“Yes, I said dinner.” Was Lily asking about the involvement of food because she happened to be one of those girls who wouldn’t eat in front of a man? If that was the case, then he’d best cut his losses.

“Sorry, I can’t.” She shook her head.

“Did you already eat?”

“No.”

“You do eat, right?”

Her lips curved. “I do. I just can’t afford to eat out right now. Ask me again in a few weeks when I’ve got my bills all squared away.”

“You’re not paying. The dinner would be on me.”

“I still can’t go.”

“Why not? I just said you didn’t have to pay.”

“Exactly, which now makes it look like I was asking. Which I wasn’t.” She shook her head and actually looked horrified.

“I’m paying because I have this silly notion that if a man asks a woman out, he pays.”

“Because he’s expecting something in return.” Another shake of her head.

“You’re right. I do expect something. Something kind of spy-ish.”

“Role playing?” She arched a brow.

“Role playing is fake. This is real. I need you to play the part of my girlfriend. Tonight we’re going on a reconnaissance mission to retrieve information, but we must do so discreetly.” The amusing thing about telling the truth was the fact that she never suspected it.

“You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend? Don’t you have a real one you can call?”

“Is this your subtle way of asking if I’m single? I am, by the way.”

“I really don’t care if you’re dating anyone because I have no interest in you.”

“Then where is the harm in coming?”

Such distrust Lily showed. It didn’t take a genius to see she’d been hurt. He thought it entertaining how he told her the truth and she treated it as a joke. Yet Calvin actually had asked her to go in part because he thought she’d make a great cover for him. The other part was because she was cute, and he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

It was stupid, as stupid as messing with her by actually telling her the truth. Why would he do that? What if someone listened? Then again, if anyone had ears on him, then he’d failed as an assassin to secure his neighborhood.

“Before you say no again to being my covert companion in the field, let me try and bribe you with the thought of the best shareable appetizer menu you’ve ever tasted.”

“How good is it?”

He wanted to purr, “so good,” but he manned up and instead said, “Are you coming with me or not?” And he wondered if she caught how dirty that sounded.

In a second, she’d probably blast him. Tell him he was a pig. I’m dirty, and not just because of my job. She inspired the lustiest thoughts in him. Probably best she not go.

“Okay,” she said.

What? She’d agreed. How unexpected. He recovered quickly. “Excellent. It’s sixish now. What do you say I grab you around eight? Wear something swanky. The place we’re going is a little high-end, so no jeans or yoga pants.”

“Any other requests?” she asked, leaning against the door, her gaze amused, the curve of her lips taunting.

Probably too soon to ask her to go commando. “Since you’re taking orders, how about letting your hair down?”

“I might be able to arrange that. And what about you? What will you wear?”

Again, saying he’d like to wear her probably strayed into getting-slapped territory. “Probably another suit.”

“I like the suits.” As if she’d not meant to say it, her head ducked.

“What about what’s in the suit? Do you like that, too?” Was he flirting? Like fuck. He shouldn’t flirt with his neighbor. He also shouldn’t have asked her out or told her the truth.

She raised her gaze. “Is that a corny way of asking if I like you?”

How bold of her to ask. And yet… “You avoided answering.”

“Do you want me to tell you that you’re pretty?” She arched a brow and grinned.

“I’d say that part was obvious.”

“What makes you think that?”

“You did say yes to a date.”

“I’m saying yes to free food. Oh, and to kicking your butt at pool for money. I could use some cash to do a good grocery run.”

“You think you can beat me?”

“I know I can.” Her smile emerged wicked with promise.

“You’re on.” Let her bring it. He was pretty slick with a cue.

As promised, Calvin picked her up by eight. Seven forty-five, actually, because he was ready and ridiculously impatient.

It turned out she was ready, too, and looked scrumptious with her hair down. It went just past her shoulders and framed her face in soft waves. He couldn’t help but reach out to touch it.

“I like this.”

“Thanks.” She fidgeted, her hands clutching a small purse.

The walk to his car proved quiet and weird. For some reason, he found himself tongue-tied around her. Him, a guy who’d sweet-talked his way out of a firing squad death. Then killed the guy who spared him. He would add that he did the world a favor—and filled his offshore account.

The inside of the car proved a close atmosphere, especially since she sat stiffly looking ahead, her hands clasped in her lap. She obviously regretted saying yes. He could feel the trepidation rolling off her. Why did she fear him so much? He’d done nothing to inspire that level of disquiet.

Maybe she’s finally beginning to believe I’m the bad boy she should stay away from.

Problem was, he didn’t want her to go.

“Are you ready to slip into your role?” he said lightly.

“Are we still pretending to be spies?”

