any feelings in this business. A contract's a contract, no matter who it is. Bang-bang, they're dead, we go home. Simple as that."

Mike muttered something that sounded like 'Cold hearted bitch', but I ignored it. I looked at the photo and my stomach, along with my heart, dropped to the floor. The target was indeed someone I knew. Someone I had known very well in a past life.

Edward Cullen.

______________________________________________________________________________A/N: Please let me know how you liked it. That will determine if I continue -Bob