Paul Taylor.

That was the name he was using this job. The assassin typically adopted a new name with each new assignment, but this job was different from anything he'd ever done before. He wasn't studying a single person this time around, learning his habits, his routine, and his vulnerabilities before knocking him off. No, this time Paul had been contracted to wipe out an entire criminal syndicate, and that was going to require him to become an entirely new person ... and believe that he was that entirely new person, until the job was done and he could escape this life of death and destruction.

Paul had spent the last nine month diving into his new identity, creating and establishing a realistic background that would hold up to even the deepest scrutiny. His employer was a shadowy organization of wealthy business owners who were in league with very well placed individuals spread across all branches of government and the relevant law enforcement agencies; so when Paul needed an air tight identity, all he had to do was ask.

Ironically, his job this time around was to eliminate another shadowy organization of wealthy business owners who were in league with very well placed individuals spread across all branches of government and the relevant law enforcement agencies. Well, shadowy might not apply in the same fashion to this second group. It was called the Greater Boston Benevolence Society, and for more than 150 years its well-to-do members had been helping the less fortunate of the Greater Boston area escape poverty by providing employment and education opportunities that might not otherwise be attainable.

Of course, that was what the public saw of The Society, to which it was often referred. What the public didn't see was the murder, the extortion, the arson, the kidnappings, the thefts, and the other criminal and often violent acts that were and had been the basis of the Society's continuing control for generations of members.

Paul couldn't help but smirk at the fact that he was being paid by one corrupt organization to wipe out the hierarchy of a second one for -- their words not his -- the good of the people of Boston. But then, he didn't often question his employers' motivations. The only questions he typically had for those paying him was Who am I killing and How much does it pay? But then, this wasn't a typical job: he had 14 primary targets for which he would be paid $1 million dollars each plus a bonus of $14 million dollars if he got them all; and he had 27 secondary targets for whom he earned a sliding scale fee: the first of them killed fetched Paul $5,000, the second $10,000, the third $15,000, and so on.

In all, if Paul was able to sweep through his targets as assigned, he'd be walking away from this life of death and mayhem with enough money to buy a small island in the South Pacific and stock it with all the beer, burgers, and boobs he'd ever want or need. Retirement: it wasn't a word Paul had every seriously considered, but after this job he was finished. Even as he'd been establishing his new identity to do the job, he'd been planning a second one -- concealed from his employers, obviously -- to slip away from the assignment and disappear forever.

Paul stepped over to the windows of his new apartment, located in a corner of the 12th floor such that he could see water below him over a 270 degree arc. He loved the water; loved the sea. His island was waiting for him out there somewhere. All he had to do was complete this assignment without hitting any snags, for the greatest impediment to an assassin's job was anything -- or anyone -- who wasn't part of the plan.

Kat Malloy sighed and waved the guys moving a table a little to the left. "Guys... The head table needs to be centered!" She was frustrated. This was taking much longer than necessary. She had by virtue of being the granddaughter of the leader of the Greater Boston Benevolent Society been tasked with setting up this fundraiser. She couldn't even remember off the top of her head which fundraiser this was. It seemed that when she started showing an aptitude for party planning, she had been drafted as the official organizer of all things ridiculously boring for The Society.

She checked her clipboard and glanced around to find the florists setting up the centerpieces, which would have been nice, but the rental company had not yet finished putting out the table linens. She yelled at the florists to stop and just put the centerpieces on what would eventually be the table for the silent auction items. This whole event was giving her a headache. She still had to get to the dry cleaners and pick up her gown. She would be attending this event alone yet again. Her grandfather kept pushing her, wanting her to find someone to share her life with. He seemed to think she would be incapable of handling the money he wanted to give her on her own.

She pushed her hair out of her face and dashed across the room to meet the caterer who had a few questions. She answered them as quickly as she could, but she needed a break. As soon as she had a minute she made a mad dash for the door. She needed a few moments to herself. She walked outside and looked both ways before crossing the street. She walked toward the water. The breeze coming off the water was chilly, so there was no one else around. She paused at a railing and leaned against it staring out to the sea. She often came to the waterfront to relax. It centered her, it calmed her heart rate in a way nothing else could.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply taking in the tang of the salty air. She let the breeze tug at her hair not caring that it was becoming a tangled mess. She finally looked at peace. Her cell phone rang and she picked up with a sigh. The wind was blowing directly into the phone making conversation difficult so she turned around leaning her back against the railing tilting her head back as she listened to the person on the other end.

