Excerpt:

Try not to kill anyone, Ellie reminded herself. Her bright amber eyes narrowing, she made the best of the hazy light offered by the tall, iron lamppost standing almost directly in front of the night-darkened estate. She took a deep breath, the tiny sound feeling alarmingly loud against the silent air. It was time. Rising slowly out of her crouch, she rolled the black sleeves of her light, loosely fit shirt higher on her arms. Out of habit, Ellie's gloved right hand slid over the gold wire wrapped leather grip on her cutlass. She lifted the curved blade slightly, making certain it would slide freely from its dark, calf-skinned scabbard, just in case her plan went completely wrong. For her sake, that couldn't happen, but that didn't mean she shouldn't plan for the worst. Ellie always did.
In the several moments Ellie had been watching, the two guards standing as sentries in front of the home had barely moved. The nearer man, a short, portly fellow with dark hair stared blankly in her general direction. Even if he managed to see her coming, Ellie doubted he'd be able to slide his rifle from his shoulder and bring it around in time to accomplish anything other than getting himself killed. Still, this was not the time to take a chance, especially since he was most likely the bigger threat. The second guard had left his rifle leaning against the wall of the house, a good ten feet away from the steps leading to the front door where he had casually strewn himself.
“Get off your ass,” the guard demanded. When there was no response, he turned, his head swiveling slightly. “Don't make me report you.”
The seated man shrugged, “Damned dullest work I've ever done.”
“Don't matter.” The guard pulled the strap of his rifle, letting the weapon slide from his shoulder.
“Total waste of time.”
“Then stop complaining and do your job.”
“Who'd attack her house?” The seated man shook his head. “Even if someone did, it wouldn't be anyone we'd want to mess with, I know that much.”
“You shouldn't have taken the job.” Tightening his grip on the rifle, the portly man jabbed the butt off the weapon against his less than dedicated companion's shoulder. “Get up, damned fool.”
“You're getting on my nerves.”
Even though he wasn't getting anywhere, the man continued to try. “They'll do more than fire you if you're caught doing that.”
Having been granted a perfect opportunity, Ellie raced toward the house, her long, tightly tied burnt red hair bouncing with each light step. The sounds barely audible even without the additional noise of the ongoing argument. Ellie noted with amusement that the slacker noticed her first, his eyes going wide suddenly. He was too late, far too late. Ellie kicked violently, driving her heel into the rifle's barrel. The butt of the rifle slammed into the man's temple, just beneath his sparse, straw-like hair. His head snapped back, bouncing against the step behind him. One problem eliminated. The other man spun toward her, his mouth still opening to cry out in surprise, or for help. Ellie kicked him squarely between his legs. He slumped forward, silenced. As he fell, Ellie drove her knee upward into his jaw.
A bit excessive, Ellie thought as she walked over the unconscious man on the steps. The brass door knob turned easily. She pushed and the door swung inward. The lighting was little better inside the house. Nevertheless, a quick glance around the room showed it to be empty. After stepping inside, she quickly shut the door, pushing the bolt locked before moving deeper into the home. Nothing moved. Approaching the open doorway at the far side of the room, Ellie stopped.
Someone was close. Ellie could feel it. Closing her eyes, she extended her senses, seeking to locate what was likely another house guard. That's it, she thought. Elle pushed her thoughts, forcing them to enter into the man's mind, for the target was certainly male.
“Keep walking,” she urged him wordlessly. “Through the doorway.”
Ellie took a step backward. Opening her eyes, she crouched, tensing in anticipation. A vague shadow inched into the room. The guard was near. Crouching further, Ellie waited. The man stepped into the room. He was taller than the last two, his height nearly filling the doorway completely. Poor lighting masked his features. He stepped easily into the room, seeming relaxed, his gaze fixed directly ahead.
With a loud exhale, Ellie swept out her left leg, kicking the guard's leg out from under him. With a slight cry of surprise, he dropped to a knee. In that instant, Ellie was on him. She wrapped her darkly clad arms around his head and neck, clasping her fingers together tightly, jerking and squeezing with all her might. The man flailed his arms about wildly, struggling even to wheeze as Ellie cut off his flow of air. A few seconds later, she began to drag his limp form into the shadowed corner of the room, away from the blurred light of the weakly lit lamp. Satisfied that he wouldn't be instantly noticed by anyone who happened to walk through the room, Ellie let her unconscious victim sag softly to the floor.
