by Eve Langlais
Who was this man? This stranger?
“I don’t know why you’re so shocked. Your sister is the same as me.”
Jazzy shook her head and waved her hands. “Don’t rope me into this. I’m more on the industrial espionage side than the killing.”
“Says the woman who shot me full of holes last Christmas.”
“Not my fault you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I had orders to eliminate Wendell.”
“But you shot me.”
“An honest mistake.” She shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be there once I made sure his girlfriend was occupied.”
“Do I look like Wendell?” he snapped.
“I didn’t kill you, so I don’t see the problem.”
Her little sister, discussing shooting people so nonchalantly.
What is happening?
Annique couldn’t handle all this info. All these revelations. She pushed past them both, snaring the thick terry cloth robe hanging on the chair on her way and shoving her feet into thick slippers.
How does a killer know to pack me something to keep my feet warm?
She headed for the door, dodging their attempts to stop her. “I’m going to find some coffee.” And her sanity.
Because how the hell did I fall in love with an assassin?
After Joel, she should have been able to recognize a man with violent tendencies. Should have known and steered clear. Not jumped into his bed and fallen in love.
Reaper tried to stop her. “Annie. Don’t go. Let me explain.”
She couldn’t stay, not with her head whirling. “Explain what?” Annique cried, tears pricking at her eyes. “That you’ve been lying to me this entire time? I don’t even know who you are.”
He tried to tell me. She just didn’t listen. She fled the room, fled the truths that threatened to bury her.
Ran down the stairs, tucking her robe tightly around her, noting the empty common area and the unmanned front desk.
Screw a caffeine jolt. What she needed was clarity. She strode for the door and yanked on it, needing some fresh air.
The brisk cold slapped her skin, and she closed her eyes.
Breathed deeply.
Calmed herself.
So, Reaper—a name more apt than I realized—is not quite the man I thought. He wasn’t just a realtor. He was some kind of killer for hire.
He also claimed he’d pretty much retired.
Could a man with violent tendencies ever truly leave it behind?
He never hurt me. He always treated her gently, even the times she’d gotten in his face and argued. He never tried to physically force her. Argue, yes. Verbally tease, sure. But lay a hand on her? Never.
Did that mean he never would? She couldn’t say for certain, yet even the nicest of men, normal men, could raise a hand to hurt. It was all about character, and she’d gotten the impression he had a good one.
Why else would she have fallen in love with him?
I thought I was in love with Joel, too. Thought, yes, but in retrospect, she could clearly remember how uncomfortable he made her. How she hated his snide remarks. Recalled the fact that he never made her breathless. Never caused her heart to flutter.
Only Reaper did that.
I love an assassin. It kind of made him sexier than before.
Her breath caught.
Sexier?
Thinking about it made her realize that, if she looked past her shock at the truth, the knowledge added a layer to her lover.
He’s dangerous.
Badass.
Mine.
Holy shit, a killer was in love with her.
Me. Of all the women he’d ever met in his life, he’d chosen her to be with.
And what had she done? Left him alone with her sister—both armed with guns.
I need to get back. Annique slammed the door to the outside shut and whirled, only to gasp as she beheld a familiar face.
One older, but no less ugly for its sneer. Joel waggled a single white rose.
“Hello, Qiqi. Happy to see me?”
She would have screamed, but the punch to her face knocked her out.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The door slammed shut, taking with it the hope Reaper had felt just a short while ago.
It made him want to break things.
It made him want to yell.
Especially since Annie had left Reaper alone with the woman who’d tried to kill him.
A woman he’d come here to murder.
Someone related to the woman he loved.
“Well, this is a clusterfuck,” he managed to growl instead of throttling the cause of his ire.
“You’re telling me.” The harder version of his lover glared at him, dressed head to toe in black neoprene. An outfit made for the elements.
“Did you have to tell her what I was?”
“What else did you expect me to do? She’s not an idiot. And you’re one to bitch. What kind of asshole drags a family member to a vendetta fight?”
“I didn’t know you planned this. You’re the reason I’m here.”
“Duh. Who the hell do you think emailed you the tip?” Jasmine rolled her eyes. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice your nosing around, asking questions?”
“If you didn’t like it, then why not confront me?”
She shrugged. “I was busy. But things finally slowed down for the holidays, and I set up this meeting.”
“Why here? What’s special about this place?” he asked.
“Nothing other than the fact that the skiing is good.”
“Was that you shooting at us yesterday?”
“Yup. It was supposed to scare my sister off. A normal woman should have hightailed it out of here.”
“So you knew she was here with me.”
“Yeah, I knew. I saw you arrive together and couldn’t believe it. Not cool, leading my sister on like that.”
“I didn’t know you were related.”
“Sure you didn’t.” The sarcasm thick. “Thanks a lot. Because of you, my sister knows I’m not CIA.”
