by Eve Langlais
It can’t be him. I saw him die. That much blood…
She shut her eyes and took deep breaths.
I have to get out of here.
Snaring a sweater from her closet, better than no coat at all, she left her office, telling Mitzy as she marched past, “I’ve got a headache. I’ll see you in the morning.”
A headache actually did pound behind Annique’s eyes, her jaw clenched as her stress built.
It’s not him.
Maybe if she kept repeating it, she’d believe it.
The drive home proved nerve-wracking, her head whipping to take in all the occupants of the cars on the road.
Is that blond hair I see?
Oops, almost took out the Honda Civic.
She kept glancing in her rearview mirror, convinced someone followed.
Oh my God, is that car gonna ram me?
Negative. He honked at her and cut her off. Probably because she kept dropping below the speed limit.
Paranoia had her taking lefts and rights, often with no signal, horns blaring as she made rapid moves in traffic. It took her four times as long to get home, but she finally made it to her apartment, not the most high-tech building in the world.
When she came here years ago, funds limited, she’d thought herself lucky to find this place. A one-bedroom with a renovated kitchen and great water pressure? She’d snatched it and made it her own with second-hand buys and flea market treasures.
When the money got better, she was too comfortable to leave. Joel was dead. No one knew her in this city. She’d redefined herself. Recreated a past.
Fooled herself into thinking she’d be okay.
Looking at her building, she could see all its faults. No security to guard as people came in. A locked front door that wasn’t all that hard to bypass. At least her apartment offered security. She’d had the best locks installed, not only on her door but also on the windows.
Would it be enough?
He’s dead.
Her phone buzzed, and she almost peed herself. Hands clammy, she pulled it off the dash where she’d had it charging and peeked at the screen.
Her breath whooshed out as she saw a text from Montgomery.
I have your coat.
Did it bear asking how he’d managed that feat?
Then again, according to the news on the radio, despite the shots fired at the restaurant and the damage, no one had been seriously injured. Just cuts and bruises from a random act of violence.
No dead or hospitalized bodies meant no need to hold on to patrons’ coats. It was feasible that he’d gotten his hands on it.
She paused before texting back.
Drop it off at my office tomorrow. Because no way was she going through that nerve-wracking drive again. She needed the comfort of her apartment.
How about I bring it to you now? It’s supposed to get chilly.
It was Boston. It was always cold around Christmas.
She fired back. I have a spare. I’ll be fine. Pause. Thank you.
The reply came immediately. Are you okay?
No. Far from it. But not because of the shooting. If that had been Joel at the window, he wouldn’t have missed.
Unless he toyed with her. How long since he’d fallen off that boat? Almost eight years? Ten since the terror first started.
It wasn’t him. She’d seen him die. Ghosts couldn’t hurt the living. Just give them nightmares.
Annie, answer me or else.
She snorted. Such a demanding man. Or else what?
Her fingers flew over her tiny keyboard. I’m fine. Just tired. Don’t be so bossy. Women don’t like it. Look at her giving him dating advice. If he knew what a failure her love life was, if any of her clients did, they’d ditch her in a heartbeat. Annique was a fraud when it came to love.
The next message came as she entered the building and checked her mailbox. Just junk.
It’s not being bossy. It’s called being assertive.
At that, she snorted. Okay, Bossy Pants.
The exchange did a lot to ease her angst. The elevator must have blocked her signal because, as she opened the door to her apartment, a flurry of buzzes let her know a bunch of new texts arrived.
That’s Mr. Bossy Pants. And I will add there is nothing wrong with checking on you. The events at noon today were disturbing.
Annie…?
Don’t make me hunt you down.
She sighed and managed a small laugh before replying. Calm down. I was in the elevator. And I said I was fine.
Which was almost true now that she stood in the relative safety of her apartment.
A lie that was shattered by the brisk knock on her door.
Oh, God. He found me!
Chapter Ten
He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t drive away.
Having arrived well before her, Reaper had time to sit and watch the erratic weave of her route, her car’s GPS easy to hack.
She drove like someone who didn’t want to be followed. Then she exited her car and glanced around nervously before entering a shitty building.
And now, she lied to him.
She was not fucking all right, which was why, in the midst of still texting her, he exited his car and entered her complex.
Now, he stood in front of her door.
An assassin who was just a man, in front of a door, knocking for a woman who wouldn’t answer.
“Annie, open up. I know you’re in there.” Which might not have been the most reassuring thing to say.
“Montgomery?” The clicks and snaps of locks tumbling saw her opening the door before she exclaimed, “What are you doing here?”
He held up her coat. “I was in the area and thought I should deliver it.”
However, she didn’t grab the coat. Her brows pulled tight. “How did you know where I lived?”
“I’m in real estate.”
“I’m renting.”
“You should think of buying. The market is ripe right now for buyers.”
“I doubt I’ll be staying in this city much longer.”
