by Eve Langlais
All was going well. Until she bit him.
“Help. Someone. We’re up here,” she yelled, fighting him every inch of the way.
“Bloody hell, woman! Would you stop that?” he said through gritted teeth. “I am trying to save your life.”
“From who? That’s probably the cops downstairs, here to arrest you.”
“Arrest me for what? I’m the good guy here,” he hissed between his teeth, his inner lizard showing its temper.
“Ha, I highly doubt that.”
“I am tempted to show you the error of your ways, but fortunately for you, I was ordered to protect. So, move.” He yanked her onto the landing, and not a moment too soon. A bullet whizzed past and sank into plaster—an inch from her face.
Her wide eyes met his. “They shot at me!”
He arched an aristocratic eyebrow. Perhaps now the chit would start bloody well listening to him! “Still believe they’re here to help?” He pointed at a door. “Which room has the hatch to the attic?”
“That one. But I don’t see how that helps… What is that?”
He raised his hand and displayed what it held. “A gun.”
“For what?”
“Interpretive dance. What the bloody hell do you think?” He ducked out of cover to aim down the stairs and fire off a few shots. “Quick now, before they recover.”
“What about giving me a chance to recover?” she huffed. But she listened and went into the master bedroom, straight to the closet.
A gun went off a few times, enough to make her hyperventilate. He didn’t have time to calm her down. “This isn’t happening. I must be dreaming.”
“Pretty vivid dream,” he replied, eyeing the hatch overhead and the distance to reach it.
“Things like this don’t happen to people like me.”
“Guess again, Patty.”
“It’s Petunia.”
“It will be RIP if you don’t stop arguing.” He thrust a chair into the closet with them and stood under it to shove at the attic hatch. Just his luck, it wasn’t the kind with a ladder. He grabbed the edge and hauled himself through easily. Upper body strength alone. Good thing he spent so much time in the gym. Not enough to get muscle-bound but ripped enough for the ladies to truly appreciate him.
The attic space wasn’t exactly huge, but large enough that he could stand in the middle, the space between the rafters filled with pink insulation. But these kinds of older-style row houses did have one thing going for them. Their attics were connected. He smiled. Super-spy-lizard saves the day again!
“Give me your hand.” He reached down and beckoned with his fingers.
She eyed him with skepticism. “We’ll be trapped.”
He sighed again. Did this woman argue about everything?
“Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”
“Trust you? I don’t even know you.”
“And you’ll never get a chance to if you don’t move your bloody arse now, woman!”
It wasn’t his threat so much as the bullet fired in the hall that decided for her. She grabbed hold of his hand and squealed as he hauled her into the attic with him. She was lighter than he’d thought and landed in his arms. Only to have her squeak and scuttle away from him as if she’d been burned.
Obviously, frigid. Likely due to her homely nature. Poor thing.
He dropped the trap over the opening to buy them a bit of time.
“Follow me, and whatever you do, stick to the beams.” He walked along a thick truss towards the next house, the demarcation nothing more than fire retardant boards and two-by-fours. Easy enough to punch and rip through.
Behind him, Petunia talked to herself. Mostly feeding her delusion that this was only a dream. Apparently, a very detailed nightmare with an asshole invading her house. She was clearly delusional. She’d called him—him—an asshole.
And that kind of attitude was why some people could handle being a spy, and some couldn’t. Not everyone could be as great as Simon.
At the third house, he decided that they’d gone far enough. Just in time, too, as he heard a shouted, “They’re in the attic.”
“Time for us to make our escape.” He slid aside the hatch and leaped down. The closet door was closed, making the space extremely dark. “Hold on while I find a light.” He found the door instead and when he opened it, he might have gaped at the contents of the closet.
“I can see— Oh.” Petunia’s head peeked over the edge. “Is that…?”
A collection of strap-on dildos and whips on the wall? Yes. But no time to admire or ask if Petunia had experience with them. He held up his arms.
“Jump.”
“I can’t.”
“Patty.” He injected a warning tone into the word.
She chewed her lip before sticking her legs through. Simon reached up and grabbed her around the thighs. She slid down, slowly, so slowly that his face got caught in her bosom. A surprisingly full and curvy one her bulky sweater did not do justice. Her startled expression met his a moment before her feet hit the floor.
She was breathless. Oddly enough, he was a touch, too.
“Let’s go.” Holding her hand, he led her downstairs. The rest of the house looked quite normal with doilies and pictures of an aging couple with children old enough to have kids of their own.
They startled said older folk as they emerged from the front door. Petunia blushed crimson and said, “Sorry.” Whereas Simon grinned at the gent and said, “Nice collection, mate.”
Then he was sprinting with his charge to the car waiting at the curb. He heard shouts but didn’t pause to look.
The lights on his Maserati flashed. “Get in.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Petunia started to argue, but the gunfire changed her mind. She slid into the passenger seat with an undignified thump.
The motor purred to life.
“Hold on.”
He sped out of there like a cat on a lizard’s tail, which was to say, extremely fast. The car handled it like a pro, hugging the pavement and skimming around corners until they’d left behind the commotion at her house.
