udge squinted through the scope of his rifle. Not just any rifle. A Tac Ops Tango 51, the ultimate tactical precision rifle. It weighed 10.8 pounds, was 44.3 inches long and had a guaranteed accuracy of .25 MOA. Its stock incorporated a semiwide beavertail--He paused in his mental recitation of the Tac Ops catalog description to peer at the weapon, not quite sure what a beavertail was. It sounded almost sexy the way it read. A semiwide beavertail. Beaver tail. Beaver. Tail. The whole description of the weapon was sexy. For instance, it was suppose to have "dual palm swells." He wasn't sure what those were, but it made him think of boobs. Of course, most things made him think of boobs.

Yep. He was holding "beavertail" and "dual palm swells." Awesome.

The sudden blare of a horn made him start and nearly drop his rifle. Grasping it protectively to his chest, Pudge glared down at the dark street below. He'd chosen the rooftop of this building because it afforded a bird's-eye view of the parking lot across the street. It had never occurred to him that it would be completely unsheltered up here on the roof and cold as an Alaskan winter. If Etienne didn't hurry, Pudge was going to freeze to death waiting for him. He scowled at the possibility. How long was the jerk going to be in there, anyway? It was already past midnight. This was--

"Shit!" The toothpick he'd been chewing on slipped from his lips as the man in question exited the building and started into the parking lot. Etienne Argeneau. And he was alone.

Pudge froze for one moment, then scrambled into position. He peered through the scope, got a bead on the guy, then hesitated. He was suddenly aware that his breath was coming fast. He was panting as if he'd been running for miles, and despite the cold he was sweating heavily. Norman Pudge Renberger was about to kill a man. And not just any man. Etienne Argeneau. His nemesis.

"Bastard," Pudge muttered. With a slow grin, he directed the laser sights of his gun onto his target's chest. There was no sound as he pulled the trigger. He had outfitted his Tango 51 with a Tac Ops 30 suppressor, a silencer, so the only noise was a pfft of air. If it weren't for the way the rifle jerked in his hands, he might not have believed it fired.

Hurrying to focus on Etienne again, Pudge squinted through the scope. The man had stopped dead, staring down at his chest. Was he hit or not? For a moment Pudge was afraid he'd missed altogether, but then he noted the blood.

Etienne Argeneau raised his head. His silver eyes found and focused clearly on where Pudge was positioned on the rooftop, then the light in them faded and the man fell flat on his face on the pavement.

"Yes," Pudge breathed, a shaky smile coming to his lips. He worked clumsily to dismantle his rifle, ignoring the sudden trembling of his muscles as he replaced the pieces in their case. His sexy Tango 51 with dual palm swells and beavertail had cost him nearly five thousand dollars, but it had been worth every penny.