She listened to the phone for several minutes and then hung up slipping the phone into her pocket. She reached up and tied her hair back into a pony tail before pushing away from the railing. She needed coffee, well a stiff drink would be better, but she would take coffee. Her low heeled boots clicked on the ground as she headed straight for a nearby coffee shop. She planned on picking up the strongest coffee she could get, and probably some dried out pastry too. She needed something to keep her going and get her through this event.

(OOC: The web page below obviously doesn't exist. Don't bother trying to go to it.)

"Electronic leashes."

When the young beauty passing by slowed and looked his way, Paul smiled wide and clarified, "Cell phones. My wife, God rest her soul, used to call them electronic leashes." He waggled a finger toward the pocket into which Kat had deposited her cell phone, then continued, "She used to turn her cell off as soon as she left work, then didn't turn it back on until just an hour before she had to leave for work the next day."

Paul stood and walked closer to Kat, not so near or so quickly as to alarm her with a stranger danger. He smiled politely, hoping that she would pay more attention to his relatively nice looks than to the fact that she didn't know him. Paul had often been attractive. One lover had often referred to him as tasty. He had the dark, dramatic facial features of Keanu Reeves in his 40s and the deliciously sculpted body of Mark Wahlberg in his 20s. His near perfect smile was the result of a lifelong obsession with brushing and flossing, not tens of thousands of dollars in caps and polishings; and his hazel-green eyes sparkled when he was happy, or when he was on the make, as he was with Kat now.

He only had two conspicuously noticeable physical flaws: the first was a slight limp in his right leg when he walked slowly -- as he was now -- which was the result of a bullet fragment still lodged in his hip bone; and the second was a three inch long scar on the left side of his neck -- which he concealed by approaching Kat on her right -- that was the result of a knife fight in Munich six years earlier.

"I'm Paul," he said offering out his hand, still at enough of a distance that if Kat wanted to take it she would have to take a step forward. "And you're Kat Malloy."

He smiled wider, then laughed attempting to alleviate any tension that might be brewing from a stalker vibe. "I meant to find you at the benefit tonight, but I noticed you coming outside. I'm covering it, the benefit. I'm a contributor, for Good People ... Good People Doing Good Things dot com."

He laughed, feigning embarrassment. "I know, I know. Silly name for an online magazine."

GoodPeopleDoingGoodThings.com had been one of the easiest elements of setting up Paul's new identity. Paul's go-to hackers-slash-web designers -- he called them Tweedle Do and Tweedle Did -- had created Good People to automatically sift through and pirate from thousands of already existing charity and social services websites, reposting articles from those sites. The Tweedles had faked a following of millions, which had led to Good People making hundreds of Top Ten Online Site lists, which had led to millions of actual followers, which then had led to advertisers paying for a presence on the page. And now -- despite Paul never having meant for the site to do so -- Good People was pulling down more than $10,000 a month in revenue, which he let the Tweedles keep as payment for services rendered.

"I was hoping maybe to pick your brain," he continued, "maybe over a cup of coffee...?"

"Electronic leashes."

Kat turned her head and slowed her pace a little to look at the man who had spoken to her. She narrowed her eyes, it was certainly a strange way to start a conversation. Her face visibly softened as he mentioned his late wife, he seemed so young, too young to be a widower.

"Yeah, Shutting off would be nice." She said dismissively. She wasn't rude, but she was giving off a clear "I'm busy" vibe. She took a few more steps, but he started to introduce himself. She was going to take his hand, but once he said her name she froze. She was more than a little wierded out. It wasn't every day she was met on the street by someone who knew who she was. Her shoulders immediately relaxed when he mentioned Good People She knew the site well, everyone in the non profit and community support organizations knew of it. It was one of these sites that if you got good coverage, you could increase your donations.

That decided it for her. She reached out and firmly shook his hand. She smiled as he joked about the lame name of the site, and shrugged a little as he said he had wanted to pick her brain.