The guard dispatched, Ellie stepped through the doorway, her eyes settling on the staircase that would take her to the second floor. She was almost to her destination. Ellie took the stairs two at a time, moving swiftly but silently, her steps muffled by her perfectly fitted leather boots.
The lighting was much better upstairs, as the room contained not one, nor even two, but three burning lamps. To Ellie's left, something hissed. Ellie whirled around, her hand moving to the grip of her cutlass. She stopped, slightly bewildered, looking down into the glowing eyes of the gray, short-haired cat glaring up at her. Its back arched, hair on end; the adorable little animal was ready to pounce.
“Shoo,” Ellie whispered. The cat tensed further, trying to make itself as large as possible. They stared at each other for a silent moment. Finally, the cat mewed once before dashing between Ellie's legs and disappearing down the stairs.
Heavy footsteps knocked Ellie out of her cat caused stupor. She ducked back into the corner, fully aware that she wasn't exactly hidden. An alert individual probably would see her. A man entered the room, plain-looking, but carrying himself with an easily recognized poise, his auburn hair neatly trimmed short. Stopping, he pulled his deep blue robe tighter around himself. No doubt, this was Phil Elliot, the man of the house, but he wasn't important, at least not to Ellie. Still, Ellie didn't want to risk hurting one of the more important men in the city. That was trouble she didn't need.
Ellie didn't move. She thought about the cat, about how badly she wanted, no, how badly she needed to get the cat and bring it back upstairs. Nothing was as important as returning the cat. The cat was everything. She pushed her thoughts toward Mr. Elliot as if attempting to bludgeon him with them. Chase the cat. Find it. Bring it back. But most importantly, do it now.
Slowly, with movements stiff to the point of being jerky, Phil Elliot shuffled toward the staircase leading downstairs. Although his gaze passed right over Ellie, he gave no indication that he was aware of her existence. Ellie remained in the corner, not quite ready to move as she watched him trudge down the steps and out of sight.
Ellie sighed, mumbling to herself, “Too close,” and “bloody cat.” She could allow herself no more distractions. Fortunately, she was close. Her business tonight was with the lady of the house.
The hall was quiet. As she walked down the empty hallway, Ellie could only assume that the Elliots didn't want their guards roaming around up here. That might be good for privacy, but it made for a serious breach in security. Of course, Ellie wasn't about to complain about anything that made her task easier. Reaching the end of the hall, she noted that the door that had to lead to the master bedroom wasn't completely closed. While Phil was the likely culprit, Ellie hadn't come all this way simply to make a foolish and potentially fatal assumption now.
Reaching out with her thoughts, Ellie attempted to probe the room, seeking signs of anyone. Nothing. Cautiously, she extended her left hand, nudging the door inward. Slipping into the room, she was met with silence. The room was empty.
Ellie stifled a curse. Trying hard to maintain her composure, she took another glance around the room, her eyes falling on the door on the opposite end of the room. She had nowhere else to look. After pushing the door most of the way shut, she started walking across the plush crimson rug covering the floor. The bed was large and heavily padded with numerous brightly-colored pillows of assorted colors, the sort of luxury that Ellie had rarely had time for during her life. She stepped around it, most of her focus still directed at the door.
An unexpected sparkle atop the pillows caught Ellie's eye. She stepped to the bed, or more specifically, at the elaborately crafted silk leaf fan resting atop one of them. While the silk itself was a brilliant crimson, and the gold embroidery was immaculate, the fan made Ellie feel uneasy. Reaching onto the bed, Ellie carefully lifted the fan for a better look. She turned it over slowly in her hand. Sure enough, the fan was a weapon of some sort. While Ellie didn't know how to use it, there was no doubt this simple construction of silk and bone had been enchanted in some way.
Ellie was no fool. Having no understanding of the pretty, yet undeniably dangerous silk fan in her hands, this was not something to take lightly. Even so, she wasn't about to leave it in plain sight for someone to potentially use against her. She simply placed the fan on the floor and used her foot to push it behind the bookshelf. Problem solved. Someone would find it later, but that didn't bother Ellie.
