Deadly Match

by Eve Langlais

  A solid age, and old enough to have left a mark in the digital ecosphere.

  The reply returned rather quickly.

  Mason: I’m still searching, but it’s looking like someone wiped her tracks.

  Is she an operative? Reaper kept that thought to himself, especially because it seemed farfetched, yet he couldn’t discount it.

  It wasn’t as if assassins and other specialists for hire went around announcing who they were and what they did. They tended to exist quietly under assumed aliases, accepting missions anonymously through the Dark Web or a place like Bad Boy.

  Look at me. No one knows what I really do here.

  Harry was their business manager. He found missions and presented them. Sometimes accepted a few on their behalf. Never more than they could handle, and generally with breaks in between.

  Assassins and spies and more lived among normal people. Reaper couldn’t pretend he knew them all. Bad Boy was just one company. The academy he’d attended just one of many schools.

  Mason: Is she an operative?

  His friend asked the very thing he pondered. He typed back.

  Reaper: I don’t know.

  Worse, it had never even occurred to him. Which was dumb. Why did he keep fucking up? How could he let her seemingly innocuous appearance lower his guard?

  Because he’d stake his life that she wasn’t an operative. Surely, he’d know. Her hands were too soft.

  It took a few minutes for Mason to reply.

  Mason: Look at the facts. She barely exists past six years ago when she moved to this city. Started out working for an online dating service, then branched out into a more personalized version. She’s only rented the one apartment. Her credit cards have no history past her move-in date.

  Reaper: Perhaps she was married or with a guy who put everything under his name. What of her driver’s license and tax records?

  The latter was much harder to fake.

  Mason: Taxes filed and paid since supposedly the age of nineteen. License issued in another state. Birth certificate seems legit. But I’m telling you, she’s too clean. Too empty.

  Signs of a pro. Or someone in hiding.

  Either way, the mystery lady had just gone up another interesting notch.

  Lunch couldn’t come fast enough.

  Chapter Five

  Time went by too fast. Next thing she knew, the time for her lunch with Montgomery loomed only minutes away.

  What was I thinking?

  He’d given her an easy out. Said he wanted to part ways. Annique just had to say, “Sorry, better luck with your next agency.”

  Instead, she sat at a table for two in a corner tucked away from people, waiting for a man who’d spent last night in her dreams making her shiver.

  Not a cold kind of shiver, either. The warm and panty-wetting version that awakened—and aroused. Because, in her dream, he did naughty things to her.

  Naked.

  It was so damned good that just thinking about it sent a quiver through her pussy.

  Could reality exceed fantasy, though? Usually, when something got built up in the mind, the actual experience paled in comparison.

  Only one way to find out. Touch him.

  No touching. What was wrong with her?

  You’re here on business. Bu-ss-i-nn-ess. She drew the word out to try and focus. For distraction, she peeked down at her phone. Blank.

  No text. Which was good. It used to start with messages.

  Maybe Mitzy was mistaken. Just because someone called and said they were Joel didn’t mean it was that Joel.

  It can’t be him. She’d been there when he was shot.

  He’s dead. There was no need to run. A phone call didn’t mean anything. Probably a wrong number.

  But that’s how it started the last time.

  Because he always found her.

  Always hurt her.

  His death was completely justified. It still gave her nightmares.

  A prickling sensation at her neck had her turning to peek around the restaurant. The tables were pretty full, people chatting, acting normal.

  No psychopath with a knife. The scar across her rib cage tingled.

  She’d come close to dying. Close to losing her life because she’d fucked up in love. Was that why she couldn’t find it for herself, only others?

  The prickling sensation didn’t stop. She glanced around again, even to her left. Nothing but the hall to the bathrooms and the swinging door to the kitchen.

  Rubbing her neck, she focused on her phone again and noted the time.

  Twenty minutes early because she’d wanted a drink to steady her nerves.

  Why am I nervous? It’s just a client.

  Tell her quivering insides that. You’d think she was on a real date.

  This isn’t a date. She was meeting Montgomery to better see him in action. Observe how he acted on a social level. Understanding his personality and needs would help her pinpoint his match.

  I don’t have anyone for him. He was much too complex for the women she had on file. Too rugged and cynical.

  The skeptical side of him was his biggest stumbling block.

  And his sexiest.

  She understood cynicism. People were all the same. Same basic needs, just in different doses. She matched people based on those requirements.

  But the problem with Montgomery was that his desires, while perfectly compatible with many, just couldn’t click.

  He needed something more.

  Like me. The fact that it sounded so right had her closing her eyes.

  I should cancel. Staying here wouldn’t end well. She could be gone before he arrived, sit in her office, and see if the fake Joel called again.

  With short-nail-tipped fingers, she’d begun to tap out a message canceling lunch when a shadow fell over her, and the scent of his cologne tickled her nose

  Too late. And even worse, he was about to catch her in a lie. She tried to hide her phone. She wasn’t quick enough.

  “Chickening out again, Mrs. Darlington?” The mocking tone drew her gaze.

  “Something’s come up at the office.”

