Assassin (The Stopper Files, Book 4) by Eugene Lloyd MacRae
Release date: January 9, 2019
Subgenre: Conspiracy Thriller, Vigilante Justice
About Assassin:
When those close to Merlin Arthur Dragon become targets of an assassin,
he immediately springs into action, throwing caution to the wind to hunt
down the perpetrator. But Interpol's Stopper soon finds himself the
target of a massive manhunt by his own organization. How did things
become twisted so quickly? And why? What - and who - is behind the
French Gendarmerie Nationale threatening to hunt him down and kill him?
Unless Merlin can find the truth to those questions, death will be the
final answer.
Excerpt:
Chapter 1
Les Salons Hoche, Paris, France
IT WAS A PARTY THAT WOULD END DRAMATICALLY. Director Aubrey Laurent led the way, weaving in and out of the crowd and away from the dance floor to the bar. His girlfriend, Evelyn O’Toole, was right behind him. The laughter and conversation around them in the mauve and crystal ballroom was light and cheerful. Glasses clinked and the air was filled with the scent of deviled eggs with pickled shrimp, salmon caviar sushi and a dozen other hors d'oeuvres carried around by waiters dressed in a black tux or a young hostess dressed in a long sequined gown that matched with the decor. On the far side of the room, A Touch Of Paris ended its French chanson song and launched into one of its cabaret numbers
Evelyn looked back over her shoulder, “Oh, Aubrey, I want to dance to this one.”
Laurent laughed as he glanced back, “Sorry, my brain says yes, my legs say please don’t.”
“You’re a party poop.”
“No, my legs are. Just give me a few minutes of rest.”
The silver-haired woman smiled and pushed him playfully on the back, “And a gallon of alcohol for fuel.”
“You know me so well,” Laurent answered as he threaded his way to the twin lines of thirsty party-goers.
A dark-haired woman in a black chiffon dress, a loose v-neck sweater, and a black clutch bag fell in step just to the right of Evelyn.
Evelyn glanced at the woman, one eyebrow raising as she took in the dress and the sweater that hugged her body like an advertising banner.
The woman’s eyes shifted left and she gave Evelyn a brief semi-smile before she took several long strides in her high heels.
Laurent came to a stop at the back of the left line of six couples and glanced to his right. He was surprised to see the woman standing there wasn’t Evelyn.
Evelyn came to a stop behind Aubrey, scowling as she eyed the woman.
Glancing over his right shoulder at Evelyn, Laurent’s eyebrows knit together, wondering why she was back there and not beside him. “Do you want your usual strawberry daiquiri?”
Taking a step to the left and then forward, Evelyn slipped her hand around his elbow, “Pardon?” She leaned forward and scowled again at the woman.
Shaking his head and giving her a smile, Laurent said, “I was asking if you wanted your usual–?” Laurent felt something and he looked down at his right hand. The back of it was covered with deviled eggs and pickled shrimp, “What the…?”
“Oh, I am so sorry, Monsieur.” The dark-haired woman held a smashed hors-d'oeuvre in her left hand.
Laurent looked into her dark eyes, amused at the incident, “That’s all right. It will come off. At least it avoided the suit.” He held his hand up to look at the mess as his left reached for his pocket handkerchief, “Good thing I hand fold these.”
The woman quickly flipped her clutch bag open and deposited the smashed hors d'oeuvre inside, “Oh, no, Monsieur. Let me. I have a moist towelette.”
Laurent’s eyebrows knit together in amusement when he saw the mess disappear into the expensive-looking sequined bag.
Evelyn leaned forward again, looking across at the woman Laurent was talking to. Her eyes flashed and narrowed.
Pulling something from the sequined bag, the woman said, “I will wipe it away.”
Moving back, Evelyn nearly bumped into another couple joining the line, “I’m sorry. Excuse me.” She slid to her right behind Laurent, wondering what was going on between him and the woman.
Slipping the sequined bag under her arm, the woman reached out and took Laurent’s wrist while she used her gloved hand to place the moist towelette on his hand to wipe away the mess.
Evelyn’s eyes shot open in alarm and she elbowed the woman away, grabbing Laurent’s wrist herself, “Is that shrimp? He’s allergic–” She cursed under her breath as she put her body against Laurent, put an arm around his waist and turned him, “C’mon, let’s get that cleaned off before you start reacting.”