“No pretense. We’ll have to play it right if we don’t want to look out of place.”

“And what’s playing it right?” she asked, the tension in her easing the more they spoke.

“Well, we’re obviously infatuated with each other. So that means no staring at other men.” He’d hate to have to kill them later.

“That goes for you too, then.”

“I’ll do my best to not ogle the men.”

She laughed. “Eyes off cleavage and butts.”

“What about legs?”

“Do you want to blow our cover?” she teased.

He’d blow if she touched him. “You’ll have to laugh at every joke I make.”

“That should be easy. You and your delusions are entertaining.”

A smile teased his lips. “Or perhaps I really am telling the truth. I am an assassin.”

“And I am a covert Russian agent.”

“Not likely. Your accent is too American, and your coloring screams more Italian.”

She looked over at him. “Next time we play, maybe you should pretend to be a bear shapeshifter. You are hairy enough to pull it off.”

“Next time?” He caught the slip of words. “Are we already planning a repeat?”

“Let’s see how this evening goes.”

The evening would go perfectly. He would allow nothing less.

The club he took her to was high-end and linked to a golf course. A swanky place that required a membership, mostly to prove you could afford the tab. No one was gauche enough to use actual money. Everything was done out of sight and discreetly.

In Calvin’s case, the membership was done through the company. Never knew when he’d have to wine and dine someone with money who wanted to buy property. Because, yes, in order to maintain their guise, they did wheel and deal realty. Usually to others of their ilk, who could afford it and needed a travel alibi.

The maître d’ recognized Calvin. “Nice to see you again, sir.”

No shit. The Bad Boys were known as excellent tippers. Calvin held out his hand and, as he shook Francis’s palm, greased it with a few bills. “The lady and I would prefer a table in the back.”

“But, of course. If you’ll follow me.” The maître d’ set them up in the farthest corner. The table was covered in snowy-white linen, while the chairs were polished wood, the seat and back upholstered and cushioned for comfort.

“You weren’t kidding about this place being upscale.” For some reason, Lily whispered. “I don’t know if this was a good idea.”

“Is this your way of reneging on playing billiards with me?”

“I—” Lily looked around and then down at her hands, hands with short, blunt nails and no polish. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“But you are. And you’re going to eat and play with me.” He meant that in the dirtiest way possible, and he caught the hint of pink rise in her cheeks.

A waitress appeared and took their order. While they waited for it to arrive, he draped his jacket over the seat and rolled his sleeves before he grabbed a cue from the rack on the wall. “Ready to play?”

For a moment, Lily hesitated. He saw the moment she made up her mind. Her back straightened, and her chin lifted.

“Are we playing for money?”

“I couldn’t take money from you.”

Her lips curved. “I was hoping you’d say that, since I don’t have any. But who says you’d win? How about a friendly wager?”

“What will you give me if you have no money?”

“How about a kiss?”

“What happened to no sexual favors?”

“No expectation of sexual favors,” she corrected. “This is my offer. One kiss if you win. A five spot for me if you don’t.”

“I’ll give you five dollars right now for a kiss.”

“Play me and win it. If you dare.” She arched a brow and looked so cute he was ready to dump his wallet on the table if he could toss her onto the pool table.

“I dare.” He pulled a fiver from his clip and placed it on the carved wooden rail. No fake pressed wood or vinyl for this moneyed place. The felt top on the table was a deep burgundy, the pockets woven leather strips. He racked the balls as she chose a cue.

He gestured to the neat triangle of balls. “Ladies first.”

“If you insist.”

That first game, he got to put away five balls before she beat him. The second game, he got three. By the fifth quick round, she smirked as she snared the ten spot sitting on the bar. She was still wagering kisses for money. He’d yet to get a single peck.

“Play again?”

Given she’d already cleared him of forty dollars, he thought a break was called for. He signaled the barmaid as he headed back to their table.

“So much for my cover as a pool shark,” he grumbled, though good-naturedly. Yes, he’d gotten beaten badly. He’d like to say he held back, but she’d spanked him.

Good thing he’d managed to fluster her once or twice, or he’d have completely lost his Bad Boy Inc. membership.

“Are you going to whine about losing to a girl?”

“What happened to us looking like a couple to keep our cover?”

She grinned at him from across the table. “I made it look real, I thought, when I grabbed your ass.”

“As I was taking a shot. You made me scratch.” Eight ball down, and she’d crowed in victory.

He’d called foul, and yet hoped she’d do it again.

She can grab any part of me that she likes.

