A week or so later…

Lily watched Zoe merging with the other kids wearing the uniforms and couldn’t help but hug herself. Leaving Zoe anywhere still brought a feeling of trepidation.

An arm slipped around her waist. “She’ll be fine here.”

“I know she will.” Unlike other schools, this academy—not the one Calvin had studied at but a private prep school for rich kids and famous parents—boasted the finest security. Zoe was safe here.

But Lily was a mom. She worried.

The one thing she didn’t worry about was her choice to be with Calvin. Any second thoughts she might have had about getting involved with Calvin didn’t survive amidst the knowledge of the depths he was willing to go to make this family work. And they were a family.

Calvin saw Zoe as his daughter. He gave her the affection and attention she needed. And Zoe needed it with Brock out of the picture. Who wouldn’t love a man who took steps to make sure their home was a secure fortress?

Sure, he might not have a conventional job, and she dreaded his first out-of-town trip next week, but then again, that was what she got for falling in love with the assassin next door.

Life was finally turning out to be the happily-ever-after she’d always wanted. And the sex was freaking fantastic—and, yes, she did brag to Jenny every chance she got. But she’d drawn the line at taking pictures to prove his size.

And as for the drug ring? Gone. The hooded man had vanished into thin air, leaving behind a vacuum that proved easy to disperse.

Bad Boy Inc., though, was watching. Waiting. And ready to kill—for a price.

* * *

I don’t know if this job is worth the price.

Kacy felt like an imposter sitting in the fancy restaurant. White linen on the tables. Candles. Snooty waiters. Even snobbier clientele. Harry had explained during his debriefing that the joint had some kind of Michelin star. She wasn’t sure what tires had to do with food, but her boss sounded impressed. Kacy, on the other hand, kept wanting to fidget.

When it came to places like this, girls like her usually worked in the kitchen or as waitstaff. They certainly didn’t sit in the dining room as patrons. She may be a fake diner, but still. The things she did for work. Like wearing a damned bra. Horribly confining thing.

She tried not to scowl too much. Harry would ream her out if she busted her cover before she’d even begun. Stupid sexist mission. Posing as some rich dude’s girlfriend because he was scared of getting his pansy-ass shot off.

Harry refused to tell her much about the guy, claiming their meeting and getting to know each other had to look authentic to anyone watching. Hence the blind date setup.

And the bra that dug into her skin. She’d also had to wax her legs, but she drew the line at a Brazilian. There wasn’t no man, client or not, who was getting a peek at those goods.

A deep voice rumbled at her back. “You must be Kacy.”

Standing, she turned and beheld a chest. A really wide chest covered in a snowy white shirt. She had to look up, even in her heels, and she noted a craggy face, piercing eyes, and lips pulled tautly in displeasure.

“Yeah, I’m Kacy. You must be Marcus.”

“You’re awfully small,” was the first mistake he made. The second was to loom even closer, crowding Kacy.

A man who liked to intimidate? She’d met her fair share and knew how to handle them, too.

She pressed into him and smiled—as her hand tucked between their bodies and squeezed his balls in a vise. “Call me small again, and I’ll make sure you sing soprano for life.”

Because this pint-sized killer didn’t take shit from nobody.

For more Eve Langlais books see