"I was just headed out for a quick cup of coffee actually. I needed a quick pick-me-up. It's been a long day and its only just starting." She said with a smile. "Although, I don't know how much help I will actually be. I am just the event coordinator. AKA Grandda wants me close enough to keep an eye on, and I have zero skills other than making things pretty." She said matter of factly. "But I'll help with what I can."

"I was just headed out for a quick cup of coffee actually..."

They chatted as they headed a couple of blocks to the coffee shop. Paul reassured Kat that she could certainly help him, then continued the casual chatting. He inquired about her current charity event, and before he knew it they were at a table in a corner booth with their drinks on the way. She was a remarkable woman, and Paul was intrigued by her. She was also a stunning young thing that Paul wouldn't mind seeing laying her back below him.

All of this was delightful to Paul, professionally so. From the moment he'd accepted this job, he'd known that he would need to get very close to the Syndicate to get to the most protected of its members, and the easiest way to get that close had always been to find a woman associated to the target: a daughter, a granddaughter ... even a wife of a member. There had been many a woman Paul had connected with -- sexually, evenly more intimately -- who hadn't been the type he'd bring home to mother. But he'd gotten the job done with such women so that he could later get the other job down with the target.

Kat, though? No, Paul could easily see himself getting close to her in an effort to finish this job. No trouble at all. During the creation of his new ID and background, Paul had searched for such women -- single and otherwise -- amongst his Syndicate targets' families. He'd found a dozen or so who might get him closer to one or more hard to reach targets, but when he'd come across Kat, Paul stopped looking elsewhere: she was single, attractive, socially active, and -- most importantly -- the granddaughter of a key member of the Syndicate.

"I know we've just met, Kat," Paul began after they'd spent almost half an hour, "but would you be interested in dinner one night soon?"

Kat had just taken a sip of her coffee when Paul asked her out. She coughed a little and dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. "I'm sorry...What?" She asked as she set her coffee cup down. Sure, she got asked out fairly frequently, but mostly it was because of Grandda's money.

She looked at Paul as if trying to figure out his motive for asking her out. "You don't have to take me on a date. I'll still give you my direct line. I can probably get you a 15 minute interview with Grandda if that is what you are after." She said finally as she sat back in her chair reaching into her jacket pocket and removing a small case that held her business cards. She scribbled her personal cell number on the back and pushed it across the table towards him.

She gave him a small smile. "I do appreciate it though. Makes a girl feel good to be asked once in a while." She did her best not to sound bitter. It was really hard for her to find people who were interested in her, rather than what they thought she or her family could do for them. It had been that way since her parents died when she was a kid. Her Grandda was rich, he was powerful and well connected among the who's who of Boston society.

She slipped her arms into her suit jacket and shrugged it on to her shoulders as she prepared to leave. "If you call me after the event tonight, I can get that interview early next week if that works for you." She said softly. "I do appreciate the coffee, and please let me know if you need anything else." She said as she stood up. She offered him her hand just as she would at the conclusion of any other business meeting.

Paul was disappointed that Kat had turned down his invitation, but he wasn't surprised, for a lot of reasons. He stood with her, thanked her for the interview offer, shook her hand, and traded farewells with her before she left. He watched her head down the block and disappear around the corner. She was a joy to watch from the backside, and Paul couldn't help but smile as he wondered if she was thinking Is he staring at my ass?

The coffee shop was strike one. But Paul was still at bat. He hadn't told Kat that he'd already been slated to go to the fundraiser, so her first indication that she'd be seeing him so soon was when she looked away from a conversation in which she was engaged to see him standing near a far wall. He was holding a flute half filled with champagne in one hand and a small digital audio recorder in the other as he feigned interviewing one of the event's more prominent honorees. As the man ranted on and on about the acts of charity in which his corporation was involved, Paul's only thought was of how this corrupt blow hard was one of the Syndicate members worth a million dollars to him. Keep patting yourself on the back, bud ... right where I'm gonna stick a knife in it soon'nuff.

(dress s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/4b/b..)

Kat walked away from the meeting amused. Paul was a damn good looking man, and she had almost wished he had been sincere in asking her out. She had been alone for a long time, and it would be nice to have someone to talk to at the end of a long day. She threw herself into her work, and spent a good portion of the day handling one minor crisis after another. She finally felt that things could progress without her long enough for her to go home and get dressed.

