Dylan

ADDISON AND JAKE left, allowing me entirely too much alone time to worry about my friend’s upcoming date with Greg. Addison and Jake had a great thing going, and I didn’t want to see her throw it away for this job. But she was as desperate to prove herself as I was, so I knew she’d go through with it.

Unless I get the evidence we need tonight.

I stared at the camera sitting on Addison’s desk and weighed my options. If I went after Greg without Addison, she’d probably be ticked. There’d be ranting and raving, and some colorful swearing, but she’d forgive me. And angry at me was better than her fighting with Jake. Resigned, I grabbed the camera and headed out.

Driving Addison’s car always gave me mixed feelings. I loved the comfort, lack of annoying noises and embarrassing leaks, and the looks people gave me when I was behind the wheel. I even enjoyed the double-takes they did when they realized I didn’t belong in a car this nice and had probably stolen it. But despite Addison’s reassurances that she was more concerned about my safety than some vehicle’s, I also drove each mile in fear of totaling it.

I made it to Greg’s office building about a half hour before he got off work, parked, and pulled out the camera. Addison had gone over all the settings with me, but I played with it and took a few practice shots to make sure everything worked. By the time Greg left his building, I had almost convinced myself I could adequately use the complicated piece of equipment to save Addison from ruining her relationship.

“Piece of cake,” I reassured myself as I followed Greg out of the parking lot, this time staying right behind him. We ventured through five o’clock traffic, pulling into the same grocery store he’d stopped in before. I watched him go in, wondering what I should do. Acting had never been my forte. Unlike Addison, I couldn’t walk up to the guy and start flirting, because I sucked at hiding my emotions and my disgust with him and myself would be written all over my face.

But maybe I didn’t have to throw myself at Greg. Why was he back at this store? He told Addison he had the good wine sent to him, so maybe he just came here to pick up women. If that was the case, I might be able to catch him in the act.

Just as I was summoning my courage to head in, my phone rang. Asher’s face appeared on the display and I groaned. It was like the guy was my own personal protector Jedi, sensing a disturbance in the force every time I was about to do something stupid. There was no way I could take the call and risk sounding guilty, so I let it go to voice mail and headed into the store.

Sure enough, I found Greg once again lingering in the wine aisle, but this time he was stalking a brunette who looked lost and confused. I pretended to peruse the selection as I set my phone to record.

“What are you pairing with the wine?” Greg asked, sidling up to her.

She gave him a tentative smile. “My boyfriend and his mom are coming over for dinner and I’m trying to impress him by grilling steaks. He gave me the name of a few wines she likes, but I can’t seem to find them, and I know nothing about wine.”

Greg instantly lost interest. He pretended to glance at the phone she extended toward him before shrugging. “You should probably find someone who works here to help you,” he said before turning his back to her.

The woman’s eyes narrowed. She shook her head and went back to staring at the white wine selection. I stopped my phone recording, silently cursed Greg for being such a douchebag, and stepped up to help her.

“You need to look in the red wine section,” I said. Unlike Addison, I didn’t know much about wine, but I knew most of the good stuff was red, and I’d read enough labels to know red was traditionally paired with steak.

She thanked me, and I helped her find the first selection on her list. Just as we were putting it in her basket, my phone rang. It got Greg’s attention. He turned around and stared at me, recognition lighting his eyes. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but I pulled out my phone and put it to my ear, heading for exit.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Asher replied. “I stopped by the office to whisk you out to dinner, but you’re not here.”

It was possible that my boyfriend was the sweetest man on the planet, which was extremely inconvenient at the moment. I felt someone watching me, so I glanced over my shoulder as I headed out the door, and confirmed that I still had Greg’s attention. No doubt he’d recognized me from when Addison was in here. I got the hell out of there before I wrecked our chances for catching the slime-ball for good.

“I’m at the grocery store, but I’d love to be whisked away for dinner,” I said, climbing into the car. “Want to meet me at home?”

So much for saving Addison from her date with Greg.

* * *

Addison

“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Dylan said from the doorway of my bathroom.

“We don’t have a choice.” I spritzed a little hairspray on and faced her. “It’s going to be fine. I’ve got the camera hidden.” I tapped the necklace I wore. The small lens looked like a dark gemstone in the center. It was perfect. “I’ll get in, get the evidence, and then get the hell out.”

“At least let me come with you. Uh...we could offer him a two for the price of one special?”

“No.” I slid past her and grabbed my bag, throwing my gun, pepper spray, and phone into it. “If he recognizes you from the grocery store, we’ll never get the evidence we need.”

“But letting you go in there alone doesn’t feel right. What if he makes a move? What if he slips you a date-rape drug?”

I rolled my eyes. “Dylan, please don’t think I’m stupid enough to eat or drink anything Greg gives me. I’ll get in, get him to say something incriminating, and then get out.”

