Poison Kisses Part 1

by Lisa Renee Jones

  Her lashes lower, and she breathes out, blinking me back into view to say, “I love you, too. And I’ve never loved anyone but you and my parents, either. And my father’s questionable at that.” She presses her lips to mine and I kiss her, a slow, sensual kiss that tastes of love, of something I’d never known until Amanda. And when our lips part, she says, “I think this is one of the only perfect moments I remember in my life. I think it’s the only time my world has felt perfect.”

  I shove aside the memory without comment, hating the biting sensation in my gut that it’s managed to create. I’m focused on the mission and the road ahead and behind us. I cut left, and take several side streets, forcing anyone following us to show themselves, or lose us. No car appears, and after ten minutes of this strategy, I turn us onto one of the common, narrow side streets. And as also is common in this city, we are on one big upward hill, the only path to the main road, when a car suddenly cuts from another side street and blocks us. My reaction is instant. I eye the rearview mirror and place us in reverse, while Amanda pulls her gun, rolls down her window, and I don’t even have to ask her intent. She’ll have a silencer and she’ll go for the tires. I stay focused on backing us onto another side street that now has us rocketing down yet another hill.

  “Tires out, car stopped,” Amanda says, settling back into her seat, unfazed by the speed we’re flying downward. “But there will be another. We need out of this car.” She pulls off her high heels and tosses them in the backseat. “If we get caught from the front and back, we’re going to end up trapped and dead.” She grabs the flat ballet shoes she has always carried with her from her purse, and looks behind us at the same time. “And there it is. We already have another car following us. Seth, any minute we’re going to end up sandwiched between two cars. I know the city. On foot is our escape.”

  She’s right. The buildings sandwich us in tight, narrow roads. I cut us onto another side road, and keep backing up. “On foot, it is,” I say. “If you have a preferred location, speak now.”

  “Two streets up,” she says, placing her ballet slippers on her feet. “Cut left and then left again. The Filbert Steps are within a fast run. They wind through the woods, and there are nooks and crannies in there. Places to hide. We’ll exit near the pier and my place.”

  “Weapons are under your seat,” I tell her, before asking, “Alleyway on my left or right?” and with that question, I cut down the side street she’s suggested.

  “Left now,” she says, twisting to watch our progress. “Turn here.”

  I turn, still backing up, planning our next move. “You’re coming out on my side of the car,” I say, certain of several things. She can’t be exposed. She can’t be taken, and she damn sure isn’t dying at anyone’s hand but mine. I started as her judge and jury. I’m still her judge and jury.

  “Got it,” she says, “and alleyway in five, four, three, and—now.”

  I cut us as close to the opening as I can get us, and block the path we intend to travel, before killing the engine and pocketing the keys. “Let’s go,” I say, opening the door, while a white car screeches around the corner and comes straight at us. I’m standing in an instant, offering Amanda my hand, but she places my preferred weapon of a Ruger MK2, complete with silencer, in my hand, and I’m damn sure going to use it.

  I aim at our pursuers’ moving vehicle, and by the time I’m done taking out one of the two front tires, Amanda’s out of the vehicle.

  “Run!” I shout, as the car screeches to an uneven halt, bullets pelting in our direction from a shooter in the passenger seat. I react by firing my weapon, and so does Amanda, both of us moving toward the narrow alleyway, but as soon as we’re behind the cover of the wall, I shove her against it. “They’ll follow us down this narrow path and we’re dead.”

  “Agreed. We fight.”

  “Not we. Me. You’re too important. Cover me, but do not expose yourself.” I don’t wait for her confirmation. I pull a second, fully loaded Ruger MK2 from my holster, now holding one in each hand, rounding the wall, and I do so just in time to land a bullet in the head of a man about to round the corner. He drops and I charge at the man behind him, firing at a much taller, larger attacker, but with a small adjustment in aim, he ends up with my bullet between his eyes. Gunfire splatters from somewhere to my right, and I rotate. Holy fuck, Amanda doesn’t listen. She’s left the alleyway and is now out in the open, firing at a man taking cover behind our rental.

