Or at least to scour away the bastard she stalked.

A particularly strong gust of wind threw a wall of warm water into her face. Most rainstorms she had experienced were cold, and one part of her mind kept wondering why she was taking a shower with her clothes on.

She smiled coldly. Strange the demons we carry. And the demons we must exorcise. Of course, all for duty. All for duty. She tucked away a threatening chuckle for later use.

Coming to the end of the street, she backed up against the wall and did a quick take around the corner as her target passed. Only a handful of people were out this late on an ordinary night; the savage storm kept most reasonable people indoors tonight. However, her target stopped a half dozen paces ahead, apparently deep in conversation with someone she couldn’t recognize; the strength of the storm didn’t even allow her to identify clothing.

She leaned back. Felt the rough-cut stone press firmly into her back, as runnels of water poured down her neck. Made her shoulder ache slightly, though she was sure it was mostly mended at this point. She began to systematically loosen her muscles, knowing combat loomed.

Though it should be pretty minimal, considering.

Her mind, at that moment, chose to replay this evening’s scene. The evening’s …embarrassment. She hated reliving the pain, yet like a tongue that probes a sore tooth, she couldn’t help but worry the wound. Pick the scab.

Anyone got salt?

“Hey, big guy, haven’t seen your type around here before,” Snow said as she sidled up to the end of the bar next to the Elemental. Corin. Such a nice name to match such a nice body.

The giant slowly raised the fusionnaire to his lips, tossed off the dregs and placed the glass back on the table; he did so with a delicateness she found fascinating. It surprised her such a beast of a man could contain “delicateness.” She wondered if those hands were as delicate in other activities.

A vision of endless flesh sparked and warmth blossomed.

The bartender arrived. “Give me vodka, straight up”—she glanced sidewise at her companion—“and my friend here another of whatever he’s having.” She tossed a five-stone on the bar and swiveled back to Corin. She’d not taken a seat yet, waiting to see how the conversation might unfold.

“Ah, the strong, silent type. I like those kind, too. Though you’re not always so silent, right?” In contrast to her body, her eyes and voice were her best assets—instruments her training honed to exquisite sharpness. Instruments that many times allowed her to overcome her body’s …deficiencies. Yes, that word worked very well.

Corin appeared like a vast tree: unyielding, uncaring, unmoved. His reticence, of course, only ratcheted up her interest. Her heat.

With a smoothness unexpected from her body type, she eased onto the stool, casually leaned back. Let the atmosphere of the place—after the mad dash to avoid being soaked in the downpour—wash around her. Sounds and aromas swirled in a tidepool of friendships and camaraderie.

The bartender came back, slapping down a coaster and slopping the drink in his haste to turn away; she ignored his distaste, her attention focused elsewhere. Saw him make another fusionnaire, and grabbed it out of his hand before he could deliver it.

“Here ya go, big boy,” she said, sliding the mug in front of the elemental. Medication delivered, with her usual flair and none the wiser.

She watched him pound back this fusionnaire as well and followed suit, tossing off her entire shot of vodka. The liquid splashed frozen-cold through mouth and throat, exploded with nova-hot warmth in her stomach, almost as good as climax. Her eyes watered. She glanced askance at Corin, blinking away tears and imagination. Almost. Yes, this should be very good.

“So you going to introduce yourself, or do I need to do all the talking?” Her voice practically purred, honed by the shot of vodka like fine-grade motor oil to an Avanti V12.

Once more, no response. The tree act again. Did she need to turn up the heat? Singe his whiskers a little? She relished the idea.

Swiveling around on the barstool, she leaned out behind him and called out to no one in particular, “Julia, hey, it’s Cindy. Give me a minute and I’ll come to your table. Okay.” Her voice, despite its volume, carried only a short distance beyond the immediate vicinity, all in the timbre.

Turning back toward the bar, she laid a casual hand on his upper arm (those muscles!), while leaning forward enough to lightly brush her breast up against his forearm, tossing a flash of flesh from her braless, low-cut top up to hungry male eyes.

“That was Julia. Such a sweetheart. We work together.” She laughed deeply and kept her touch on him a half heartbeat longer than an accidental touch might have warranted. Let him try to decide if I did it on purpose or not. Should only increase the tension. The desire.

As she eased back around, removing her hand from his arm, his head, fully a half meter above her own, swiveled around and tipped down to look her directly in the eyes. Like a flower under the harsh pounding of a desert sun, she slowly wilted. It had been a very long time since she’d faced such loathing.

Without a change of expression, the deep tone she hoped to hear panting her name instead tried to flail flesh from bone. “Do not ever touch me again, filth.”

Snow easily discounted such words. She tried to rally, pasted a hurt look on her face. “Hey, sorry. It was an accident.” Pushed the look into a sultry pout. “You not into Inner Sphere women? Only Clanners? Don’t know what you’re missing,” she said, trying to parry the emotionless void of his voice and eyes with another glimpse of her ample breasts and a tone that vibrated with sexual tension. She peered up into dead eyes and knew she’d lost this fight already. Time to cut her losses. But his next words slipped under skin, despite her years of training.

“I have sampled such pleasures to my satisfaction. But I prefer my meat fresh and sweet. You are neither. Leave.”

From one moment to the next she moved from the warmth of the bar and words that cut more than she cared to admit, to standing in the lukewarm downpour.

Corin. Such a nice name. Too bad it hid such a rotten core, such a void. Now she just wanted to see something in those eyes. Some emotion. Yes, any emotion would be good to see. Squeezed from him slowly and with deliberate care.

Snow shook off the last vestiges of the memory (tongued it one more time for good measure) and peeked around the corner again. She could just see him moving down the street once more—a flicker of movement before the rain washed away his existence.

She casually slipped around the corner, her current jumpsuit the opposite of low-cut and sexy. Of course, sexy came in many forms, and she might still have a chance to prove that to Corin.

She moved to the other side of the street and picked up speed, almost slipping between the droplets of rain. She began to push her senses to the limit, finding ways to blank out the sound and visual obscurants around her. Trying to find and pinpoint the thread of heavy tread—her elusive prey.

Five minutes bled like drops of blood from a shallow wound. She caught up with him almost immediately, but the situation was not yet right. She needed better cover. Better timing. She kept pace, but far enough back to hopefully escape his notice. Finally, the mountain slowed and crossed the street. He almost appeared to be meandering.

He knows I’m here. That someone is here.

She didn’t for a moment underestimate him. Regardless of the void at his core, he represented generations of genetic breeding to produce the ultimate hand-to-hand soldier. She could take him, but she needed to be careful. Couldn’t relax. Couldn’t let her cold fury cloud her judgment. Focus.