“Do you have your emergency key fob?” she asked. Jake had issued Dylan and me emergency call buttons during Dylan’s trial, and had insisted we keep them. As much as I felt I was “woman hear me roar” and could take care of myself, I was also smart enough to know that sometimes we’d need help. My man was all alpha, all bossy, but mostly a sweetheart and motivated by the need to protect me, so I was fine with having the key fob—and if I was being honest, it made me feel safe.

“Yep. But you know I’m not going to use it.”

“Addison.”

“Dylan, stop,” I ordered, gently but firmly. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’m going to follow you.”

“You’re having dinner with Asher.”

“We had dinner last night.”

“You can’t blow off my brother,” I said. “You know how intuitive he is. He’ll know something’s up before you even get the excuse out of your mouth.”

“So I won’t blow him off and I won’t talk to him. I’ll text him that I’m running late,” she said. “If this is as quick as you say, then I’ll barely be half-an-hour behind schedule.”

I started to argue, but she cut me off.

“Addison. For the record, I think this is a really bad idea, and there is no reality in which I let you go on a fake date with Portland’s sleaziest loser alone. Are you smoking crack or something?”

I sighed, but couldn’t deny the relief I felt at knowing Dylan would have my back. “Fine. Follow me. But at a safe distance, okay? I don’t want him to see you.”

“Not my first rodeo.”

“But it is only your second...”

Dylan snorted and stalked out of my room. We met at the front door and headed down to the parking garage together. I climbed into my car and programmed the GPS, frowning when I noticed Greg’s office address listed as the last address visited. I checked the date and time...my car had been to Greg’s while I was at Jake’s last night. Ergo, Dylan did something wholly stupid.

Turning off my car, I climbed out and stormed to Dylan’s vehicle. She cranked down her window (seriously, I had to figure out how to get her a new car without her freaking. She at least needed to come into this century).

“Hey...why does it look like lightning bolts are about to come out of your eyeballs?” she asked.

“Well, you tell me, missy. Where did you go after I left the office last night?”

Her eyes widened. “Uh...about that. I was meaning to tell you—”

“Don’t tell me you went to Greg’s office! Without me? What the hell were you doing?”

“Something a hell of a lot safer than going on a fake date with a hornball,” she said.

I crossed my arms and shook my head. “Ohmigod, you’ve been shot. Twice! Yet you still act all invincible. This is not okay! I’m calling my brother.”

I heard the creak of her door as she pried it open and came rushing after me. “What the hell, Addison? No. You can’t tattle on me. Who does that?”

I blinked back tears and faced her. “Fine, but you have to stop trying to go solo.”

“Hello Pot, meet Kettle. Weren’t you just arguing with me about why you should go to Greg’s alone?”

“But at least I told you what I was doing and where I was going! I’d never do it without telling you!” I countered. “What if he drugged you and dragged you to his car, killing you and dumping your body somewhere we’d never find you?”

Dylan blinked. “Wow, that got dark.”

I threw my hands in the air. “I’m trying to drive home a point!”

She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I should have told you. I wanted to go save the day and catch Greg in the act so you wouldn’t have to do this tonight. I knew if I told you, you’d try to talk me out of it.”

“I get it and I appreciate it. Honestly. But if this is going to work, we have to communicate. We need to have each other’s backs. No more doing stuff without me. Capisce?”

Dylan snickered.

I scowled. “Ohmigod, those mafia books you keep quoting must be rubbing off on me.”

“You’re welcome,” she said with a grin.

“Whatever. But if you pull another stunt like that without talking to me, I’m sending you to sleep with the fishes.”

“Got it.”

“Okay, snarky pants, wipe that smirk off your face and come on. Let’s get this over with.” I slid back into my car and waited for her to do the same, then we headed up to the sketchy St. John’s neighborhood to get evidence on a slime-ball.

I pulled up to Greg’s house and watched Dylan drive past. She flipped a u-turn and parked on the opposite side of the street, facing Greg’s front door. I gave her a bolstering smile, hit the record button on my phone, tucked it in the clear front pocket of my purse (camera facing out), and headed toward the door.

The door opened, and Greg stood before me, bare-chested and barefoot, wearing only a pair of blue joggers. It took everything in me not to shudder at the slimy smile stretched across his lips, but I had to admit he did have a nice six-pack. “You’re early. Sorry for my appearance. I just got out of the shower.”

His dark hair was wet, but I’d bet Greg was dressed exactly how he planned to be. This man knew what he was doing. The realization made me more than a little nervous about crossing the threshold into his lair. “I can come back later,” I offered.

“No, no, don’t be silly. Come on in.” I hesitated, and he looked me over. “You look great, by the way.” Then he seemed to catch himself giving me an actual compliment, so he added, “Those jeans really minimize your hips.”

