“Let's meet there at eight o'clock. The crowd should be thinned out by that point. I've been dying for a good steak dinner.”“You got it. I'll be...there, Miss...?”“Oh, how silly of me. We haven't even exchanged names.”“I'm Kayden” he offered happily.“Cassandra” she responded. “But you can call me Cassie.”“Mistress Cassie?” he asked eagerly.“Not yet. But we'll see.”* * * * *The wistful notes of Samuel Barber's Adagio For Strings flowed through the ornate study. The walls were lined with ancient. It was barely recognizable. The old 20th Century forensics would not have been able to positively match bullets from those 8mm folding machine guns to specific guns because of the polygonal rifling and the lack of ejected cartridge cases. Getting smacked by a spent bullet still hurt--and it had to be removed or infection would eventually kill.The man Diego talked to didn't have a name, didn't speak Spanish, and had Diego been skilled at placing accents would have place the speaker's home in. More

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