  “I’m sure something has.” He swung his large frame into the booth across from her. “Run along. Don’t you worry about me.” He waved a hand. “I’ll just eat lunch by myself. I’m a big boy. I can handle a meal on my own.”

  She chewed her lower lip. “I really don’t mean to keep doing this.” It was imperative she avoid him because, with him seated so close, she already felt her body weakening, melting. Heating in places it shouldn’t in public.

  “Of course, you don’t mean to.” Smooth and sounding so sincere. Why did she get the impression he condescended?

  The wily bastard is baiting me. Absolving her of guilt, while at the same time, laying it on thick.

  He’s playing me.

  Rather than gather her purse and flee, she leaned back against the fabric of the bench. “You’re early.”

  “So are you,” he noted.

  “I was thirsty.”

  “Whereas I like to check out places ahead of time.”

  “Looking for an escape in case the date goes bad?” she asked.

  “Of a sort. I like to be prepared.”

  She cocked her head. “Is spending a dinner or lunch with a woman that frightening to you?”

  “Yes.” He smiled.

  “Why do we scare you?”

  He didn’t immediately reply as he ordered an iced tea from the waiter and another drink for her.

  Why not? Sober was what had gotten her here in the first place. Maybe alcohol would give her the gumption to get up and leave.

  She resumed the thread of their conversation. “If women frighten you, then why date?”

  “Not all women. And frighten is perhaps not the right word. More like…have you ever found yourself somewhere you felt completely out of place? As if you were playing a role that didn’t fit?”

  “And all you wanted to do was leave?” She did. In her ca
se, leaving meant punishment. “Are you saying you’re faking it for these women?”

  “I’m faking it right now.”

  Leaning on the table with her elbows, she couldn’t help but study him, the strong lines of his face enhanced by the line of his beard. His sensual lips showcased by it. “This isn’t going to work if you’re lying to me about stuff. I need to meet the real you.”

  “What if the real me is not a conventionally nice man?”

  “Do you kill small animals?”

  “No.”

  “Kidnap women to rape and murder and bury in unmarked graves?”

  “Not recently.” His lips quirked.

  “And you like your sexual partners alive and over the age of majority?”

  He choked. “Yes, as should everyone.”

  “Then you’re probably fine. Most people aren’t nice. Not one hundred percent anyhow. They lie. They cheat on their taxes. Sometimes, they take things from work. It’s called being human.”

  “Sometimes, humans have hidden layers.”

  “They do. But again, so long as they’re not beating the shit out of the girlfriend or kids, then it’s okay. Everyone lives differently.”

  He stared at her. So intently. “What if I said I was an international killer for hire and that I’m thinking of retiring from the business to take up full-time real estate?”

  She snickered. “Assassins don’t retire.”

  “And what would you know of assassins?”

  Annique shrugged, looking at the menu instead of him. The waiter took that moment to arrive, taking their orders and then leaving.

  Montgomery still stared.

  She did her best not to fidget. But, finally, she couldn’t handle it. “You are making me uncomfortable. When on a date, you should try not to stare overlong.”

  “Why not? Can’t a man admire the woman he’s dining with?”

  Annique pursed her lips. “Only so long as it doesn’t get creepy.”

  “Did you just call me creepy?”

  “If the stare fits.”

  Laughter barked out of Montgomery. “If I can’t look, then what should I do, touch?” The corner of his lips pulled up into a lopsided grin.

  “No touching, not on the first date.”

  “Wouldn’t hand-holding establish a connection?” He reached out to grab hold of hers resting on the tabletop. The touch of his skin caused a tingle.

  She tugged. He didn’t let go. “You’re making me uncomfortable again.”

  “I imagine wet panties do suck. Men have it a little easier, although tight denim does have its drawbacks.”

  Annique gaped. Like mouth seriously rounded in a letter O. “You did not just imply that I—I—” She couldn’t repeat it.

  “I did.” He also winked.

  “This behavior is…”

  “For your benefit.” He chuckled, at her expense. “And you deserved it. Having lunch with me in order to establish if I’m normal or not. It’s rather rude.”

  “What’s rude is you jerking me around.”

  “Apparently, you don’t require a sense of humor with your clients.”

  She glared. “It’s not funny to tease.” Especially not when he hit so close to the truth. Her panties were wet.

  “It’s only a tease if I’m not willing to please. And I’m more than ready to.”

  Her cheeks heated, and she ducked her head to stare at her hands. “This is highly improper. I’m a married woman.”

  He snorted. “Marriage is a sham.”

  “If you don’t believe in marriage, then why are you looking for a match?”

  His shoulders lifted and fell. “Who doesn’t want a companion in life?”

  “Some people are content to be alone and only rarely need the human touch.”

  “Are you that kind of person?”

  She didn’t want to be alone. Circumstance forced it. Fear maintained it. “This isn’t about me.”

  “No, because this entire farce of a lunch is about me and my inability to connect with women.” He rolled his eyes. “Perhaps I should do what other men do when they reach a certain age.”

  “Pay for sex?”

  His lips twitched. “I’m not that desperate yet. Although it is a possibility.”