Which led to a dilemma. What to do with Petunia?
“Er, I don’t suppose you have somewhere I could drop you?”
She turned to look at him, her fingers still digging into the dash, her features ashen. “Ummm.”
“A boyfriend? Someone with a spare room or comfy couch?” Simon prodded hopefully. “A coworker you’re friendly with?” Hell, anyone she spoke to even occasionally would do at this point.
Her useful reply? “They shot at me.”
“Not just you,” he interjected. It wasn’t all about Patty, after all. He was the super-spy.
“But, why?”
“It doesn’t take a genius to guess this is connected to your father.”
“That doesn’t make any sense either. My father is a professor.”
“Working on something important for some TWATs.”
“Don’t talk about the university that way. They’re nice people.”
“Maybe they are, but those shooting at us weren’t.”
“Do you think they shot my father?” She gulped, and he heard tears in her voice.
“I think it’s too early to say what’s happened other than he’s missing. But fear not, Patty. I’ll help find him.” He felt a need to soothe. Odd, that had never happened before.
“What if he’s dying?”
“He’s probably not dead. Yet.” Which might not have emerged as reassuringly as he’d hoped.
“What do you mean probably?” she squealed.
“Well, if they’d gotten what they wanted, then they wouldn’t have come after you.”
“You really think those people who came after me are connected to my father’s disappearance?”
“Unless your dad has a gambling problem.”
“He thinks games of chance are stupid.”
“Do you have a gambling problem?”
“No.”
“Then th
ere aren’t too many reasons why they’d come after you. Which is why I deduce that this has to do with your father.”
“But I don’t know anything,” she sputtered.
“They don’t know that. And could be, you know more than you think.”
“I’ll say it again, I know nothing. I haven’t seen my father in weeks!”
“You will remember the name of your first-grade teacher if they start torturing you.” He’d lost a tail at the start of his career to torture. The funny part was that they’d thought his screams were real. Sobbing—his acting skills coming in handy—he fed his captors the biggest load of falsehoods. Spun a brilliant web. The cartel he’d infiltrated as a prisoner had shut down because of his excellent work a month later. About the length of time it took to grow his tail back.
“Torture. Oh. God. Oh God,” Patty chanted with her head tucked between her knees. “This isn’t happening.”
“Don’t worry, Patty. We’ll make sure they don’t get their hands on you.”
“We? There is no we.”
He latched on to that. “No boyfriend?” It seemed important to clarify.
“I’m single. Why do you keep asking? My father is missing. People tried to kill me.”
“And will keep trying, I imagine.”
She glared. Okay, maybe that also hadn’t been the best thing to say.
“What? Would you prefer I lie?” He was quite good at that, given he was a master of disguise.
“What I’d like is to go back to this morning when life was still normal. Before I met you.”
“You aren’t exactly a prize for me either, Patty.”
“Petunia,” she said through gritted teeth. “You can let me out here.”
“I don’t think so. Having had time to ponder the situation, it is my belief that we need to stick together. Reckon I’ll have to protect you.”
“I don’t need your help.”
Such a lady-like thing to say at odds with her appearance, which was more disheveled than ever. Although, he did admire her cute, freckled nose. But the hair! It was a mop of epic proportions.
“How do you feel about motels?” he asked.
As it turned out, so long as he paid, she seemed amenable to the idea, especially when he insisted on adjoining rooms. Despite the pleasant mishap where his face met her bosom, she was not his type.
He left her with a bag of chips from the vending machine and a cola before he shut the adjoining door and placed a secured call to his handler.
One that didn’t go as well as he’d hoped.
“I ran into a problem with the target.” Simon quickly explained and then waited for N to give him his orders.
“Stay with the girl.”
“Until what time? When does the backup arrive?” Because there was still time to hit a local hotspot.
“No one is coming to relieve you. She is your assignment until further notice.”
“Excuse me, what?” He may have sputtered, his plans for the weekend disappearing before his very eyes.
“Given her obvious danger, she must know something.”
“If she does, then she’s not spilling it,” he argued. “Surely, my skills would serve better elsewhere.”
“We need to recover that recipe book. Find out what she knows.”
Great. Just bloody great.
“How?”
“You’re a handsome man, Longwatton, I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
Seduce the shrew? “And if it turns out she knows nothing?”
“Then she’ll make excellent bait.”
Bait. Not exactly a word any lizard was comfortable hearing. His great-great-grandfather had lost his tail and control of his bladder in front of a crowd when he woke after a drunken binge to find himself on a stick being raced in front of a pack of hungry dogs.
The line disconnected, and Simon eyed the door that connected his room to Erwin’s daughter. Perhaps she was more clever than he’d given her credit for and was hiding what she knew.
If she were, he doubted that she’d tell him easily. They’d not gotten off on the best foot. Now, he needed to flip things around.
Bloody N had hinted that Simon should seduce Petunia. Not exactly a hardship. He’d bedded uglier. There had been that Russian agent built like a shot-putter but the things she could do with her… He shook his head.