  I grab her and shove her behind me, charging toward him and firing at rapid speed, a bullet slicing through my leather jacket in the process, and then my arm, pain searing the flesh there. Pissed off and in pain, I kill the bastard who delivered that shot, scan for another piece of shit, only to have Amanda flatten her back to mine, while her weapon discharges. I hear a body drop somewhere nearby, but I don’t dare turn until I’ve confirmed there’s no further threat within my visual field.

  “Clear!” she calls out, telling me no other threat exists from her side.

  “Clear,” I confirm on my end, and as we have many times, in unison, we rotate and start to run, heading down the alleyway, which is narrow and short, while my arm throbs, and blood pools, slick and warm, in my sleeve. In sixty seconds, we’ve hidden our weapons, I’ve curled my arm to avoid dripping blood, and we’ve found our way to a main road lined with the multi-colored row houses that are so popular in the city, people bustling here and there. Another thirty seconds and we’re at the side of one of the buildings, traveling down a hill that leads to our destination: the Filbert Steps, where foliage and trees frame multi-colored painted steps that go on for miles.

  Trusting Amanda has one of those nooks and crannies she mentioned in mind to hide in sight, I keep an eye behind us, as well as left and right, and we hit those steps still running. “This way,” Amanda says, and she’s barely spoken the words before she’s over the banister and into the foliage below, reminding me how fit and agile she is.

  I follow, somehow managing not to leave behind blood as I scale the banister and land on the ground, the high grass, leaves, and trees masking our location. Amanda doesn’t turn with my landing, but continues forward a few feet before cutting under the stairwell and disappearing into the brush. I’m a few steps behind her, shoving aside the foliage, clearing it to enter a wooden box of sorts directly beneath the steps, where I flatten on the wall next to her.

  She pants out a breath before stepping in front of me, and immediately tugs my sleeve down my arm, inspecting my wound. “You’re bleeding like a stuck pig. Is the bullet still in your arm?”

  “No bullet,” I say, having had plenty of experience with the alternative to judge from. “And I’m pretty sure the saying is sweating like a stuck pig.”

  “It’s bleeding liked a stuck pig and it looks like blood to me,” she says, reaching for my belt and starting to pull it free.

  I arch a brow. “Are you sure now is the time for this, sweetheart? We can say a proper hello later. In a hotel room.”

  “A proper hello is me placing my knee in your balls,” she says, yanking the belt out of the loops. “But right now, you’re going to end up passing out, and I won’t get to enjoy the moment.” She wraps the belt around my arm and pulls it viciously tight.

  I grit my teeth against the pain and bite out. “I thought you’d want me to bleed out.”

  Her eyes meet mine, a pulse between us, history that wraps around us and thickens the air, before she says, “You die my way. And this isn’t my way.” She swallows hard and looks away. “Besides, I need a good assassin to kill Franklin’s followers.”

  I pull my jacket back up and when she would move away, I capture her arm and hold her to me. “Not so fast.” Her hand settles on my chest, the air even thicker now, the pulse between us heavier, more intense than minutes before, but whatever this is between us can’t be dealt with if we’re dead. “How badly do you need that lab?” I ask, the danger of going to her apartment, now tenfold.

  “Desperately,” she
assures me.

  History, our history, is indeed present in this moment and in her reply, and my eyes narrow. “The only time you’ve ever used that word, you were naked and wanted the orgasm I wouldn’t let you have.”

  Her eyes glint. “Do you really think now is the time to bring that up? Or ever for that matter, considering you want to kill me?”

  I cup her neck and pull her to me. “I don’t want to kill you,” I say, my breath mingling with hers, hunger burning inside me. Some would think it was crazy in this moment, and this place, but I clearly live for the high of danger or I wouldn’t be hard right now, living this life, or craving the woman I plan to kill.

  “But duty calls, right?” she whispers, her fingers flexing on my chest, but not pushing me away.