Oh, hell no. I had to go through with this, because Greg needed to get his comeuppances for the benefit of women everywhere. Resolve strengthened, I offered him a shy smile and thanked him for blessing me with his kind words.

He nodded and stepped back, and I walked through the cloud of cheap cologne into a total bachelor pad. An oversized leather sofa took up much of the small space, facing a fifty-two-inch flat-screen television which was currently showing a Yule log. The dingy grey walls were in desperate need of a paint job, and the worn carpet had probably never been cleaned. If the stench of Greg’s cologne hadn’t made me nauseous, the cheesy romantic music he had playing would have.

“Nice place,” I lied.

“Thanks,” he said. “Some buddies and I are fixing it up. Here, I took the liberty of pouring you a glass of wine.” He handed me a beer glass. Seriously, who the hell puts wine in beer glasses?

You’re quite the wine connoisseur, aren’t you now, Greg?

“Thanks,” I said. As I assured Dylan, I had no intention of drinking or eating anything he offered me.

“Make yourself at home, dear. Dinner’s all prepped and won’t take long.”

I climbed up on a barstool and set my purse on the bar separating the kitchen from the living room, making sure my camera had a great view of me and the space. This was plan B, in case something went wrong with the hidden camera. There was no way in hell I was suffering through another date with Greg, so if neither camera caught the footage we needed, I was going to have to shoot him. That was plan C. I’d been kidding when I added plan C, but if he made one more crack about my hips, I had faith I could pull the trigger.

He headed into the kitchen, smiling at me over the bar as he set celery and carrot sticks on the counter. “A start to our training, hmm?”

“I do love a good stick of celery,” I said.

“Excellent.” He smiled. “Drink your wine, dear.”

If he called me “dear” one more time, I might have to chuck the wine in his face. So patronizing and demeaning.

I set my glass down on the bar to remove the temptation. “I thought we were going to be exercising.” I said. “Shouldn’t we wait to drink until afterward?”

Greg grabbed raw chicken and veggies from the refrigerator and turned on a burner. “You know, studies show that drinking a glass of wine before a workout helps your muscles relax and reduces your risk of injury.”

Right. Chicken, veggies, and a side of bullshit. I nodded and pretended to believe him. “I hadn’t heard that. Fascinating. Will we be working out while the meal’s cooking?” I honestly just wanted him to hurry and make a move on me so I could get the hell out of there.

“Relax.” He smiled. “I’ve got it all under control.”

Once he had the food cooking, he came back into the living room and pushed the sofa closer to the television, clearing a spot. He unrolled an exercise mat over the area and then stood on it with his feet apart. “The first move I’m going to show you is the balancing squat.”

My stomach sank. He really was going to teach me exercise moves. Dammit. I didn’t have time for this crap. Annoyed, but feigning interest, I watched as he explained then demonstrated the move before calling me over and positioning me to do the same. I balanced on one foot then went down into a squat just like he had done. I’m pretty sure I nailed the move, but he told me I had it all wrong and directed me to do it again...with his help. This time he kept his hands on my waist as I moved.

When I went down into the squat, he was right behind me, his thighs enveloping mine as his bare chest pressed against my back. “There,” he said. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

No, it definitely did not feel better. It felt downright icky. I was about to tell him as much when he snaked a hand up and copped a feel of my breast. I bolted upright, knocking him over. “What are you doing?”

He gave me a sly grin and stood. “Oh come on, Lydia.”

Lydia? The asshat couldn’t even get my fake name right. “Lynda. My name is Lynda,” I said, crossing my arms in front of me.

He approached slowly with his hands out.

“Right, that’s what I said. Lynda. We both know why you’re really here.” His expression was wild. Angry? I couldn’t tell.

I sucked in a breath and took a step back...toward my purse. My heart was racing at the feral look in his eyes. Did Greg know I was working for his wife’s divorce attorney? Was he pissed? Was he going to murder me, put me in a weighted barrel and toss me into the Willamette? I couldn’t reach my purse because he was suddenly in my personal space, his hand pressed against the small of my back as he whispered in my ear, “I know you want me. It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone.”

“I...I...oh yes, I do,” I lied. Realizing I was finally getting the footage I needed, I shifted to make sure the phone had a good view of what he was doing, since I wasn’t sure how much the hidden camera could get with him practically on top of me.

His other hand was on my stomach, creeping toward the hem of my sweater. “It’s okay. I want you, too. I have every intention of helping you work off those big hips...the old-fashioned way.”

Yep, I was gonna have to shoot him. His hand slipped under my shirt and reached for my breast again. My entire body recoiled, and I practically flung him across the room. I reached for my purse, grabbing the gun from within. Turning around, I aimed it at him and said, “I think that’s enough exercise for one night, don’t you?”

The front door flew open and Dylan moved in, her gun at the ready, her face pale.