The door swung open. Ellie reached for her .36-caliber revolver, a weapon so new and with such little use that the steel still sparkled in the lamplight, deadly and beautiful, not unlike its owner. In the next instant, the weapon was drawn and pointed at the doorway.
Ellie had heard that Shannon Elliot was an attractive woman, and she could agree on that point. However, she had not been prepared for their encounter to take place with Shannon wearing nothing but a translucent slip of a gown, a pale red in color. The thin fabric clung to Shannon's nicely proportioned body. Her eyes wide, Shannon opened her mouth in terror, desperate for a scream that never came. Ellie kept the revolver pointed squarely at the other woman. Using her free hand, Ellie flipped her fingers a few times, motioning to Shannon to enter.
Ellie went straight to the point. “We need to talk.”
“This,” Shannon hesitated, unable to tear her eyes away from the revolver still pointed at her.”
“Close the door,” Ellie said.
Shannon remained frozen.
“Close the door, please,” Ellie amended.
“Are you going to kill me?” Shannon asked.
“Are you going to close the door?” Ellie countered.
With little in the way of options, Shannon pushed the door shut.
“Satisfied?” Shannon asked.
Ellie didn't move.
“What's next?” Shannon added, shifting nervously.
“Have a seat, governess.”
It was Shannon's turn to not react.
“Please, don't make me ask again,” Ellie said, keeping the revolver leveled at the governess.
“Of course, where are my manners?” Perhaps Shannon was regaining some of her bearing.
“Just sit,” Ellie ordered, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice.
After a short nod, Shannon moved toward the bed, making sure to keep each step proper and worthy of her station. Ellie shuffled to the side, giving the governess more than enough space to get around her and to the bed. As Shannon reached the bed, Ellie lowered her weapon. The governess sat on the edge of the bed. She slid her hand over the pillows, stretching out, trying to casually reach for something that was no longer there. Tensing, Shannon narrowed her eyes at Ellie.
“I moved it,” Ellie said.
“I noticed,” Shannon replied.
“Good.”
“Aren't you going to lower the gun?”
“No.”
“You have no idea how much,” Shannon began.
“You're talking a lot for someone on the wrong side of a pistol.”
“If you were going to kill me, you'd have already done it.”
“Really?” Ellie drew back the hammer on her revolver.
Shannon pulled back, leaning away from the firearm. “I...”
“I have a question for you,” Ellie said, releasing the hammer.
Shaking, Shannon swallowed hard. “Yes?” She closed her eyes, expecting the worst.
“How many people are you going to let die?”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Don't lie to me. Don't your people mean anything?”
“How dare you?!” The governess started to rise off the bed.
Ellie pulled the hammer back again. Shannon yelped and threw herself backward, flopping onto the bed.
“For six months,” Ellie began. “The murders have been happening for six months, and you've done nothing!”
“Murders?”
“On Sanders, a small island only about thirty miles southeast of here.”
Shannon sat up on the bed. “Those haven't stopped?”
“You expect murders to just stop?” Ellie was livid.
“When it was brought up, we felt that the situation could be handled locally.”
“Obviously, you were wrong.”
“But why are you here?”
“Isn't that island under your jurisdiction?”
“Yes, but,” Shannon began.
“No excuses. I'm holding you responsible.”
“That's not fair.”
“I don't recall asking for your opinion, governess.” Ellie took a step toward the bed, still brandishing the revolver. “If you're unwilling to lift a finger to protect your own people, tell me why I shouldn't pull the trigger.”
“That isn't it at all.”
“No?” Ellie asked. “What are you doing about it?”
“Shannon?” A voice in the hall called. Ellie spun toward the door she'd used to enter the room, taking aim with her revolver.
“No!” Shannon screamed.
“Shannon.” The cry was louder and closer.
Ellie pushed the revolver back into her belt. She raced to the other door, yanking it open, and running out of the room just as a trio of armed guards burst into the room. Her husband followed, clutching the cat protectively against his chest.
Shannon pointed and the guards broke into pursuit, but Ellie was already gone.