  And desire, I think, my mouth closing down on hers, my tongue licking into her mouth, a soft moan escaping her lips, and landing on my tongue. The taste of it, and her, still familiar, still Amanda, still so fucking addictive, I could yank her skirt up and take her right here and now. But I won’t. Not when she’s still the bitch that betrayed me. I tear my mouth from hers and drag her gaze to mine. “Are you still desperate? Don’t lie. I’ll know.”

  Shadows flicker in her eyes before she says, “Unfortunately, yes. I am. And I despise the fact that I am.”

  “Like you despise me? Correction. Like you hate me?”

  “Yes. Like I hate you.”

  “Well. Don’t hate too hard, sweetheart. You know that I always ultimately give you what you want, what you desperately want. And now is no exception.” I set her away from me. “Let’s go to your apartment and get your lab while we’re being looked for here, not there.”

  Chapter Six

  Amanda and I make our way through the foliage beneath the Filbert Steps, and she moves with such agility that you’d never know she was in a skirt and flimsy flats, but then, she’s been trained since she was born to live the life of an agent. To overcome. And while my training might not have begun until I was recruited to the agency in college, training is exactly why I hold my arm above my heart to slow the blood flow with one primary concern: a trail of blood will get us killed. And today is not a good day to die.

  The path out of the woods is a short half a mile, and Amanda and I stop within the wooded line, squatting down side by side. Together, we survey the hill before us that leads to a presently unpopulated, small grassy area below. “If we go left or right, we’ll be on neighborhood streets,” Amanda says. “If we go straight ahead, there’s another short set of steps that will lead us to the pier, where we can blend in with the crowd.”

  “We need a car and the pier means cameras.”

  “My neighbor is retired and he parks his SUV in the drive between our houses,” she says, rotating to face me, as I do the same to her.

  “He never leaves the house,” she adds. “He won’t even know it’s gone for days.”

  “It’s a good plan, but that means a two-mile walk, and time is not our friend. We need to get moving.” I start to move and she grabs my leg, our eyes colliding with the connection.

  “You can’t make that long walk. It’s going to make your heart pump and that means blood. Lots of blood.”

  “The belt is holding,” I say. “And your plan is a good one.”

  “The trolley stops down by the pier.” She eyes her watch. “The next one is in seven minutes. It’ll drop us off right at the edge of my neighborhood.”

  “Trolley it is,” I say, rotating forward, with her doing the same. “Stay behind me as we exit the woods,” I order. “I’ll move you to the front once I’m certain we’re clear.”

  “You mean if you don’t get shot again.”

  I face her again to find that she’s already facing me. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I don’t intend to die before you get the chance to try to kill me. But let me be clear of one thing before we go on. You might be the only person who can save hundreds of thousands of people if Franklin releases that toxin in the water supply, but if I die and you don’t help them, I swear to you, woman, I will come back from the grave and haunt your ass.”

  “You know I wouldn’t let those people die.”

  “I don’t know the woman who ran from her duty,” I say. “And I won’t make the mistake of thinking that I do again.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “My arm is seeping. Let’s do this before I can’t get on that trolley. Exit behind me.” I face forward. “On three,” I say, scanning the area and reaching under my jacket to settle my hand on my weapon. “One.”

  “I did what I had to do to stay alive. I did what you would have done.”

  I look at her. “I wouldn’t have hidden. I would have gone after the problem.”

  “You think I didn’t try?”

  “Three years, Amanda.”

  Her jaw tenses and she looks forward. “Two,” she says, adding to our count. “And you damn sure know I won’t let those people die.”

  “Three,” I finish, and together we stand up. I wait a beat, letting my senses talk to me, waiting for any hint of unease, that doesn’t follow, before I start down the hill. I walk, instead of run, as I travel downward, my intent to fit in with the environment. Amanda’s footsteps sound behind me, steady as well, and it’s not until we reach that grassy area beneath us that I pull her to my side. We keep a steady pace until we reach the shorter stairwell she’d mentioned, pausing at the top, our path forward fully visible, without obstruction, but I turn to scan behind us, confirming we’re all clear. “Let’s go,” I say, moving us forward, and we quickly start downward, side by side again, with me ready to step in front of her and take a bullet for her again. No. For the people she can save. “How are we doing on time?”