Their little table at the back gave them a good view of the place. With their departure, the pool table acquired new players. It would give them something to watch. They also had a view of the far end of the bar. This early in the evening, it wasn’t packed shoulder to shoulder. It would get a little busier the later it got, and yet would still be less packed than most public bars. Privilege kept it exclusive, which was why the parents of rich kids loved to play here.

Once her initial surprise was over, Lily didn’t seem impressed by his choice of venue, but she certainly fit in. She didn’t wear a dress—pity, he loved legs—but the dress slacks with the flare at the bottom somehow showcased her hippy nature. The silk blouse, also in black, ghosted close to her skin, at times molding it and then hiding. It distracted Calvin, especially when he got hints of her brassiere underneath. Some men got turned on by naked images. He preferred it subtly hidden, making the reveal all the more special.

The waitress had left them a platter of edibles, as well as fresh glasses of wine. He took a sip and let the liquid roll around on his tongue. What ambrosia. In a place like this, the palate was expected to cater to a higher echelon, hence nothing in a brown bottle. Any kind of beer arrived in a glass, chilled and with only a hint of foam on top.

His pool shark of a neighbor liked wine with a hint of rosé. She handled a few glasses well, only the flush in her cheeks and the brightness in her eyes giving away her slightly tipsy state. She smiled at him often now, completely at ease and still thinking he bullshitted her about the assassin thing.

If only she knew. She’d probably run screaming.

Then he’d have to break one of his cardinal rules and shoot her.

Sentimentality got people killed. The sergeant had taught them that.

Given she thought he lied, he didn’t understand her motive in agreeing to come out with him. Then again, he still questioned his decision to ask her.

Since when did he mix his personal life with his professional one? Since when did he tell anyone the truth?

When did I get tired of always living a lie?

He needed to smarten up. He’d come here tonight to gather information. Bringing a woman along wasn’t part of the plan. She shouldn’t belong in any kind of plan, and yet there she sat across from him. Entertaining to talk to. Spirited to play. And so sexy he wanted to drag her out of here and hope he made it to his place before tearing the clothes from her and making her cry out his name.

His constant state of semi-erection obviously addled what wits he had. He should try eating more red meat to up his red blood cell count.

A brief glance at the bar gave him a slight reprieve. Perhaps he should make an attempt to at least try and achieve what he’d come here for tonight. Scanning the faces, one drew his eyes. He knew that face. It was in a stack of pictures he’d memorized earlier as possible drug connections.

“I should check on our drinks,” he said, standing from the table.

“Is that code for completing the mission?”

“Actually,” he said with a grin, “it is. I have to talk to a guy. It shouldn’t take me more than a few minutes.”

“While you’re saving the world, oh mighty double-oh-neighbor, I’m going to visit the ladies’ room. All kinds of action to be had in there. Hopefully, I won’t run into any bad guys.”

“Watch out for bathroom ninjas. They’re deadly with a tube of lipstick.” He winked, and she laughed as she rose from the table.

They headed in opposite directions, and as Calvin got closer to the bar, he couldn’t help but feel he was going the wrong way.

The target is at the bar. Dealing with him wouldn’t take long. Harry expected results, and Calvin always succeeded.

“Tony.” Calvin clapped the short guy on the back, but didn’t manage to knock him over. The fellow had more than a few pounds to keep him steady.

“Do I know you?” Beady eyes perused Calvin. Tony “Stubby” Clemons Junior was a several-generation mutt living off the money his daddy had made in the mattress business. Calvin had seen him around but never paid him much mind. He didn’t associate with lowlifes.

“You don’t know me, but you know my buddy. Daryl Rose.” Everyone knew Daryl. Rich playboy who prided himself on never being without the influence of something.

“Daryl I’m familiar with, but I’ve never met you.”

“I guess I didn’t make a great impression, and I haven’t been around in a bit. You know how it is. Work. More work.” He shrugged.

The shorter fellow dressed in an ill-fitting shirt let out a noisy laugh. “Yeah, I do know.”

“Speaking of work, I don’t suppose we can do business?” Calvin leaned against the bar and noted his table was still empty. Then again, Lily was a woman. She’d probably take a while. Women had this strange ritual when it came to bathrooms. Fixing their face being the one he didn’t quite get. Were they secretly aliens readjusting their noses?

“We can do business. Why don’t we go step into my office.”

Had to love the clichéd nature of every drug dealer he’d ever met.

Tony led the way to the men’s room, and it occurred to Calvin that he would probably run into Lily on the way. It wouldn’t look odd at all for two guys to go toward the bathroom together. Not strange in the least to anyone who knew Tony. But what would Lily think?

She still didn’t believe he was a spy of sorts.

Why did he care what she thought? He didn’t know, just like he didn’t know why he couldn’t wait to get back to her.