“Planning a move? I didn’t know your company was branching out.”
“It’s not.” She snagged the coat and went to slam the door shut, only he wouldn’t allow it. He wedged his foot in the gap.
“What’s really going on?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“You’re scared.”
“Someone shot at us today. I’d say I have good reason.”
He pushed at the door until he could step in. “You don’t have to be afraid.”
“Says the man who is coming in uninvited.” She backed away from him, eyes wide, panic tensing her body.
“I won’t hurt you. But I am going to stick around until you don’t look like you’re expecting to be murdered.”
“I promise to look that way as soon as the door shuts behind your ass.”
He flopped onto her couch and took note of her apartment. “Nice place. But I could get you something bigger, within walking distance of your office.”
“I told you, I’m probably moving.” She slammed the door shut and stood glaring at him, arms crossed.
Very sexy. It made a man want to snare her close and kiss those pressed lips until they softened.
“Moving, why? You obviously run a very successful business.”
“It’s personal.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to let one little incident scare you away.”
“Little? We could have died today.”
He shrugged. “We could also die slipping in the shower or choking on a pea.”
“I hate peas.”
“So do I, hence the choking part.” He leaned forward and offered her a grin. “The point I’m making is that danger lurks everywhere.”
“Is that meant to be reassuring?”
“Nope. It’s just how the world is. Don’t tell me you’d prefer I mollycoddle you and lie.”
She sighed and finally relaxed enough to take a seat across f
rom him. “No. But sometimes I wish things were different.”
“We all do, Annie.”
“Stop calling me Annie.”
“But it suits you.”
“If you say so, Prince Charming.”
He winced. “Touché. I take it it’s too late to ask you to forget I told you that.”
“Very.”
“I’ve killed people for less.”
She laughed, probably because she thought he was joking.
He wasn’t. And given his violent tendencies as a youth, the advice to change his name to initials made his life a little less deadly.
“If I can’t call you Charming, then what should I call you.”
“My friends call me Reaper.”
Her brow arched. “That’s a tad macabre.”
Yet apt, because, when he appeared, death soon followed. Again, not exactly the kind of thing he could say out loud. “They mostly use it because I make a killing in real estate.”
A shake of her head and the loose smile on her lips eased even more of her tension. “You certainly aren’t modest.”
“Just saying it like it is, honey.”
“Why are you really here?” she asked. “My husband—”
“Are you really going to keep up that lie?” He glanced around. “No man lives here.”
“And you can tell that from the décor?” she asked. “Maybe he likes to give me free rein.”
“Are you really going to keep playing this game? Fine.” He pointed. “Only women’s shoes lined by your front door.”
“He’s tidy.”
“One mug and one plate on your breakfast bar.”
“He likes to grab Starbucks on the way to work.”
“Want to bet if I go into your bathroom and peek there’s only one toothbrush?”
Her lips pressed tightly before she exhaled. “Fine. I’m not married. Are you happy?”
He leaned back and smiled. “Yes.”
“I guess now you’re going to want to go with a different agency.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I’m a fraud. I don’t know what love is, obviously, or I wouldn’t be single.”
“Or, maybe like me, you haven’t met the right person yet. Imagine that, two people who can’t find someone, sitting in your living room.”
“I am not the person for you.”
“Is that the conclusion of your matchmaking software, or your personal opinion?”
“Mr. Montgomery—”
“Please, call me Reaper.”
“I will not call you that. While I do appreciate your concern in light of the day’s events, I really do think it’s best you leave now.”
“But we never finished our lunch.”
“No need. I know exactly what you require.” She stood, and he had a choice: not budge and freak her out, or leave and get to work digging up her past.
Because she is hiding something.
Reaper stood and followed her to the door. However, when she would have opened it, he blocked her path. Staring down at her, he said, “What do you think I need?”
Annie peeked up at him, and he willed her to say the words, to give him the answer he’d wanted from the moment he walked in.
She didn’t exclaim, “I need you.”
Instead, she said, “I’ll be in touch in a few days with your next date.”
“What if I don’t want to go on a date with yet another stranger?”
“Then I guess we have nothing left to talk about.” Annie wedged past his body, the scent of her womanly and soft.
She yanked at the door to open it and practically shoved him into the hall. He allowed it, mostly because he knew she felt a need to reassert herself.
But he couldn’t help a parting shot. “You and I are not done, Annie.”
She slammed the portal shut, but he still heard her say, “Oh, yes we are.”
Challenge accepted.
Chapter Eleven
He left, and Annique paced.
Her mind whirled with escape scenarios.
Reeled with thoughts of him.
Him, as in Montgomery…not Joel.
The Charming Reaper. Too sexy on the one hand, which made him deadly on the other.
Thoughts of him kept distracting her from the real problem she should be focusing on. To flee or not to flee. That was the question.