Still, seducing Petunia didn’t sit right with him. Possibly because she didn’t seem like the type who casually bedded every man she met.
However, duty called. He took a moment to freshen himself. Teeth? Check. Hair? Perfect. A spritz of cologne and he was ready. Wait. He paused for a moment and rolled his sleeves back to display his muscled forearms. Arm porn. The ladies loved a bit of biceps candy. Perfect.
He knocked on her door.
There was no reply.
He tried the handle.
Locked.
He looked at it in shock. No woman ever barred her door when she had an adjoining room with him. Like…ever. Patty’d probably forgotten to unlatch it or something.
It took but a moment to jimmy the lock. He stepped inside and noted the closed bathroom door and the sound of the shower running.
While she’d not had time to bring anything with her, like a cell phone or purse, he had left her alone in the room. Nothing appeared out of place, except for the phone sitting on the bed. It took but a moment to hit redial. The line rang a few times and was then picked up by an answering service.
The automated message was, “You’ve reached Professor Erwin. If this is about an assignment, please see me in my office. Anyone else, leave a message.” Beep. An automated voice then came on the line to tell him the mailbox was full.
Petunia checking out his story.
He nodded in approval. Clever girl. Never trust the tall—he checked himself out in the mirror—dashingly handsome man who comes to the rescue. Always verify the story. Clever little thing.
But not shrewd enough. He managed to score a cheap bottle of wine, not even close to what he usually drank. He doubted she’d notice the difference or care that he only had two chipped motel mugs to drink out of. She was a naked woman in the shower, probably still humming with the excitement of the chase. Thinking about the dashing man who’d rescued her.
He shouldn’t disappoint. Mugs and wine in hand, he headed for the bathroom door, nudging at it with a hip. It was firmly closed. It took but a moment to pop the lock. Adorable the way she pretended she wasn’t attracted.
The door swung open, and Simon entered. “I thought you might like a bit of a drinkie-poo after your orde—”
He stopped suddenly, the steam from the shower hitting him in the face as he looked into the stall.
The empty stall.
No naked Petunia.
His gaze shot to the open window, the curtain flapping in the breeze. He swore.
The bloody woman had done a runner!
Four
Petunia didn’t like running. Running was something the healthy and fit did, not a woman who preferred watching reality television wrapped in a blanket.
But she didn’t have a choice. It had occurred to her when Simon left her alone in her room, that she was taking an awful lot of what he said at face value. What did she really know of the guy?
He was good-looking.
And a liar. Given the fact that he’d pulled out a gun and seemed entirely too comfortable using it. He obviously wasn’t a colleague of her father’s. Her father’s coworkers were far more familiar with Harvard referencing than how to use a handgun.
Perhaps her father hid from him. As for those people who came to her house? Probably after Simon, as well.
I am not the one they’re looking for.
Which meant that sticking with him put her in more danger.
The bathroom window provided a discreet escape. Especially since Petunia used her smarts and ran the shower. Let him think she took her sweet time washing. She’d be long gone by the time he realized.
; It took only two blocks before the scent from a street vendor distracted.
Her tummy grumbled. How long since she’d last eaten? Too long, given all the excitement. She scrounged in her pocket, found some lint, a used tissue, and a crumpled bill. Enough for a foot-long doused in mustard, slathered with mayo, and topped with fresh onions and a hint of relish. A nearby park provided just the spot to sit down and enjoy her treat.
Surely, she’d gone far enough to escape Simon. Her lips wrapped around the thick sausage, and she sighed in pleasure as she munched on the meat and licked the white sauce that tried to escape.
Halfway through her food orgasm, she heard a rustle in the bushes.
She frowned. The knee-high shrub wasn’t exactly large, and the tight branches didn’t leave much space at all for anything to hide.
Big eyes stared at her.
Freaking eyes!
The bush twitched, and a head poked out. A green head with beady orbs that didn’t blink.
“Eek! A lizard.”
She hated reptiles. The hot dog flew and hit the ugly thing in the face, and she took off running again. Faster than before, convinced that the icky creature slithered after her.
Somehow, she got turned around. Damned park and its path that went in a circle. As she realized she approached the place where she’d seen the lizard, she halted. Bit her lip. Then yelped as someone stood up from the bushes by the bench. A man with pants hanging off his hips and an unbuttoned shirt. He had a yellow smear on his forehead and a scowl.
Uh-oh. She stared in panic at Simon. Forget the lizard, she’d found a worse threat. Much worse.
Petunia spilled off the path and ran across the grass, cringing as she ignored the signs that said to keep to the marked trails. She didn’t make it far before a hard body tackled her, and she hit the ground with an oomph. No soft—yet hard—landing for her this time.
She struggled, flailing her arms and legs, which proved quite useless against the man pinning her to the ground.
“Let me go,” she huffed.
“Why did you run?”
“Because I can,” she snapped, all too aware of the heavy weight of his body atop hers. A very masculine form.
“Who were you trying to contact?”
The question made no sense. “I was getting in touch with my inner hunger,” was her smartass reply.