Deadly Match

by Eve Langlais

  Did she hold herself aloof because she had a secret like him?

  A part of him kind of hoped the answer was yes. Because then the fact that Reaper was an assassin would not send her running. She’d probably drop her panties.

  Killers for hire never had problems getting laid.

  What if Mason was wrong about her? It wasn’t unheard of for people to start over, to erase his or her past life by escaping from it.

  Is she hiding from someone or something? The most likely scenario? A man.

  “What’s your husband like?” he asked abruptly.

  Her gaze shuttered, and she physically pulled back from him, a telling answer on its own. “He’s a lovely man.” Spoken woodenly. “Very devoted.”

  The lie made him poke harder. “Perhaps I should meet with him and get pointers on snaring a hot woman.”

  “My husband doesn’t get involved with the business.”

  “Maybe he should. I would never let a gorgeous woman go out for lunch with another man.”

  “Do you have trust issues?”

  “Sometimes, a man has to guard his woman.” His gaze fixed her. “Especially when she’s extremely tempting.”

  “Are you flirting with me?” she queried.

  “Yes. Aren’t you?”

  He could have laughed at the way she straightened in her seat and how her eyes took on a firm sternness. “I’m here in a professional capacity.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Your profanity is unnecessary.”

  “Are you really going to lecture me on my language?”

  She stood. “I think I’ve learned enough. I’ll be in touch.”

  If he’d remained seated, he probably wouldn’t have seen it, the barrel in the window, the hood hiding the person bracing the gun outside.

  But he did stand, and even as the glass cracked, he grabbed Annique and dragged her to the floor, throwing himself atop her as a shield.

  For a possibly fake civilian, she managed a rather convincing scream.

  A pity they were being shot at because she made a very nice cushion for his body. Fewer clothes would be better.

  Bang. His scars shivered. Fuck, I guess I’d better do something.

  Especially given that she shrieked again.

  “Can you stop doing that?” he asked, to which she replied with an oh-so-useful screech.

  Chapter Seven

  Gunfire wasn’t something you got used to. A shot fired, and Annique gave in to her first instinct. She screamed as Montgomery took her to the floor.

  As shrieks went, it emerged loudly and found itself echoed as chaos erupted in the restaurant.

  A close encounter with the floor showed it wasn’t as clean up close as from afar. The tile pressed coldly against her cheek.

  Moving didn’t prove an option with Charming—snicker—lying atop her, his heavy body keeping her pinned. She couldn’t complain, though, not given the chivalry behind the act.

  He protected me. Kept on covering her even as she lost her mind in fear. Nothing like flashbacks of the past to ramp your adrenaline to a level that had you one step above a whimpering, sobbing mess.

  In between bursts of gunfire, he muttered, “Don’t move, and stay still.”

  She had no intention of twitching even a millimeter. She wasn’t stupid. She heard the screams and shouts. She knew what guns were capable of.

  Holes oozing blood.

  With the screams out of her system, she remained silent and shaking. Don’t draw attention.

  If the shooter didn’t focus on her, she’d be all right. This was simply a random act of violence.

  Happened all the time.

  Nothing to do with the person calling, claiming to be Joel.

  The pop-pop-pop of the gunfire paused. Perhaps the person was done.

  “Stay down,” Charming whispered.

  He slid off her, and she only waited a half-second before getting to her knees and scrambling for the more secure kitchen. Kitchens had exits.

  Shrieks still sounded, along with sobs. She mangled her lip rather than cry out as something sharp jabbed her knee. Gunfire erupted again, and the kitchen door ahead of her spat splinters as a bullet impacted it.

  She dove sideways into the hall. A moment later, a big body was pushing her deeper as a glaring Montgomery growled, “What happened to staying down?”

  “I know what happens to sitting ducks.”

  He grunted instead of replying. He peered around the corner, and it was then that she noted the gun in his hand.

  She couldn’t stop staring at it. This wasn’t in his file. “Where did you get that gun?”

  “My holster.”

  “Smartass,” she hissed. “I meant, I didn’t know you carried.” Yet he had told her he liked to shoot them.

  “You don’t know because it’s none of anybody’s business.”

  “You’d better not shoot it.”

  “Why not? A man is allowed to protect himself.” He swung his piercing gaze her way. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people.”

  “What people?”

  “The ones who are always yammering on about banning guns.”

  “I don’t mind guns,” she muttered. “It’s the morons who use them that are the problem.”

  “I agree with you on the morons part. Lucky for you, that’s not me. I scored a one forty-one on my Mensa test.” He peeked around the corner and almost lost an eye as a bullet sheared plaster.

  “Good for you, genius. A lot of good brains and a gun will do against a bullet.” She turned away from him and began walking down the hall.

  “Where are you going?” he said, having scrambled to his feet to follow.

  “Since shooting people sounds messy, and sticking around is hazardous to my health, I am leaving. Getting out of here before the cops arrive and detain me. I have better things to do than answer questions and wait while they fill in a zillion reports.”

  “Disobeying the law, Annie?”