  “You deserve better than a trophy wife attracted to your wealth. Those kinds of women don’t care about you.”

  “They fake it well, though. It might be enough.”

  She could hear the resignation in his tone. “You shouldn’t settle for someone fake.”

  “Why not? At least my expectation of them is lower.”

  “That’s callous.”

  “That’s life, honey.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Then what should I call you? I wouldn’t want to call you by something your husband might find offensive.” Again with the mocking tone when he said husband.

  Did he know? He shouldn’t know. All the clients were told the same lie.

  “If you don’t like using my married name, then Annique is fine.”

  “Annique.” He rolled her name on his tongue; pronounced it low and rumbly. “Isn’t that French?”

  “It is. My mother liked to travel before I was born and gave my siblings and me exotic names. My brother got Tanis. And my little sister is Jasmine. Do you have siblings?”

  “No.” He shut down, and she felt him mentally retreat, which was why she leaned forward and snared the hand he had resting on the table.

  He yanked it free. “I thought you said no touching.”

  “When flirting. As comfort, it is a different thing.”

  He looked aghast. “I don’t need comfort.”

  “Are you sure? You reacted awfully strong to a simple question.”

  “I don’t talk about my family.” Stiffly said.

  This time when she grabbed his hand, he made no move to pull it free.

  Why did I grab it? She’d not meant to. Not when just holding it ignited her body.

  “Fair enough, don’t talk about them if you don’t want to, but you have to realize that, on a date, someone is going to ask. It’s basic conversation one-oh-one. It’s going to come up, and you’re going to have to deal with it.”

  “My family has nothing to do with who I am.”

  “Family, more specifically how we interact with them, defines aspects of who we are.” Just like Joel molded parts of her—the part that flinched for months every time she heard the scrape of a foot behind her and felt nauseous at the smell of the ocean.

  “My family stopped defining me a long time ago. I was orphaned as a teen.”

  “And now find yourself missing something in your life? That’s why you came to my service. You want love and a family.” There was hope for him after all.

  Scowling, he yanked his hand free. “Let’s not wax poetic shit here. You’re making me sound like a wuss. I came to find a match because I’m a busy man who doesn’t have time for the dating scene.”

  “You’re also prickly.”

  “So what if I am? Even roses have thorns.”

  For some reason, his comparison made her laugh, and he stared at her.

  “Why is that so funny?” he asked.

  A mirth-filled snicker escaped. “Because flowers are delicate. You most definitely aren’t.”

  He shuddered. “Perish the thought.”

  “If we had to make a comparison, I’d say you’re like a rugged cabin in the wilderness.”

  “You call this untamed?” He gestured to his suit and his perfect tie.

  “I call that barely bound by civilization.”

  He leaned forward, his eyes alight with animation. “Are you implying a different man, one with fewer rules and compunctions, hides underneath?”

  “You tell me. What makes you tick, Mr. Montgomery?” What did he hide under that shirt? A six-pack, I’ll bet.

  “Isn’t it time this fake date progressed to a first name?”

  “I am not calling you C.R.” Initials she’d
yet to crack.

  “Then how about Char?”

  “Char? Short for what?” she asked.

  “Charming. Charming Reaper Montgomery if you insist on knowing my full name.”

  Chapter Six

  He wanted to glare at her. Maybe even stand up and leave, yet her laughter entranced him. Annique laughed with full-throated mirth. Her lips parted, her eyes shining, her cheeks rosy with natural color, not powder.

  She was stunning.

  She was also an enigma.

  Annique Darlington, age forty-one and living in an apartment downtown, was a lady with no artifice. Barely even any makeup, just a light coat of mascara and lip-gloss. She didn’t hide behind a layer of pretense.

  If she woke up beside me, she’d look the same way. But with more tousled hair and fuller lips because he’d kiss the hell out of them.

  If she let him kiss her. Which seemed doubtful given she kept up the charade of being married. Understandable. Wouldn’t want the male clients getting ideas about the smoking-hot owner.

  Because then I’d have to kill them.

  The spurt of jealousy came out of nowhere. It surprised him.

  He missed her next words. “What?” he asked.

  “I said, how come you use C.R. instead of your true name?”

  “Would you really want to use Charming given the reaction?” He arched a brow.

  She smiled. Her lips a perfect Cupid’s bow. Would she protest much if he yanked her across the table for a kiss?

  “Is this why the dates failed? The women laughed like I did.”

  “I never told them my real name.” Things never got that far.

  “You might want to try. Laughter can provide a good ice-breaker.”

  “The wrong kind of mockery can have the opposite effect.”

  She drummed her nails on the table but had to move them when the waiter arrived with some food.

  Then there was little talk, but she did indulge in some eyes-shut moaning as she savored her scallops.

  The ridiculous sexiness of it almost made him snap.

  If she were an operative like Mason had suggested, then she was damned good. Reaper wanted to believe she was exactly as she appeared.

  Strong, sexy, and sassy. And humming over her food in a way that made his cock jealous.

  He wondered if he truly wanted her or just found himself attracted because she kept trying to pretend she was unattainable.