An excerpt from the novel I'm not writing:
Victoria and I sat in the outdoor cafe for over an hour and didn't say a word. People and traffic blurred by and never made a sound. Of the five of us recruited for the job, three were dead and all killed by me. That left Victoria. My mind puzzled what would happen next in this bizarre series of coincidences that seemed to be going south faster than we could grasp how bad it had become. But the people who hired us seemed happy and that worried me the most. When would I be told to kill Victoria. When would she be told to kill me.