Christmas was almost upon her. A busy time for lonely people who needed someone to share the holidays with. Who wanted a date for New Year’s or simply someone to bring to a family dinner.
Was she prepared to walk away from everything she’d built because someone was pretending to be a dead man?
No. She wouldn’t run.
Whatever, or whoever, was pulling this shit would stop because she wouldn’t be terrorized. She also wouldn’t be seduced into dating a client.
Annique saw right through Mr. Montgomery. The only name she’d use from now on. She needed to reestablish boundaries. To divert his attention from her and redirect it to a real candidate.
Or I could cut him loose.
And admit failure?
Never.
With that thought in mind, she spent that day and the next combing through her database. Cold-calling the women on it for extra information.
Ignoring his texts.
It’s cold outside, Annie. Bundle up.
I’m thinking of hitting a sushi place for lunch.
Tempting.
She didn’t give in and ate lunch alone at a restaurant downstairs—where no one shot at her. It also didn’t involve a silver fox—with a sexy beard—hunting her down.
A silver fox who needed a mate.
I have to find him the perfect one. It was her goal and distraction. Annique kept digging and digging until she found someone for him.
And she told herself as she made the arrangements that it wasn’t disappointment she felt at having found him the perfect date. It was relief.
She’d done her job. Found him a lovely woman.
Now to go home to an empty apartment.
The idea didn’t appeal. She eyed the stack of papers on her desk and decided to tackle it instead.
As for why she kept glancing at her phone?
Any minute now, Montgomery would text her.
Thanking her for his perfect date.
That was what she wanted, so why did she smile when instead her phone buzzed with his date number twenty-three declaring, He’s an asshole.
Chapter Twelve
Another failed date, and it was Annie’s fault. Setting him up with this broad when he’d made his interest very clear.
I want her, and she tries to pass me off to another woman.
Then again, what did he expect?
He expected Annique to show up and insist on having dinner with him. Arguing that she just didn’t know a woman good enough for him. Because she’s perfect for me.
Ideal for the fake me.
The real him was contemplating shooting the redhead sitting across from him for the simple crime of not being Annie.
He interrupted her chatter. “This isn’t going to work.”
Big baby blues looked at him through heavily mascaraed lashes. “We’ve not even gotten to the main course.”
“And?” He stared at her. More than one target crumpled under that gaze and spilled his guts.
His date wasn’t immune.
She fidgeted and rose. “You’re too old for me anyhow.”
Old beyond his years because of the things he’d seen in his lifetime. Which was why he couldn’t believe Annie had sent him a bubblehead almost half his age.
She was lucky he didn’t kill her for her muttered, “Asshole” as she stalked off.
He fired off a text to Annique. Well, that date was worse than usual.
As if she waited, a reply immediately came back. You barely gave her a chance.
If I wanted to date a child, I’d troll a high school was his snappy response.
She wasn�
�t that young.
I have T-shirts older than her. I’m not looking for a trophy girlfriend.
I’ll find you someone new.
Don’t bother. You obviously want to terminate our association. I guess I’ll take my business somewhere else.
It was risky giving her an out, but he had a hunch. He set the phone down, and despite the waiter asking if he wanted his check—because his date had stomped off—he declined. The food in this place smelled amazing.
Reaper had just started on his plate when she came in. He didn’t look up. He remained intent on his food until he smelled her perfume.
“I can’t believe you did that.”
He lifted his gaze and noted Annique’s flushed cheeks and her hair slipping from its hasty bun. “Hello there, Annie. Imagine seeing you here.”
“As if you didn’t plan this,” she snapped.
“Plan what?”
“Sending your date away and then goading me, knowing I’d come find you.”
“Who, me?” His idea of looking innocent probably wouldn’t pass any kind of test.
“Yes, you. Don’t play dumb. You never even gave her a chance.”
“I met with her, didn’t I?”
Annie’s gaze pierced him. “I don’t call fifteen minutes meeting. You didn’t even let her eat.”
“She bored me.”
“Ever think you’re the one who’s boring?”
At that, he laughed. “No. Why don’t you sit rather than looming over me?” He pointed to the chair.
“No.”
“Don’t be so grouchy, Annie. Sit with me and eat. You owe me a meal.”
“I can’t.”
“Then it will be your fault all this food goes to waste.” He pointed to the second plate across from him. “Really, why would you think she’d be even remotely close to my ideal woman?”
“She’s athletic, and smart, and outgoing.”
“And annoying, barely out of college, high-maintenance, and she ordered a salad.” The nerve. He jabbed his fork at it. “I don’t want to date a lettuce-eating bunny.”
“Nothing wrong with a salad, it’s healthy.”
“Would you have ordered a salad?”
“No. I like meat with my meals,” she grumbled, dropping into the chair.
Victory! Or, at least, round one went to him.
He sliced some of his steak and ladled it onto a side plate along with three of the garlic butter roasted shrimp. “Here’s some protein.”