Laurent laughed, “I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s on the outside. I didn’t swallow it.”
“That’s not the point.” She cursed under her breath again, as she hustled him to the end of the bar and a stack of napkins.
Looking over his shoulder, Laurent looked to where the woman had been but he didn’t see her.
Evelyn called to one of the bartenders, “Do you have some water? Water. I need water.” She put a hand to her forehead, thinking. Then she said, “Une bouteille d'eau.”
“Ah, oui.” The bartender reached out with a bottle of water.
Grabbing the water, Evelyn unscrewed the top and held the bottle against a napkin. Setting the bottle down, she began to clean the mess off his hand, “How in the world did this happen?”
“I guess that woman beside me had it in her hand and it mashed against me.”
Evelyn’s eyes flashed as she wrapped the hors-d'oeuvre in the napkin and dropped the ball on the bar. Grabbing another napkin, she wet it and returned to wiping his hand.
“You aren’t jealous, are you?”
“Did you bring your autoinjector?”
Laurent scoffed, “I’m fine. You worry too much.”
Evelyn looked up at him as she continued wiping, “Which is your way of saying you didn’t bring it. You know you’re supposed to.”
Looking off to where the woman had been again, Laurent smiled and said in a teasing voice, “She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”
Wrinkling her nose, Evelyn continued wiping, “If you like all that heavy makeup kind of thing.”
Laurent chuckled.
Evelyn looked up at Laurent without raising her head, “She had more lipstick, mascara, and blush than Estee Lauder and Christian Dior combined.”
Smiling with affection, Laurent paced a finger under Evelyn’s chin to raise her head slightly, “You don’t have to worry. You’re the one–” His hand dropped to his side. His eyes rolled back in his head. A moment later, Laurent crashed backward to the floor.
“Aubrey!”
Men and women rushed to help.
Evelyn dropped to one knee beside Laurent, putting a hand on his chest and one to his cheek, turning his head, “Aubrey? Aubrey? Can you hear me–?” Her jaw went slack. Her eyes rolled back in her head.
In slow motion, Evelyn O’Toole collapsed on top of Director Aubrey Laurent.
Les Salons Hoche, Paris, France
IT WAS A PARTY THAT WOULD END DRAMATICALLY. Director Aubrey Laurent led the way, weaving in and out of the crowd and away from the dance floor to the bar. His girlfriend, Evelyn O’Toole, was right behind him. The laughter and conversation around them in the mauve and crystal ballroom was light and cheerful. Glasses clinked and the air was filled with the scent of deviled eggs with pickled shrimp, salmon caviar sushi and a dozen other hors d'oeuvres carried around by waiters dressed in a black tux or a young hostess dressed in a long sequined gown that matched with the decor. On the far side of the room, A Touch Of Paris ended its French chanson song and launched into one of its cabaret numbers
Evelyn looked back over her shoulder, “Oh, Aubrey, I want to dance to this one.”
Laurent laughed as he glanced back, “Sorry, my brain says yes, my legs say please don’t.”
“You’re a party poop.”
“No, my legs are. Just give me a few minutes of rest.”
The silver-haired woman smiled and pushed him playfully on the back, “And a gallon of alcohol for fuel.”
“You know me so well,” Laurent answered as he threaded his way to the twin lines of thirsty party-goers.
A dark-haired woman in a black chiffon dress, a loose v-neck sweater, and a black clutch bag fell in step just to the right of Evelyn.
Evelyn glanced at the woman, one eyebrow raising as she took in the dress and the sweater that hugged her body like an advertising banner.
The woman’s eyes shifted left and she gave Evelyn a brief semi-smile before she took several long strides in her high heels.
Laurent came to a stop at the back of the left line of six couples and glanced to his right. He was surprised to see the woman standing there wasn’t Evelyn.
Evelyn came to a stop behind Aubrey, scowling as she eyed the woman.
Glancing over his right shoulder at Evelyn, Laurent’s eyebrows knit together, wondering why she was back there and not beside him. “Do you want your usual strawberry daiquiri?”
Taking a step to the left and then forward, Evelyn slipped her hand around his elbow, “Pardon?” She leaned forward and scowled again at the woman.
