Winner of the 2014 NAACP Image Award, A Wanted Woman is a dangerous thrill ride like no other from New York Times bestselling author Eric Jerome Dickey. The assassin called Reaper is a woman of a thousand faces, and just as many accents. In the blink of an eye, she can become anyone. Some desirable. All dangerous.    For Reaper, the Trinidad contract should be simple: infiltrate the infamous Laventille Killers’ organization, earn access to her political target, eliminate him, and then escape from the island.   When complications arise and the job goes bad, Reaper has no viable exit plan. The LK warlords want her publicly executed, and their pursuit is far-reaching and merciless. Trawling for low-profile assignments is all Reaper can do to keep her skills sharp and garner money to survive. And for an assassin with so many changeable identities, her newest one is too frighteningly real—as an expendable pawn between two warring organizations. Now, trapped on an island paradise turned prison, Reaper discovers that family ties run deep on both sides. Somewhere, sometime, someone has to be trusted—but one wrong move could suddenly become her last breath. Praise for A Wanted Woman “A wild, thrilling ride.”— Ebony “There’s a cinematic vibe here with James Bond fantastic escapes mixed with  Game of Thrones  Red Wedding–type gore as blood flows…Anticipate demand.”— Library Journal More Praise for Eric Jerome Dickey “[O]ne of the most successful Black authors of the last quarter-century.”— The New York Times “Eric Jerome Dickey’s work is a master class in Black joy....[his] characters—bold, smart women oozing sexuality and vulnerability—navigate interpersonal conflicts using dialogue that crackles with authenticity.”— The Atlantic Eric Jerome Dickey  (1961–2021) was the award-winning and  New York Times  bestselling author of twenty-nine novels, as well as a six-issue miniseries of graphic novels featuring Storm ( X-Men ) and the Black Panther. His novel  Sister, Sister  was honored as one of  Essence ’s “50 Most Impactful Black Books of the Last 50 Years,” and  A Wanted Woman  won the NAACP Image Award in the category of Outstanding Literary Work in 2014. His most recent novels include  The Blackbirds ,  Finding Gideon ,  Bad Men and Wicked Women ,  Before We Were Wicked ,  The Business of Lovers , and  The Son of Mr. Suleman . ***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected proof.*** Copyright © 2014 by Eric Jerome Dickey ONE   Rituals Coffee House at City Gate, South Quay, Port of Spain, directly behind Independence Square Fast food joints were all over. This was the main transportation hub on the island for buses and maxi taxis. It was seven o’clock the next morning in the land of steel pan, calypso, soca, chutney, and limbo, on a mountainous island renamed by Christopher Columbus. I’d come to town before sunrise to check out the area near the former Trinidad Government Railway headquarters. By the time the sun had pulled itself from the sea, I had plotted three exits in case shit went wrong and I was forced to flee through an area that had thousands of visitors each day—that plus the thousands of locals. I walked each route three times, each time at a normal pace. Then I left the keys in the van’s ignition, driver’s-side door unlocked, a Minnie Mouse sunshade in the front window. A loaded gun was under the front seat, easy to reach if I came back running. I dressed like a University of the West Indies student, wore a T-shirt from the St. Augustine campus, jean shorts, sexy sandals, my hair short and light brown. I went for young, but mature and intellectual. Anxious, I sat listening to the rapidly changing conversations of a group of women on the way to Port of Spain General Hospital. One wore a tee that read kamla have no jack to change she tyre. I listened to conversations, captured the rhythm of the tongue, picked up variations of the accent, pretty much mastered the singsong aspect, created a passable Trini accent, Chaguanas or Port of Spain, minus the proper idioms. Many had an interesting blend, a unique exoticness not seen in North America. Despite the beauty of the people and the long lines for lattes, unrest was all around me. The newspaper spoke in volumes. Another social explosion was about to happen. Economy in decline. Frustration. Poverty. Political fallouts. IMF and World Bank called everything but the devil. Not enough to pay for housing. Not enough money to live. Barbados stealing their flying fish. School book prices high and salaries low. Teachers protesting. Nurses protesting. Police had their crimes. Army had their crimes. People losing their pensions. And the band played on. King Killer showed up by eight. I left my table, stood next to him as I ordered a second latte. Sat a table away from him. Sat facing him. Leg bouncing. Cleavage popping. Local paper open, pretending to read about killings, crimes, and drugs coming in from South America. The gunta didn’t notice m