Moving Target
by Rosalie Stanton
Back Cover Copy
An innocent woman. An assassin with a conscience. A deadly attraction.
Although Anna Winter doesn’t fit the profile, Nathanial “Wolf” Thornton can’t be sure she isn’t the woman he’s supposed to assassinate without getting a closer look.
Once he discovers his cover’s been blown, his options are limited: walk away or watch an innocent woman suffer the consequences.
A slave to his conscience, Wolf decides to take Anna along for the ride of her life…all the while battling his desire for her.
Content warning: Explicit sex, language, exhibitionism.
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His assignment had been a mistake. Anna didn’t match the girl in the file. She wasn’t dark or devious, or anything suggesting she was a threat. He knew simply by how badly he wanted her. Wolf wasn’t attracted to dark, elusive women anymore. All things looked the same buried in shadow. Anna didn’t. Anna shone. She was perfection.
Wolf frowned and kicked the thought away, along with the flood of others condemning him for breaking one of the essential rules of the game. Never touch the merchandise. Never get personally involved. Never let them see you. All shot to hell. Anna clearly saw him. She had stars in her eyes, and though she didn’t speak immediately, though she let nothing out, he knew with absolute certainty what she thought.
“Why me?” she whispered, her hips beginning a rhythmic sway, seemingly holding the entire bar captive. She looked surprised at first, as though the question hadn’t intended to leave the confines of her mind, but her expression hardened with conviction, furthering the need for an answer.
“Why not you?” He slipped an arm around her waist to anchor her into him.
Moving Target
978-1-61650-181-5
Copyright © 2010, Rosalie Stanton
Edited by Stephanie Szymanski
Book design by Brian Hunter
Cover Art by Renee Roccp
First Lyrical Press, Inc. electronic publication: August, 2010
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PUBLISHER'S NOTE:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
Published in the United States of America by Lyrical Press, Incorporated
Dedication
For Mari and Deanna
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank Beth Featherstone for her encouragement and support, as well as her input on the earliest drafts of this story. I would also like to thank my Lyrical Press editor, Stef Szymanski, for saving the life of an innocent cat. Lastly, I’d like to thank my wonderful husband, Aaron, for being an everyday inspiration.
Chapter 1
The girl didn’t match the description he’d been given. Aside from being blond, perky, stunningly gorgeous, of the appropriate age and bearing the name Anna Winter, he simply couldn’t see the connection. His target was one of those heartless bitches whose list of hobbies included mass extortion of another guy’s hard-earned dimes, seducing married senators, taking candy from babies—the full shebang. The file on Anna Winter simply didn’t match the woman he’d tailed the last two weeks.
Nathanial “Wolf” Thornton felt sufficiently schooled in the art of deception to recognize it when he saw it, and he’d been in business long enough to know when he’d been played. Anna Winter’s innocence might not matter to others in his line of work, but it sure as fuck mattered to him. Even if he couldn’t justify what he did, he could at least sleep at night knowing those he killed deserved it. Unless she’d pulled the wool over his eyes—an unlikely possibility—this girl hadn’t earned his bullet. At the very most, Anna might have sensed someone following her, but he doubted it. The surveillance he had on her was too thorough to be incorrect.
Should Wolf be wrong, it’d be a different story—but he wasn’t. People had a way when being watched. They also had a way, subconscious or not, when they felt watched. Those who had something to hide always looked like they were covering their tracks. It seemed human nature, and though he’d seen men and women alike whose tells had been harder to pinpoint than others, they always revealed them within the course of a day. Even the pros found duplicity tricky.
Then again, a part of Wolf’s personal job description revolved around unmasking liars. Listed right in the brochure.
“Anna, Anna,” Wolf murmured, stepping away from the blinds. Looked like another night in, which made him claustrophobic, but as long as he kept his eyes on Anna, he wouldn’t feel caged. His rented room now seemed a mockery of itself. The bed remained unmade, cartons of Chinese takeout lay strewn across the floor, a pair of binoculars sat on his lap, assorted gadgets he used in the field scattered in every nook and cranny he could find and his small arsenal of assorted weapons rested at the bedside. Home sweet home. What sort of evil, conniving dominatrix chose an apartment adjacent to a seedy motel?
The answer seemed simple enough: the sort not expecting to be spied upon.
“Phone ringing.” Wolf wheeled over to his headpiece. Sometimes it helped to hear words. It made him feel less alone, likewise making listening in on Anna’s conversation more of a job and less of a hobby, because were he completely honest, he relished this too damn much.
He liked her, and that was very dangerous.
“What are you wearing?” a husky female purred. Not his Anna, though he recognized the voice. A series of verbal clues and indicators had led to a background check eventually producing the name Charity Saunders. Charity had enjoyed a rebellious upbringing with a mile-long list of offenses and busts landing her in juvy hall more than a dozen times, but she hardly seemed the mastermind of some criminal conspiracy. A two-day surveillance had revealed Charity’s biggest illegality was the occasional joint. She might be a mismatched friend for Anna Winter, but nothing more.
