There are not enough words in Clay’s lexicon to describe Rachel, the stunningly beautiful woman that he wants to marry. Her skin is the colour of hot chocolate mixed with whipped cream. Her long hair, in a ponytail, is as black as the midnight hour. Eyes as dark as anthracite, almost Asian, but not quite. Five feet, seven inches tall, but she soared even higher in expensive Italian heels. She is an exotic amalgam of three racial groups, but even Clay did not know which ones. She is an enigma, cloaked in a mystery. At the moment she was unscrewing the silencer from her .380 calibre Walther pistol. She had just dispatched a man who refused to pay for services her firm had rendered.