“It was a lame excuse.” Especially since he knew the CIA didn’t usually mess around in academy business. Up until now, they had an understanding. Bad Boy didn’t cross any really big lines, and in return, they did the occasional favor for the agency.
“Whatever. Now that you know who I am, I want you to dump my sister and get out of her life.”
“That’s not up to you.”
“Fucking right it is. She’s my sister, which means it’s my business, and I don’t want her dating a has-been thug.”
“Has-been? I retired from a very successful career.”
“Only because I didn’t kill you.”
“Thanks for reminding me. I can promise I won’t make the same mistake,” he growled.
“Are you sure your old man hands can hold a gun steady enough to take a killing shot?”
“I’m not old!”
“Says the guy with a gray beard. Ditch my sister if you want to enjoy your golden years.”
Stop seeing Annie? Like fuck. But suddenly, something came clear. “You’re the one who was sending her those white roses. You wanted her to run so she’d stop seeing me.”
Jasmine’s face froze. “White roses? What are you talking about?”
“The white roses you sent to scare Annie. Was it you who trashed her place and attacked her on the street?”
“I would never do that. Never. Not after what that asshole did.”
The words sounded sincere. He frowned. “If not you, then who?”
“I don’t know, but you’d better tell me everything.”
So he did. He told her about the restaurant, the mugging, the flowers, the trashed apartment, and all the while, Jasmine paced and cursed.
“Son of a bitch. He’s supposed to be dead.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“I shot him myself,” she snapped.
“Did he hurt Annie?”<
br />
“Hurt. Terrorized. And in the end, he tried to kill her. Joel’s got some serious issues. But he should be dead.”
“Never assume they’re dead unless you bury the body yourself.”
“I shot him in the chest, and he fell into the ocean. Shark-infested waters, I might add. I was pretty sure that would do it.”
Usually, it would. “Why does he keep coming after her?”
“Because he’s looking for revenge for what I did to him.”
“What did you do?”
“Killed his father.”
“Sanctioned hit?”
Jazzy snorted. “As if I’d work for free. When shit went down, and he turned psycho on Qiqi, I told my sister the CIA made me do it. It was easier than explaining that I was a killer for hire.”
“You’re not academy, though.”
“I am, just not the one you trained at. My education was abroad. And we don’t have time to chat. Annie’s been gone too long, and if you’re telling the truth, and Joel is alive—”
“She’s in danger.”
The realization put any thoughts of vengeance against Jasmine on a backburner. Only one thing was important now. Keeping Annie safe.
When he hit the main floor, it was to find it empty. Not even someone behind the front desk. Christmas morning meant a skeleton staff.
The early hour meant most of the guests were still in their rooms, especially since the dining room was closed until dinner. Only room service was available, at a premium.
“Where did she go?” Jasmine muttered aloud.
The kitchen for food and coffee? He went through the swinging door marked Employees Only to see an old fellow drinking a coffee at a metal table.
“Have you seen a woman in a robe?”
“Ain’t seen no one except one of the rangers checking in.”
A ranger? On Christmas Day?
He bolted back to the front and saw the front door shutting. Heading outside, he ignored the cold air and freshly fallen snow to look where Jasmine stared.
The chairlift was in motion, moving upwards to the top of the mountain.
“I thought they were shutting down the slopes for Christmas,” she remarked.
“They are.” He dashed back inside, knowing he couldn’t waste time but also knowing he had to have some clothes and boots, or he’d freeze before he could help her.
What of Annie? Dressed only in her robe. He piled on an extra sweater under his coat then shoved his feet into his boots. He also put his gun into his pocket.
Taking the stairs in twos, he hit the lobby and ran outside, noting Jasmine had disappeared and the chair was almost to the top. He sprinted to the base of the lift, cursing how long it would take.
Sitting on the seat, he stared at the top of the mountain, saw the two figures atop it.
One of them waved.
It wasn’t Annie. She was slung over the guy’s shoulder, limp.
He willed the lift to move faster, but it ratcheted up the mountainside as Joel got away, disappearing from sight. The roar of an engine drew his attention downward. The yellow snowmobile sped up the mountain, a black-clad figure bent over the bars.
Dammit. Annie’s sister would get there first. But he couldn’t be mad. While he wanted to be Annie’s hero, he didn’t care who saved her as long as she emerged unscathed.
The snowmobile hit the peak and went over it, also disappearing from sight while he drummed his fingers, inaction making him tense. As soon as he got close enough, he leapt, landing hard but absorbing the impact with his knees and almost falling as his bum leg began to buckle.
Fuck you. Not now.
He recovered and sprinted in the direction they’d gone and heard a gunshot.
A scream.
Annie!
He ran faster, but by the time he made it across the plateau and through the copse of trees, he was too late.
A man stood alone at the edge.
Reaper stalked toward the asshole, death bleeding from his gaze. “Where is she?”
“Which one? They’re both rather annoying, don’t you think?”
With no patience left, Reaper fired his gun. The man screamed as he crumpled to the ground, his blood staining the white snow.