“What am I wearing? It’s late. I have on jammies and fuzzy socks.”
Wolf grinned in spite of himself. Anna. His sweet Anna. Her voice felt pure and soft. It couldn’t be grounded in falsehoods. She couldn’t be the monster in the file.
How could someone with such a sweet voice get on a list of dead men walking?
“Well, shed ‘em!” Charity replied. “We got a dance floor to heat up.”
A soft, harmonious laugh rang through the other end. “Not in this lifetime.”
“Aw, come on, Anna! You can’t bail on me again!”
“It’s late.”
“You said that already,” Charity pointed out.
“Yeah, and I stand by it.”
“But it being late is kind of the point. It doesn’t get good anywhere in this shithole town until at least two AM.”
“Charity…”
“What? Not like you have work tomorrow.”
The line fell dead, chased by a cold silence screamin
g louder than any amount of indignation could. Wolf couldn’t blame Anna in the slightest. From what he’d garnered in watching her, Anna’s return to Springfield, Missouri hadn’t been voluntary. After losing her fancy DC job, she’d had little choice but to go home.
Wolf felt her pain. He’d felt restless ever since arriving in Springfield. Imagining being stuck here on a permanent basis made him homesick for the open road.
Endless uncomfortable seconds ticked by before Charity heaved a sigh, her tone dropping with contrition. “Hey, Anna. Sorry. Outta line. I didn’t mean—”
Another sigh whispered through the line, softer this time. Sweeter. It was Anna’s. “No, you’re right. I did tell you I’d go out tonight, and hey, how better to celebrate the freedom of unemployment than getting down with my bad self, right? Give me a half hour or so to find something to wear and I’ll be there.”
Charity whooped in victory, all hint of remorse flying out the window. “All right! You should wear that skirt. You know the one.”
Anna laughed dismissively. “I thought we were just trying to get you laid.”
“What can I say? I’m a philanthropist.”
“I’m surprised you know that word.”
“Yeah, well. I’ll see you at the club.”
Anna’s voice sharpened. “Not Ernie Biggs again. That place is always packed. I can’t hear a damn thing, and when I do I wish I hadn’t.”
“Hence the fun.”
“There’s no fun in going deaf before I hit thirty.”
“Fine. We’ll find someplace else. Your pick and everything. And seriously, Ann, slut it up. You never know who might show, right?”
Anna rumbled another short, incredulous laugh. Wolf pictured the corners of her mouth twitching with the dry wit he’d come to associate with her pretty green eyes and gentle smile. “Right. See you soon.”
Click. The line went dead.
Wolf removed his headset and sighed, running his hand over his jaw. Looked like he had a night on the town after all.
* * * *
No matter how attractive an outing initially sounded, it always came down to Anna regretting everything from the second she stepped out of her apartment. She hadn’t been in the club but two minutes and already she wanted to go home. “I have no idea how I let you talk me into this.”
Strobe lights blinded, techno music blared and Charity’s sweat-soaked, man-covered body rocked carelessly to the beat. At least a minute lapsed before it appeared the brunette realized she’d been addressed, and even then she didn’t seem too troubled. Rather, Charity frowned and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, yelling back an ineloquent “Huh?”
“I said—” Anna’s voice did its best to climb above the music, but failed miserably “—I can’t believe I let you talk me into this!”
Charity motioned at her ears. “I can’t hear you!”
Anna rolled her eyes and waved to the bar then back to herself. This earned a sign of understanding from Charity, but Anna lacked interest in waiting around for the apologetic frown that would inevitably follow. Charity knew the routine by now. Granted, it didn’t do much to convince her not to invite Anna on these outings, but at least she understood when her friend needed to distance herself from the party. It came down to a simple conclusion: Anna’s idea of fun simply did not measure up to the standards of many her age. Clubbing had been more an activity she enjoyed from high school through college. Sure, though she still sneaked out for a drink here and there, the sort of primal mating dance Charity performed on a nightly basis no longer held appeal.
It remained a part of the woe of growing up and getting a Real Job.
Losing the Real Job hadn’t magically returned the drive to shake her groove thing—it only served to further her depression. She’d gone out on a Tuesday night because she had nowhere to be in the morning, and the knowledge remained too sobering for alcohol to cure.
“Hey Ann.” The bartender flashed a warm smile. “Want your usual?”
“Diet cola with a slice of lime.” Anna nodded. “How’s it been tonight, Brandon?”
He shrugged, waving at the dance floor. “Oh, you know. Sometimes these folks just wanna go where everybody knows their name.”
“I think Charity is the only name everyone knows out there.”
“Yeah, well, that would have messed up my reference.” Brandon grinned and slid her usual drink into her waiting hands. “Any luck on the job hunt?”