  She glances at her watch while we clear the steps and join a crowded sidewalk, where people are dressed in everything from jackets and jeans to dresses and heels, allowing Amanda to blend in more readily. “Two minutes,” she says. “We’ll make it.” She motions to a street sign and we cut left down another sidewalk, and I hear the sound of the trolley approaching, its wheels whistling, its bell ringing. We easily find our way to its side in time to board, and with a full car and standing room only, we have an opportunity to move deep into the trolley, out of the sight of anyone who might be looking for us.

  Once we’re in the center of the car, people seated on either side of us, Amanda takes my injured arm, her eyes meeting mine, and she eyes the rope above my head, reminding me to keep it above my heart. I grab the rope but with no overhead tie left for her to reach for, the car starts to move and she tumbles forward into me, her entire body melting into mine. Damn it. The many times and ways she was pressed close to me in the past burn through my mind and body.

  She doesn’t look up, but her fingers curl around my shirt and she lingers there for a few beats. I can almost convince myself she’s feeling the same things I am, but that would mean we matter to her, that I matter. That would mean at least part of what was between us was real. And I can’t let myself believe that or it will change every move I make with her. It could also get me killed.

  The car halts at a stop, and she pushes off of me, her hands falling away. Still, she doesn’t look at me. I want her to look at me. I want to see the truth in her eyes that I can’t taste on her lips. I want to understand who and what she really is. I don’t wait for the car to move again. I snag her hip and pull her to me, and this time her gaze rockets to mine, the connection punching me in the chest. And this time there are no shadows in her eyes. She lets me see what lurks in the depths. The accusations. She believes I killed her parents and intended to kill her. And the only way she would believe that I would do that is if she isn’t what she seems. If she, and her parents, were dirty, and dirty enough to make me act despite loving her.

  My jaw clenches, and I reject every jagged emotion inside me that is suddenly present and biting far more than that bullet. I don’t do emotion. I don’t do fucking love, and yet, this woman lured me in and set me on fire. I hol
d her stare and let her see what I’m thinking in my eyes: I’ll keep her alive. I’ll fuck her. But I’m not even close to being her fool again. The car starts to move again and I decide to drive those messages home. I set Amanda firmly and exactly away from me, the jolt and movement of the trolley making her sway, but as any good, dirty agent would, she rotates, catching herself on a beam dividing two sets of chairs. Now in profile, she stays that way, and we travel several more blocks before the trolley pauses again. Amanda doesn’t look at me, but rather lifts her hand to indicate this is our stop, which of course, I already know.

  She turns and starts walking toward the exit. I follow her, watching her jump to the sidewalk, and then join her, but we don’t look at each other. Instead, I shackle her arm, setting us in motion, guiding her left, toward a souvenir store. “Let’s shop,” I say.

  “You did always know how to win over a girl,” she replies dryly, her wit and attitude still firmly in place.

  And proving she knows exactly where my head is, which is in changing her appearance, she enters the store first, clearly on a mission. She grabs a hoodie as she walks past a rack, and by the time she’s at the rear of the small shopping area, she’s already pulling it over her head. Next, she snags a baseball hat and stuffs her hair beneath it. I catch up to her in a corner, where she turns to me, a pair of sweatpants in her hand. “Stay where you are and be my dressing room door.”

  “Always happy to help you dress or undress, sweetheart,” I say dryly. “Now and later.”

  “There won’t be a later,” she assures me, bending to pull the sweats on under her skirt, but swaying as she does. I catch her arm, her hand landing on my chest, the charge between us electric.

  “You sure about that?” I challenge softly.

  Her eyes lift to mine. “Yes.”

  “But I owe you at least one orgasm, now don’t I?”

  Her eyes flash with my reference to one of the last nights we’d been together. We’d been sitting at a table with four other people, my hand between her legs, my fingers on her clit, and every time she was about to orgasm, I settled my hand back on her leg.