Shaking his head and giving her a smile, Laurent said, “I was asking if you wanted your usual–?” Laurent felt something and he looked down at his right hand. The back of it was covered with deviled eggs and pickled shrimp, “What the…?”
“Oh, I am so sorry, Monsieur.” The dark-haired woman held a smashed hors-d'oeuvre in her left hand.
Laurent looked into her dark eyes, amused at the incident, “That’s all right. It will come off. At least it avoided the suit.” He held his hand up to look at the mess as his left reached for his pocket handkerchief, “Good thing I hand fold these.”
The woman quickly flipped her clutch bag open and deposited the smashed hors d'oeuvre inside, “Oh, no, Monsieur. Let me. I have a moist towelette.”
Laurent’s eyebrows knit together in amusement when he saw the mess disappear into the expensive-looking sequined bag.
Evelyn leaned forward again, looking across at the woman Laurent was talking to. Her eyes flashed and narrowed.
Pulling something from the sequined bag, the woman said, “I will wipe it away.”
Moving back, Evelyn nearly bumped into another couple joining the line, “I’m sorry. Excuse me.” She slid to her right behind Laurent, wondering what was going on between him and the woman.
Slipping the sequined bag under her arm, the woman reached out and took Laurent’s wrist while she used her gloved hand to place the moist towelette on his hand to wipe away the mess.
Evelyn’s eyes shot open in alarm and she elbowed the woman away, grabbing Laurent’s wrist herself, “Is that shrimp? He’s allergic–” She cursed under her breath as she put her body against Laurent, put an arm around his waist and turned him, “C’mon, let’s get that cleaned off before you start reacting.”
Laurent laughed, “I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s on the outside. I didn’t swallow it.”
“That’s not the point.” She cursed under her breath again, as she hustled him to the end of the bar and a stack of napkins.
Looking over his shoulder, Laurent looked to where the woman had been but he didn’t see her.
Evelyn called to one of the bartenders, “Do you have some water? Water. I need water.” She put a hand to her forehead, thinking. Then she said, “Une bouteille d'eau.”
“Ah, oui.” The bartender reached out with a bottle of water.
Grabbing the water, Evelyn unscrewed the top and held the bottle against a napkin. Setting the bottle down, she began to clean the mess off his hand, “How in the world did this happen?”
“I guess that woman beside me had it in her hand and it mashed against me.”
Evelyn’s eyes flashed as she wrapped the hors-d'oeuvre in the napkin and dropped the ball on the bar. Grabbing another napkin, she wet it and returned to wiping his hand.
“You aren’t jealous, are you?”
“Did you bring your autoinjector?”
Laurent scoffed, “I’m fine. You worry too much.”
Evelyn looked up at him as she continued wiping, “Which is your way of saying you didn’t bring it. You know you’re supposed to.”
Looking off to where the woman had been again, Laurent smiled and said in a teasing voice, “She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”
Wrinkling her nose, Evelyn continued wiping, “If you like all that heavy makeup kind of thing.”
Laurent chuckled.
Evelyn looked up at Laurent without raising her head, “She had more lipstick, mascara, and blush than Estee Lauder and Christian Dior combined.”
Smiling with affection, Laurent paced a finger under Evelyn’s chin to raise her head slightly, “You don’t have to worry. You’re the one–” His hand dropped to his side. His eyes rolled back in his head. A moment later, Laurent crashed backward to the floor.
“Aubrey!”
Men and women rushed to help.
Evelyn dropped to one knee beside Laurent, putting a hand on his chest and one to his cheek, turning his head, “Aubrey? Aubrey? Can you hear me–?” Her jaw went slack. Her eyes rolled back in her head.
In slow motion, Evelyn O’Toole collapsed on top of Director Aubrey Laurent.
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About Eugene Lloyd MacRae:
Eugene Lloyd MacRae lives on Canada's South Coast in Ontario.
He is the author of the Rory Mack Steele series, the Whiskey Empire
series, The Stopper Files, Bulldog Malone, The Meek Detective, and
the Global Space Fleet sci-fi novels.
He began writing novels after a near-fatal heart attack left him
lying in bed with little to do. Pecking away on a Blackberry
Playbook he had bought 2 months before, the characters emerged to
keep him company (along with his 5 cats).
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