Anna made a face and ignored a shiver of guilt, the flash drive in her purse weighing her like a brick. “I don’t think too many employers are in the market for someone who got fired by the US Secretary of Agriculture.”
“You never know.”
“No, if I never knew, I’d be more optimistic.” She sighed and tossed back a quick gulp of soda. “I have no idea what I’m gonna do, Brandon. The job market is insane and my savings is drying up faster than…well, something that dries really fast. And every time I call someone about an interview, they tell me I’m either over-qualified or Monroe intervenes and I’m stuck back at square one.”
The bartender tsked. “I still say you talk to someone. I mean, someone qualified.”
Anna’s heart skipped a beat and her skin warmed. “No. Not an option.”
“The man—”
“I know. I know. But Misty’s scholarship can be yanked at any minute.”
“Remind me. Kid sis?”
She nodded, not wanting to go into the whole sordid mess. She knew she had spoken with Brandon about her situation before, though with as many customers as he saw, she couldn’t begrudge him forgetting details of her life. He remembered the highlights.
As it was, she couldn’t stand the inevitable look of pity which would befall Brandon’s friendly face should she refresh his memory. The shorthand version detailed how her parents were hit by a drunk driver on their way to her college graduation, therein leaving Anna the legal guardian of her younger sister. Misty hadn’t taken the loss well, and her anger reflected in her grades, not to mention her social circle. “Yeah. Kid sis who’s a resident party girl on campus, and if she keeps making dumb mistakes, I’m going to get saddled with her tuition. I can’t afford that.”
Brandon shrugged. “All kids are party kids in college.”
“Misty could give Charity a run for her money.” Anna nodded at her dancing friend for emphasis. The bartender grinned appreciatively. “And even if she doesn’t wind up getting the financial boot, Monroe could pull strings and get things screwed up really good.”
“I don’t see him having that kinda power.”
“Even if he doesn’t, she’s not the best student, and I have to make sure she gets a good education.” A long, worried sigh tore through her body. “I don’t know how I’m going to do this.”
Brandon frowned and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it’ll be okay.”
“You don’t know that.” Anna hated the needy whine in her voice. In all her life, she’d never whined about anything. Not until Monroe tossed her to the curb. “I don’t know that, so there’s no way you can.”
“We bartenders have an uncanny sense of the uncanny.”
She cracked a grin, standing right at the edge of what would surely be a witty retort when a hand wrapped around her wrist. A warm, masculine hand directing her into an equally warm, masculine chest, and she found herself drawn into such deep blue eyes she would have sworn she’d drowned. Good God, she’d never seen a man so perfect. Not in reality, at least, or any reality she’d known. He felt the right height for her, topping her by an inch, more or less, complete with a wiry frame. His cheekbones were lickable, his dark hair cropped military-style and his ocean blue eyes stormy with promises of things Anna never even considered on a first date—but with panties instantly damp and blood suddenly racing, the rules she lived by suddenly seemed silly and prudish.
Too bad her brain had overloaded. All she could manage was a pathetic “Wha…”
“Dance with me.” His voice wrapp
ed around her like a blanket.
“I-I don’t… I don’t really dance. I mean, I linger and stuff but I don’t dance.” Anna licked her lips. She spoke the truth. She used to dance plenty, but since the Real Job she hadn’t had much time for socializing. Now, standing without employment, she feared she’d forgotten the steps.
Oh, but he was pretty. A long, long time had passed since she’d had a strong reaction to any guy, especially simply by looking into his eyes. For the way her stomach twisted and her breath came up short, she had a feeling the night had only begun.
“Dance with me,” he said again.
This time, she didn’t protest.
* * * *
What began as a harmless infatuation had suddenly exploded into something Wolf didn’t know if he could contain. Approaching Anna had been the worst idea he could have come up with, but with her small, perfect body pressed close to his, her scent in his nostrils and her small hands gripping his forearms, he couldn’t muster the strength to give a fuck. She radiated light and purity, things he honestly didn’t know still existed in this world, and getting up close, seeing her smile and dance, worry and chat, seeing her in her world had pushed him over whatever edge remained left to topple.
Standing with her confirmed what he already knew, what he’d known, in one way or another, since the beginning. His assignment had been a mistake. Anna didn’t match the girl in the file. She wasn’t dark or devious, or anything suggesting she was a threat. He knew simply by how badly he wanted her. Wolf wasn’t attracted to dark, elusive women anymore. All things looked the same buried in shadow. Anna didn’t. Anna shone. She was perfection.
Wolf frowned and kicked the thought away, along with the flood of others condemning him for breaking one of the essential rules of the game. Never touch the merchandise. Never get personally involved. Never let them see you. All shot to hell. Anna clearly saw him. She had stars in her eyes, and though she didn’t speak immediately, though she let nothing out, he knew with absolute certainty what she thought.
Moving Target Page 1