“I said, where the fuck is she?” Usually a very controlled man, Reaper found himself torn apart. The longer this asshole didn’t tell him where his Annie was, the more the storm raged inside.
“Bitch is gone.”
“Wrong answer.” Reaper fired at the man who’d taken his Annie. Watched dispassionately as the guy clutched his chest and fell off the edge.
He headed toward the cliff and dropped to his knees to peek over. He saw the body first, splayed on the rocks.
He saw the white robe next, dangling from a branch.
Annie.
No.
“No!” He yelled the word. Screamed it, slammed his fists on the ground over and over. How could he be too late?
He was never too late.
He’d never failed before.
Why now? Why with her?
Was this his punishment?
He slammed his fists again and felt a rumble under his knees.
Oh, shit.
He stumbled back from the edge. Then farther still as the spot he’d knelt on suddenly sheared off. It kept crumbling, the avalanche tumbling snow and rocks down the incline.
When the world stilled, the robe was gone. Any hope of finding her, too.
An anonymous call into the resort meant people went out searching within the hour. Only one body was found in the snowy mess. Male. Dead.
A crushing sensation enveloped Reaper’s heart when he realized he was alone.
My first and only love is dead. And he only had himself to blame.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Being dead sucked.
It meant remembering a new last name—and accidentally signing her old one a few times. It involved memorizing a new year of birth. Back to her original one that made her forty-four instead of forty-one with a birthday in March instead of October.
A new life and identity meant learning a new neighborhood, finding a job, replacing all her shit.
Most of all, though, it involved missing the hell out of Charming Reaper Montgomery.
Realtor. Lover. Assassin.
She’d had time in the weeks—fifty-one days to be exact—since their breakup—the avalanche the perfect cover for her disappearance according to Jazzy—to get herself accustomed to his job.
Plenty of time to come to grips with the fact that the man who’d touched her so tenderly was a killer. She’d watched movie after movie about it, the fictionalized stories reinforcing the fact that he was a killer, but one with feelings. One who could love. Being an assassin didn’t automatically make him a bad person.
Because, if it did, then what did that make Jazzy? A shitty sister at times, who seemed to think Annique was better off lonely than hooking up with a has-been silver fox.
“You can do better.” Annique could still hear her sister’s argument.
Jazzy didn’t understand. Annique didn’t want better. She wanted Reaper.
Even if he was a killer.
He did say he was retired.
But could a killer ever walk away from his job?
What of his enemies?
What of her enemy?
Joel was dead. Or so a news report seemed to indicate, but a part of her wondered if she’d ever feel safe. She’d thought the bastard dead once before.
Music, the slow-moving, romantic kind replaced the talk show on her television. She sighed as she saw yet another commercial for Valentine’s Day. Stupid holiday.
She hated it. Mostly because a part of her wished Reaper was spending it with her.
But no, she’d chosen to listen to her sister when she arrived in time to save her freezing ass. Chosen to flee and hide as she’d done before rather than deal with her problems.
Perhaps not her brightest decision.
A knock
on the door had her frowning. Caution meant she peeked through the spyhole, only to see red cellophane wrapping, the kind used for flowers.
“Who is it?”
“Delivery for a Miss Annie.” Spoken with a heavy Asian accent.
Annie? Only one person ever called her that.
Heart suddenly racing, she flung open the door and would have reached greedily for the flowers, except when the foil dipped, she saw the white tops.
White roses. Her first shock. Then his face.
“Joel.” The word whispered from her as panic engulfed. She went to shut the door.
Only he shoved into it, used his weight against her, and pushed it open.
Joel stalked in and kicked the door shut before tossing the flowers to the floor.
“And here we are again,” Joel said.
“You’re supposed to be dead.” She’d seen the reports that found the body. A body mangled, but who else could it be?
“I guess you didn’t hear. They finally matched the DNA to a forest ranger that went missing. Odd how he ended up so far from his station.” Joel sneered.
“Go away.” A futile request judging by the manic gleam in his eyes.
“In a minute. First, you’re going to be a good girl as I strangle you.”
“You’re a psycho.”
“And whose fault is that?”
If he thought she would just let him kill her, he was sadly mistaken. She grabbed the nearest thing within reach, a candy bowl, and threw it at him. He batted it aside as she tried to run past him to the door.
She failed.
He grabbed her, fisting her by the hair and yanking her painfully back. She fought, straining and kicking at him. Frantic in her movements. Panicked in her attempts to get free. She landed quite a few shots. However, self-defense, while all well and good, wasn’t worth shit against someone bigger who could fight.
Joel swept a foot past her ankles, dumping her on her ass.
The impact only stunned her for half a second. She whipped over onto her knees and scrabbled, digging her nails into the worn parquet flooring, bucking as he tried to pin her.
“Why can’t you just go away or die?” she yelled, struggling underneath him.
“Because I’m invincible, bitch.”
Scary but true, it seemed. How many times had she thought him dead?