  “There is no law that says I have to stay and be a witness. And don’t call me Annie.”

  “But I like it.”

  “I don’t. Now, are you coming?”

  “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” he muttered in a low voice.

  She ignored him and entered the women’s washroom, which, because of recent fire codes, now had a window large enough to act as an emergency exit.

  Crazy person shooting out the restaurant certainly classified as an emergency. She pried the window open and peeked out.

  “Do you often sneak out of restaurants?” he asked, having followed her in. “This might be a first for me. I’m not one to dine and dash myself.”

  “I’m surprised given a hasty exit is the most common way to ditch a date.”

  “I have never ditched my dates. I’ve suffered through to the end.”

  “Given your level of mockery, I highly doubt you suffered much.”

  “I’m hurt.” He didn’t sound hurt. He seemed amused, probably because she straddled a window.

  “Shut up and help me out, would you?” The pop of gunfire had stopped, and distant sirens wailed. But that didn’t mean she wanted to stick around.

  “Swing your other leg over and then hold on to my hands. I’ll lower you.”

  In short order, her feet hit the ground, and she was brushing herself off when he landed beside her. He grinned.

  “Well, that was an interesting lunch.”

  She tossed him a side-eye as she trotted for the far end of the alley and the street. The chill air made her wish she’d grabbed her coat, but the only thing she’d managed to keep clutching was her purse. At least it had her keys.

  She paused before emerging from the alley and found herself blocked by a broad back.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Protecting you, even if it’s unlikely the shooter managed to make it around to this side,” he observed aloud.

  “Because you know a lot about mass shootings and their perpetrators.” Sarca
sm liberally dosed her words.

  “I do, as a matter of fact.” At her sharp look, he smiled. “Years of watching guy flicks.”

  “Real life isn’t a movie.”

  “Obviously, or we’d have an ominous soundtrack right now.” He swept an arm around her shivering upper body. “Come on, we should move before we get boxed in.”

  He took off at a quick clip, the slim sidewalk cracked and icy with poorly cleared snow. At least she’d kept her boots on.

  “You watch a lot of movies?” she asked. An inane question to help distract from the loudly singing sirens behind them.

  “Some.”

  “I didn’t take you for a guy who believed in fiction.”

  “And yet I hired a dating service offering a happily ever after.”

  “Is that what you want?” Because she had to wonder. He seemed rather cynical of the whole romance bit, flirted like a pro, and showed a keen interest in her despite her married status.

  “What do I want? A year ago, I would have said nothing. I had it all.”

  “What changed?” she asked, noting he had them traveling in such a way as to get her back to the office.

  “Nothing you probably haven’t heard before. I had a health scare. A pretty big one, and thought maybe it was time I changed a few things in my life.”

  “You didn’t want to die alone.”

  He shrugged, and she felt it as she peered up at him, this big man who used his own body to keep hers sheltered from the elements.

  “While I was recovering, it occurred to me it might be nice to have someone at home waiting for me,” he admitted quietly.

  “With less effort, you could get the same thing with a cat or dog.”

  He laughed. “True. But you can’t spoon a pet.”

  An odd choice of words given she didn’t take him for the cuddling kind.

  As if his own words surprised him, he stiffened. “There’s your building.”

  The warmth the inside promised beckoned, but she lingered a moment to look him in the face. “Thank you.”

  “For what? You saved yourself.”

  She had, but he’d at least attempted to be chivalrous. “I’ll call you in a few days once I’ve gone through our files to select you a new date.”

  “I’m surprised. I would have thought our lunch today would have shown you I’m hopeless.”

  Far from it. The man was deadly. Attractive. Out of bounds.

  “Your perfect match is out there somewhere. I’ll be in touch.”

  She walked away, feeling the wide-open space, imagining eyes watching, the scope of a gun tracking.

  The incident at the restaurant was random.

  Her paranoia had no basis. Joel had not suddenly reappeared in her life. Watery graves didn’t give up their residents.

  Whatever reason someone had for shooting up that restaurant, it had nothing to do with her.

  A lie that was shattered with the vase of white roses on her desk and the note with just an initial.

  ~J

  Chapter Eight

  For some reason, Reaper stood staring at the building longer than he should have. He’d escorted Annie safely, and yet, something nagged at him. His danger radar pinged.

  Surely, Annie wasn’t in danger. The woman led a boring life. Nothing he’d turned up on her indicated anything untoward. She didn’t even travel.

  Despite her clean background, he highly doubted she was academy trained. During the attack at the restaurant, she didn’t do anything right, from climbing out the window without checking for enemies first to sauntering up the alley without a care. The woman had no sense of self-preservation.

  Unless she was in cahoots with the shooter.

  That would make sense. Perhaps this was a ploy to lull him into a false sense of security. Have him lower his guard so he’d trust her and let her close.

  Except her fear had been very real. Even the best actress couldn’t hide the sour scent of trepidation, the rapid flutter of a pulse in panic, the whimpers held back.

  Apart from the physical signs, the fact that she ignored his text once he got to his office—You okay?—was odd for a woman supposedly trying to get closer to him.

