Pudge 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--