She took a good two hours to ready herself for the event. Her hair went up, and her makeup went on, but the true show of the night was her dress. She had chosen a dress that was light grey, not a metallic silver, or the darker grey that was barely a shade away from black. This dress hugged her curves, and had a built in cape that flowed gracefully from her shoulders. She wore only the thinnest of bracelets around her wrist as her only accessory. Once she had decided she looked as good as she was going to for the night, she called downstairs to make sure that the Limo Grandda had sent was already there.

She slid from the limo at the venue and headed inside. She slipped a small earbud into her ear. It was small, but if you stood too close you would definitely notice it. She needed to keep on top of all the goings on, and sometimes it was not a good time to have others approach, this way she could handle anything that needed her personal attention, but do so subtly.

She stopped and took a deep breath as she caught sight of Paul on the other side of the room. She was only slightly surprised to see him here. So many of their VIP's would welcome the recognition a reporter of his stature would bring. She turned her attention back to the wife of one of the many Vice Presidents and gracefully excused herself. She moved gracefully across the room, pausing to exchange pleasantries here and there. This was old hat for her, she knew all of these people very well.

She slowly approached and lightly touched the arm of the man talking to Paul. "So sorry to interrupt. Mr. and Mrs. Murphy were looking for you. They had a question about the photographer you used for your Daughters wedding." She said with a smile. That was all it took for him to make his excuses to Paul and move on.

Kat smiled and looked at Paul approvingly. He looked even better all dressed up. "You looked like you could use a rescue." She said offering her reasoning for interrupting his conversation.

"You looked like you could use a rescue."

"A rescue...?" Paul responded softly but with a feigned tone of disappointment. "Are you kidding me...? He was about to tell me the secret of his success ... about how I, too, could be a millionaire by years end." He rolled his eyes, made a short pfft sound, then finished, "Now, I'll be a reporter for the rest of my life ... eating top ramen, watching basic cable, and investing for my old age by buying a weekly lottery ticket. Thanks."

Paul laughed, then smiled wide as he lifted his flute to his lips. As he sipped the bubbly, he stare into Kat's eyes with an interest that wasn't feigned in the least, then lowered his glass again and looked her up and down with a conspicuously hungry look. Looking back to Kat's sparkling orbs -- the ones in her head, not her tight fitting gown -- he said in a quiet but suggestive tone, "I could tell this afternoon that you took my invitation for dinner as a way to work toward an inside scoop on your family and their empire." He stepped just a bit closer, adding a touch of intimacy to their proximity without looking creepy, and told her in an even softer tone, "I assure you, Miss Malloy ... my invitation had nothing to do with getting to know your grandfather ... and every thing to do with getting to know you."

A waiter happened by, and Paul snatched two full fluted of champagne before offering one out toward Kat and finishing, "And to prove it, I am going to forego the interview with your grandfather and ask again..." He lofted the flute, indicating he hoped she would acknowledge her acceptance of a date with a clinking of glass. "Please ... do me the great honor of letting me take you to dinner."

Kat laughed at his commentary on the conversation. "Did any of his advice include inheriting your millions?" She asked with a smile. "That's how most of these folks did it. Very few of them are self made men." She tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ear and looked at him. "You should totally forgo the basic cable. I promise you online streaming is where it's at these days." She teased.

She raised an eyebrow as he began to tell her that he was serious about wanting to take her on a date. She didn't know whether or not to believe him, but truthfully, as long as she was wary of his motives, what did she have to lose? She gently took a glass from him and sighed softly. She might as well give it a try. Who knew, maybe it would go well. She lightly touched his glass with hers and managed a genuine smile. "It would be a pleasure Paul." She told him.

They chatted for a few moments before she excused herself and took just a few steps away. She was actually enjoying herself, and didn't want to go too far. She listened to the voice in her ear telling her that the rental company wouldn't be able to make it until morning to pick up the tables and linens. She shook her head a little and told her assistant not to worry about it, that would be fine. She returned to Paul's side and sighed. "The work of the party planner is never done it seems. My assistant was having a minor fit over a scheduling change."