I am enjoying myself. And his business with Tony interfered with that.

Let’s get this over with.

Calvin didn’t encounter Lily at all on the way to the men’s room, and entering, he quickly noted it was empty. The handful of stall doors open, the urinal vacant. The door to the hall swung shut, cutting off some of the noise. As Tony babbled and reached into his pocket, Calvin grabbed him. He pushed Tony up against the door, hard enough to make him grunt.

An arm over a throat pinned the guy while Calvin grabbed the baggie out of his hand. He held it up and shook it, recognizing the symbol on the little packets. He might have found some of the tainted product. Only tests by Benedict would say for certain.

He waggled it. “Where did you get this?”

Tony didn’t seem to grasp the trouble he was in. “Give it back. It’s mine.”

“No, it’s mine.”

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

“Oh, I know what you are. You, on the other hand, have no idea just how much shit you’re in. So you’ll have to trust me when I say don’t fuck with me. Now I’m going to ask you again, who gave you this?”

“Fuck you, asshole.”

Slam. The door, a modern metal thing of brushed nickel, dented slightly as Tony’s head smashed into it.

“Motherfuc—”

Now that was just profane. Wham.

“Let’s try this again. Who.” Whap. “Sold you this shit?” Calvin held Tony up so that they were eye level, which meant Tony’s feet dangled off the ground. He wouldn’t be able to hold it for long—the guy ate way too many donuts for that—but it always impressed opponents when you dominated them like that.

A pity Lily wasn’t there to admire his strength. Speaking of whom, he really should get back to his date.

“I don’t hear you talking.” He sang the words while rapping Tony’s head off the door in time to the beat of the music being piped through speakers.

The man finally broke. “I don’t know his name. The guy who dropped this off to me is not my regular dealer. I tried asking him, but even he doesn’t know who’s giving it to him. He’s just a hired hand.”

Layers upon layers of mystery. “Are you cutting the stuff with anything?” Dealers had a tendency to do that to increase the profit margin. People often argued against legalization of certain drugs, figuring it would addict and kill people. They didn’t understand addicts were already dying because they had to deal with two-bit a-holes who didn’t mind mixing their drugs with powdered cleaner if they could get a little richer.

“If you’re talking about the tainted shit, then that wasn’t me. I swear. I had nothing to do with it.”

“You say that, yet you also just admitted to selling this”—a baggie shake—“from some unknown source.”

“Because it’s good shit.”

“Shit that kills.”

“Only some of it.”

“Don’t you have any kind of remorse for possibly killing kids?”

“Wasn’t me.”

“Are you going to say you didn’t know any of them?” Calvin leaned in close.

“I knew one, maybe two. But definitely not the Asian kid.”

Lee Huong could have gotten it off someone who did deal with Tony, but chances were if someone were disseminating the stuff all over the place, there was probably another dealer, or two, or more out there still peddling the stuff.

“Who else runs dope to the silver spooners?” It took a few more whacks for Calvin to get two names and locations. By the time he was done, there had been a few impatient knocks and shoves at the door.

Time to leave.

He dropped Tony. “Nice doing business with you. Now, a word of advice. Find a new place to live, or the next time I run into you, you’ll find yourself living here permanently. Six feet under.” These kinds of sleazy lowlifes annoyed him. It was past time Calvin took a moment to clean up his city.

Calvin exited the bathroom to see the corridor empty and a chilly swirl of outdoor air dissipating. Some guys probably used the alley when they found the bathroom occupied.

He finger-combed his hair and headed back to his table. The empty table. His date hadn’t returned.

A quick scan around, and he realized that either she was still in the bathroom, which seemed rather unlikely, or she’d disappeared.

Ditched? Surely not.

I was only gone a few minutes. Did she use that time to make her escape? Perhaps she faked having a good time.

If she did leave, though, she wouldn’t have left her sweater behind. He looked at the knitted sweater still draped across the back of her chair.

She’d probably not yet returned. Didn’t women complain of lines in their bathrooms?

He slid into his seat and waited. He kept peeking in the direction of the hall for the washrooms. He couldn’t help but recall at the far end of it, displayed in garish, red-lighted letters, EXIT. An exit he knew had recently been open.

Just folks going for a pee or a smoke in the alley. Happened all the time.

A tug in his gut said he should check.

He resisted the temptation to free the gun from his ankle holster—people saw a weapon these days and started screaming. He did, however, slide a hand into his pants pocket and curl his fingers around the garrote he kept in there. Because a man never knew when he’d need another tie for a neck.

Someone else’s neck.

As he pushed the matte black-painted bar to open the exit door, he wondered if he’d have to use it.

Hopefully. And maybe then Lily would start to believe him.