  Annie had actually done everything to keep Reaper at arm’s length.

  What if he was overthinking things? Not everyone was out to get him. Although there were a good many who wouldn’t mind seeing him dead.

  Like Harry, who waylaid him on the way into the office.

  His boss glared. “You missed another meeting.”

  “And I’ll keep missing them so long as I’m grounded.” No point in being briefed on missions Harry wouldn’t let him accept. Why waste his time listening to lectures about adventures he couldn’t enjoy when he had files and real clients that needed his attention?

  “The doctor said to take it easy.”

  “I’ve been taking it easy for months,” Reaper growled.

  “And it won’t kill you to wait a few more if necessary.”

  “Says you.”

  “Don’t be such a whiner. You almost died. Try counting yourself lucky instead of bitching about the fact that your old ass needs longer to heal.”

  “I am not old.”

  “Says the guy with more salt than pepper in his beard.”

  The reminder had him stroking it. He did have quite a bit of gray and white in there now. Especially since the incident. “I’m not too old.”

  “No, but you also can’t do the same kinds of physical missions as before with your bum leg. I’ll let you know when the right job comes along. Things have just been quiet lately. Blame it on the holidays.”

  Way to remind him that he’d yet to get a tree. Then again, why bother? Putting presents under it for himself from himself seemed pathetic. But it did give Reaper the opening he needed.

  “Speaking of holidays, I’m going to need a few days off.”

  “You finally going to do something to celebrate?”

  Not quite. He planned to follow a lead on the woman who’d shot him. “I was thinking of visiting a chalet in the mountains.”

  “You hate skiing.”

  “But I do love hot rum toddies.” And lounging by a real wood fire. For some reason, he couldn’t help but wonder how Annie felt about real fur on her naked body.

  Harry interrupted his interesting thought process about bear rugs and his matchmaker. “You can have time off. But keep your phone handy. As you know, the day after Christmas can get nuts.” Blame the spurt of marriage proposals on Christmas Day and New Year’s for couples suddenly needing a home.

  “Sure thing, boss.” The grin he projected apparently didn’t reassure.

  “You’re up to something.”

  “Who, me?”

  Harry frowned. “Where’s your jacket? It’s bloody cold outside.”

  “It might have been left behind at the scene of a crime.”

  “What do you mean?” Harry shouted before lowering his voice and leaning close. “You called in a cleanup crew, I assume.”

  “No, and before you freak, it wasn’t my crime. Some random shooter took aim at the place where I was eating lunch.”

  “Targeting you?”

  “No idea.” Lie. He kind of got the impression that the shooter was looking right at him.

  But almost got Annique instead.

  Had his past caught up with him? He’d have to watch himself. Be more careful in his dealings and outings. Keep away from civilians to avoid accidental casualty.

  The shooting, possibly directed at him, gave him a reason to stay away from Annie, and yet, the first thing he did once he got into his office? He logged into the secure network and then played around with some software Mason had installed on his computer. Software sounded legitimate and good.

  Wrong. Because of his tech buddy, Reaper could access just about any database he wanted. Department of motor vehicles, police files, FBI. Even the CIA had some loopholes. About the only system that was secure was Interpol. They had a hacker to riv
al Mason working for them.

  Today, he wasn’t after driver’s license pictures and addresses or school records. He wanted a certain security camera feed.

  A camera system that kept an eye on the offices of Secret Match.

  He wasn’t stalking her. Merely ensuring her safety. It took only a few clicks to flip through the security footage until he saw the one he wanted.

  He stopped and watched Annie pacing her office, arms crossed over her chest, pausing every so often to look at a vase of flowers.

  Who sent her flowers?

  Not him, or her fake husband. The research he’d done thus far didn’t show any signs of a boyfriend—her cell phone records and texts were always about work, nothing personal. Yet someone felt a need to send her flowers.

  And she didn’t look happy about it.

  Whirling suddenly, she grabbed the vase and threw it, smashing it against the wall, sending blooms scattering.

  He fired off a message to Mason. I need to find out who delivered some flowers to the offices of Secret Match.

  Because if someone was harassing Annie, he wanted to know.

  Chapter Nine

  The mess on her office floor mocked her. Even without Joel making an appearance, the mere thought of him returning had her losing control.

  Annique couldn’t afford to do that. Couldn’t make any mistakes.

  I wish I knew if it was him or not.

  The flowers could be a nasty prank. After all, before she’d learned of the futility, she’d tried to get help and gone to the cops. Filed her reports. Got told an ardent ex-boyfriend wasn’t against the law.

  Nope, he had to actually hurt her before they’d step in.

  Assholes.

  Maybe it’s Jasmine screwing with me. Her younger sister hadn’t been around much the past few years. Only visiting once since her move to Boston.

  Jazzy wouldn’t do that to me. Annique liked to think her little sister had a bit of a conscience and wouldn’t take sadistic pleasure in dredging up old nightmares. But, other than Jazzy and the cops, no one else knew of the terror Joel had put her through.