Things were going so well. Kat introduced Paul around and many of her guests were very excited to share with him the things their companies had done, or were planning on doing. She would occasionally catch his eye during these recitations and give him an understanding smile as if to say "welcome to my world"

Paul chuckled about Kat's comment about inheritances, adding with a smirk, "My father has a couple of grand in Treasury Bonds, a handful of Krugerrands he bought while living in Cape Town, and a Classic T-Bird that has been under a tarp since before I entered primary school ... and while I will someday inherit all of it, I don't think that puts me in a class with these guys."

He was once again delighted when Kat agreed to going out with him. He watched the beauty as she dealt with some benefit issues before returning to once engage visit with him. They spent almost two hours mingling with the mucky mucks, which was of great benefit to Paul: he was able to meet and speak with three of his targets face-to-face; he learned some vital details that hadn't been available to him from paper and online sources; and -- more personally satisfying with every minute -- he got to spend much of the evening, save the occasional interruptions, with a beautiful, intelligent, stunning woman.

Kat was again pulled away to supervise some of the more official events of the evening, including some speeches, the auction, and more. Paul spent the time mingling, feigning more interview work, and piecing together in the back of his mind how he was going to get to some of the more protected Syndicate members. Of his 14 primary targets, Paul knew he could get to more than half of them easily enough and most of the rest with some good planning. The biggest problem he faced, beyond not yet knowing enough about his target's personal habits and schedules, was timing: once he'd started knocking off targets and it was realized that the Syndicate itself was the target, not the individuals as individuals, those still alive would increase their security ten fold, maybe even disappear from the public eye.

That was why Paul needed Kat. Once the others went underground, he would need someone on the inside who -- willingly or incidentally -- might be able to lead him to the missing targets.

Paul was in no hurry to begin. The Syndicate had been around more than a century. They would still be around tomorrow. As he watched Kat functioning so comfortably within the crowd, he contemplated spending a little personal time with the beauty before dropping his first man. A little pleasure before and then during business. He could hold off his bosses for a little--

Then, Paul's schedule suddenly took a big jump forward. Kat's movement through the crowd had taken her from his view, so he went back to watching the Syndicate targets who were here tonight ... and spotted Carlton James. The CEO of one of Boston's most powerful real estate corporations was on the list of most difficult to get, so when Paul caught sight of the man talking intimately with a young beauty who was not his wife, just before excusing his security and slipping out of the ballroom toward the hotel's elevators, Paul simply couldn't pass up the opportunity...

The Next Morning:

The early morning news was short of details on the overnight death of Carlton James. Because of his status in Boston, the Chief of Police -- under direction by the Mayor -- was refusing to release much information. But sources close to the investigation -- who preferred to remain anonymous -- were claiming that the 55 year old had been the victim of a murder-suicide involving a bottle of poisoned wine and a young woman who was not his wife.

Paul felt bad about having walked out on Kat without a word, so he had a dozen long stem roses sent to her office. She had told him earlier about a meeting she had the next day, so he waited to call her cell phone until he knew she wouldn't answer. He left his message: "I can't apologize enough for simply disappearing last evening. I was called away to meet with a one of the contributor's to Camp New Hope. Please forgive me."

Camp New Hope was Boston's largest homeless-relief program. Paul was hoping that referencing the project might get him out of any hot water into which his disappearance had gotten him. Adding to that hope, he finished his message with, "In fact, the man I met ... I told him that I'd abandoned the most beautiful woman in Greater Boston to meet with him ... so ... to make amends ... look down inside the bouquet. And ... I'll call you later to make those dinner plans ... presuming we're still on."

Paul pocketed his cell and sat back to watch the midday light shifting across the city below his apartment windows. He smiled, contemplating the cashiers check for $100,000, made out to Kat Malloy with the footnote For the greater good of Greater Boston. The money was, of course, Paul's. And while he wasn't looking for the attention or tax write off that some of Kat's other contributors were after, Paul wasn't concerned about the amount. After all, his evening with Kat had made the million dollar kill possible; and the amount he'd given to her was only a fraction of that.

Kat grinned at him as he mentioned his inheritance. "Oh I don't know... a classic T-bird. That could get you pretty far." She teased.

She enjoyed spending the evening with Paul. He was a great conversationalist, and was of great assistance to her in keeping some of the more pretentious attendees satisfied when she had to step away. After a while she had stopped thinking of Paul as just another reporter along for the story, she relaxed into the evening as if he were truly her date. She sighed softly as the voice in her ear reminded her that it was time to start the speeches. She turned to Paul and whispered softly. "I am so sorry to abandon you again. Duty calls." She said before brushing a kiss across his cheek and slipping off into the crowd making her way to the stage.

She cleared her throat and then took the microphone. "Ladies and Gentlemen, Welcome, and thank you all for being here tonight. It has been a lovely evening thus far. Please don't forget there is only another 30 minutes on the silent auction. Place your bids now. That shameless plug for more money aside." The crowd laughed with her, they were used to her humor.

"I would like to introduce someone very special to me. Not only is he the President of the Society, but also my Grandfather. Please welcome to the stage Mr. James Malloy." she turned and kissed her grandfather on the cheek as the crowd erupted into applause. She handed him the Microphone and headed off the stage. "Well now, that was quite the introduction. Let's hear it for my lovely Granddaughter Ladies and Gentlemen." Kat gave a small wave to the attendees before slipping into the crowd intent on finding Paul, but it seemed that he had vanished.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, Kat ran through the door of her office, she was running late. She had stayed too late last night supervising the clean up. She saw the roses sitting on her desk, but she didn't even have time to look at the card. She dropped her phone on the desk and scooped up the folders containing the information she was about to present. She was asking the society to fund a system of programs for homeless women and women with children. It was an undeserved population as far as education went.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I am sure you will see based on the information in front of you, that will an operating budget increase, that Sarah's house could do so much more. First and foremost, they really need a building that isn't falling down around them. But we are in the process of working on some federal grants to help with that. Once that is in place..." She clicked her remote and brought up a slide.
"We would love to see more life skills being taught. Most of these women are unaware of how to handle the most basic of life's tasks."

She continued to explain the programs that she had worked on developing with the director. She wrapped up the meeting and headed back to her office. She sat down in her chair with a sigh and picked up her phone. She had a voice mail. She listened to it smiling as she heard why Paul had disappeared. It was probably the only excuse that would have saved their date. She reached for the bouquet and found the check. She laughed out loud. It was absolutely perfect. This check alone, would fund Sarah's house for a complete year.

She picked up the phone to return his call. She hoped it would go to voicemail. She tapped her pen against her desk as the phone rang. She jumped a little in her chair as he answered the phone. "Well Hello." She said. "Thank you for the flowers, they are beautiful, and words cannot express how much the little tag along with them will be able to help."

Paul was studying one of his encrypted files when his cell buzzed upon the desk next to him. He looked at the Caller ID and smiled, tapping a finger to the screen and saying with delight, "Oh good, you're still speaking to me."

"Well Hello."

He could tell in Kat's tone that she hadn't expected him to answer. She thanked him for the flowers and the check, to which Paul quickly clarified, "Well, I only delivered the check. The thanks should go to the man whose cash provided for it, though ... unfortunately, he prefers to remain anonymous so--" Paul chuckled. "So maybe I should have taken the credit after all ... claimed I sold the old T-bird for a butt load of money."

He laughed again at his rather crude description, then engaged Kat in a conversation about the previous evening, being sure she understood that the joy of which he'd partaken was due exclusively to her company. Then, just as he was discussing some dinner options with her, Paul noticed a bit of hesitance from his conversation partner. His first instinct was that maybe Kat was rethinking dinner with him. He couldn't know that Kat's assistant had set a laptop on her boss's desk, showing the Boston Herald's online home page which was dominated by the article of the death of Carlton James.

Kat sat in her chair, letting it swing back and forth as she talked to Paul. She had her back to the door when her assistant walked in and set a laptop down hard enough to get her attention. Kat turned around and her eyes widened at the sight of the news article in front of her.

She spoke quietly to Paul. "Did you see the news today?" She wanted to know. "Carlton James died last night at the hotel. Hold on one second."

She moved her phone away from her mouth but didn't mute it so Paul would still hear her speak. "Start calling the wives, and set up meal delivery. Send a personal basket from me. Paper towels, napkins, paper plates, plastic cutlery. You know what I send."

She pulled the phone back to her mouth. "So sorry about that. I swear my job title should be crisis manager." She chatted for a few minutes more and agreed to meet him for dinner.

______________________________________

Later that night

Kat swallowed nervously as she slid from her car handing the keys to the Valet. She had no idea why she was so nervous. She had spent last evening with him, and they both had a good time, but that was on her turf. Tonight was different, tonight was just the two of them.

She allowed herself to be escorted to the table where Paul was already waiting. He stood to greet her and she managed a smile, hoping her hand didn't shake when she grasped his arm to lean in to kiss his cheek.

Simply amazing...

Kat's entrance into the restaurant drew attention from more than the man she was coming to meet. Paul shifted his gaze from Kat to the others also ogling the beauty, causing him to smile with delight. She carried herself well, and Paul had no idea she was nervous until she was close enough to take his hand and again kiss her cheek, revealing the slightest trembling in her. He helped her to her seat, gestured toward the wine guy -- he knew they had a fancy title but couldn't recall it -- then sat at the small table across from her, smiling.

“They’re looking at you,” Paul said, almost in a whisper as he glanced over Kat’s shoulders, then back to her. “he piled it on with, “The women all want to be you … and the men all want to be with you.”

Kat took her seat and smiled with a slight blush to her cheeks. "A slight exaggeration I am sure, although the women may be jealous that I am with such a handsome man this evening."

She turned her attention to the sommelier and requested to hear about the whites. She admitted to an allergy to the sulfites in reds that caused her horrible migraines. They settled on a wine and she turned her attention to Paul. "So I hope your meeting with the Camp Hope contributor was successful."

"Please pass along my thanks for their contribution. The meeting I had this morning was actually presenting a new organization to the society for assistance. Regardless of what the board decides, I think that check will do a lot of good." She told him.

Her official title was donation coordinator, but she did so much more than that. She helped with grantwriting, and designing community programs, but all anyone ever really saw of her was the party planning, so she often just told people all she did was make things look pretty.

Paul smiled at Kat echoing his compliment, nodding his acknowledgment. When she asked about the meeting he'd pretended to have with a Camp Hope contributor, he told her, "It was good, thank you. I learned a great deal I didn't already know. Should make for a good article. And yes, I will definitely pass on your appreciation."

He asked how the money would be used, and they spent the next many minutes discussing the many great things her charity did for the people of Boston. Paul listened closely to all Kat had to say, because he had an honest interest in what she did professionally ... and, of course, because he had an honest interest in her personally. But he also had a job to do, and he never lost sight of what had brought him to Boston in the first place.

"So, I wanted to talk to you about something," Paul began as their dinner plates were being cleared. He wore the devilish smirk of someone about to ask a big favor. "I've been putting this off because I didn't want you to think this was the reason for my asking you to dinner. I assure you ... my reason for wanting to be with you this evening ... is to be with you."

He smiled, pausing in case she wished to respond before he went on, "I've been trying to get interviews with some people I think you know. I like to think all I have to do is call an office and identify myself ... and these folk will scramble over one another for the chance to talk to me, but..."

He laughed at his feigned self importance, gave the waiter a moment to place their chosen desserts before them, then continued. He identified three men and a woman -- all of whom had been at the event last evening -- with whom he'd been trying to get appointment. Only two of them were Syndicate targets; but the third man was a regular Chess partner of a reclusive target; and the woman -- while married to no one of consequence -- met with another man every Wednesday for a little afternoon delight that, unfortunately for Paul, occurred at a different location each week. If he could meet with any one of these people, he might be one step closer to adding another millionaire to his retirement fund.

"You don't have to do this, Kat," Paul told her quickly before she had a chance to respond. "In fact ... if asking this of you will in any way prevent me from seeing you again, I'd rather you didn't help me with it at all."

He spoke the last line with the obvious tone of a man yearning for a second date...

Kat smiled when he asked about how the money would be used. He had hit on one of her passions. She loved sharing how donations would make a difference. "Sarah's House is a small shelter, they take only women and women with children. The money your benefactor gave will make a huge difference, it allows us to provide child care, and I am actually working with one of the culinary schools to get some of their students in to teach basic kitchen skills. I want to get someone in to teach financial management and budgeting. Basic skills these women lack. A lot of them have barely finished the 7th or 8th grade." She told him, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she talked about the things that were now possible.

She narrowed her eyes ever so slightly as he started to talk about something he wanted to ask her about. She listened though without interrupting. She smiled when he quickly assured her he would rather have a second date than the interviews. "Tell you what..." She started, speaking slowly and deliberately.

"Call me tomorrow at the office during business hours, and I would be glad to help you, but for tonight," She lightly drew her fingers over the back of his hand where it rested on the table. "Tonight I would just like to enjoy the first date I have had in a very long time."

The evening couldn't have been going better: Paul was inching closer to getting some of his toughest targets ... and getting Kat at the same time. Oh, sure, he didn't know the beauty well enough to know whether she was the fuck on the first date type; and hell, he didn't even know her enough to know if she was the fuck before marriage type. During his investigation of female types within the Syndicate that might get him closer to his intendeds, Paul had, of course, investigated her deeply: he'd poured over her own social media, and had searched for any mention of her in the public media; and Tweedle Do had hacked into her personal and office voice mails while Tweedle Did got access to some but not all of her financial data, including the known bank accounts that Kat herself had opened in her name and the unknown accounts that her Grandda had opened in her name, to assure her future should anything untoward happen to him (which, of course, Paul intended to come to fruition).

And while there had been a great deal of information through which to sift and use to and use to build a profile of Kat, there had been a surprisingly lack of information about her dating habits. Paul was on Facebook and LinkedIn and Twitter and about a dozen other social media platforms -- under his new, fake ID, that is -- so he knew how people liked to spill out their entire lives, with every movement and thought and feeling. So he'd been surprised when he hadn't found a free flowing, exploding-upon-the-world explanation by Kat of her romantic life ... or, at what she seemed to have just hinted, lack thereof.

That was all moot now, however. The evening was going well, and -- despite currently sporting an excited member down below at the thought of spending this night with the young beauty -- Paul was in no hurry. He had weeks, possibly months to conclude his business in Boston. And besides, he didn't want to get tangled up in a romantic situation with Kat anyway. Already after just 24 hours, he'd already chastised himself a dozen or more times for his thoughts about Kat. She wasn't a future romantic party, a future lover, a future significant other, or ... or anything more serious than that. She was a single woman who yearned for male company, and Paul was a hitman who needed information and had an opportunity via Kat to get it. Oh, and he got laid in the process, so much the better.

He could keep this professional.

Couldn't he?

He had to, of course: eventually, he was going to put down her grandfather, and that wasn't something Paul imagined was an easy thing to do for a man in love. So ... professional.

At the feel of Kat's fingers upon the back of his hand, Paul's smile widened a bit. He reached his own fingers up and over her hand, gently squeezing it for a moment. Their waiter suddenly appeared, and -- what with this being a first date and being the era of hash tags and instant reporting of anything interesting to the entire world -- Paul casually pulled his hand back as if protecting Kat's honor or something. The man took the dessert plates, asked if there would be anything more, and -- after he'd looked to his date and gotten a thought -- Paul said, "No, I think we're done."

He'd given the hostess his credit card information upon arrival and authorized an impressive tip to ensure someone was keeping an extra eye upon them to quickly fulfill their dining needs, so once the waiter had offered his hope that the pair had enjoyed their dinner and departed, Paul again reached out to take Kat's hand before asking, "Would you walk with me...? The Channel boardwalk is beautiful in this neighborhood."

Kat took his hand and smiled. "I think I would like that." She said quietly as they both stood. She allowed him to help her into her coat, and escort her out into the evening. She felt his hand on the small of her back and leaned into him a little her arm wrapping around his waist as they walked.

"So, tell me more about you Paul?" She asked. "How did you end up here in Boston?" She turned her head to look at him when she spoke, but her attention was taken up with the beautiful evening. It was cool, but not cold. Just right to be spending an evening together outside.

Occasionally as they walked a cool breeze would blow off the water giving her a chill. She would press closer to Paul to ward it off. They paused at a railing and she leaned forward looking out over the water. "Thank you for tonight Paul. I have really enjoyed it." She said quietly. She tucked her hair behind her ear nervously as she turned around pressing her back against the railing so she could look at him easier.

"I am really looking forward to doing this again." She admitted looking up to him. Her hands itched to reach out and pull him closer to her, but she wasn't sure how well it would be received.

She didn't date much because most men were more interested in what she could do for them rather than interested in her. She had no idea what it was she was supposed to do now. Her last real date had been a very long time ago. She normally had what you could call dates, but more for the purpose of having someone with her at various functions.