Sitting across from Annie, Reaper could tell she wanted to run. For some reason, he discomfited her. Did she sense the killer inside him?

I won’t hurt you.

But he might hurt someone if she didn’t start talking and spilling the truth.

She stirred her drink with the straw, having listened to his news while they shared a plate of scallops and truffle oil fries.

“How come I haven’t heard about the shooter’s capture on the news?” she asked.

“They haven’t announced it to the press yet.”

“Yet you know,” Annie pointed out.

“I have friends.” A few greased palms in the right places could yield a world of information. In this case, the fact that a crazy dude named Samuel Jenkerson of no fixed address was found wandering with a gun claiming that Satan told him to do it. When asked what he was asked to do, Samuel said, “Shoot the girl and her boyfriend.”

“So someone hired this Samuel guy to shoot someone. Sounds like a case of an ex-boyfriend gone crazy.”

Reaper fixed her with a stare. “Is that what it is? An ex who can’t let go?” Tell me who it is, Annie, and I’ll pulverize them.

“How would I know? This has nothing to do with me. Just a case of wrong time, wrong place.”

She lifted her drink to her lips and took a tiny sip of her Manhattan.

“The cops are still trying to figure out which couple Samuel was aiming for and who the gun belongs to. You sure no one has a grudge?”

“It wasn’t us.”

“What makes you so sure of that?” Reaper asked.

“My ex-boyfriend is dead. Boating accident.”

“I’m sorry.” Not really. It would be one less body to get rid of.

“He wasn’t a very good boyfriend, so it wasn’t a real tragedy.”

Which in and of itself was interesting. He’d not found police reports about abuse or questioning her on a tragedy either, which usually indicated it was an accident and that no one was a suspect.

“Where did you live before you moved here?” he asked.

“Lived here all my life.”

She lied. But how to confront her without admitting what he knew?

She’ll accuse me of stalking her. She wouldn’t be far from wrong.

The woman had become an obsession, and now everyone in the office knew it. Sherry had texted him, as had Harry. Everyone wanted to know who Annie was.

Mine.

“Why did you really come to find me?” Reaper asked.

“I told you, to get you to stop meddling in my affairs.”

“You could have called or texted.”

“I’m not afraid of doing things face-to-face.”

Brave words, yet she trembled. “What are you afraid of, Annie?”

She might have answered, except their waiter appeared with a tray. On it, a single white rose.

“For the lady,” the young guy said, offering it to Annie.

Her face blanched. “Did you do this?” She turned a stricken face on him.

No, he hadn’t, and it apparently meant something.

He grabbed the waiter’s wrist. “Who gave this to you?”

“A gentleman at the bar.”

“What guy? Show me.” He scanned the bodies, most of them wearing suits, seated at the bar.

“Let me go, sir.” The waiter pulled, but Reaper didn’t loosen his grip.

“I’ll let you go when you show me the fucking guy who sent you over with this.”

“It doesn’t matter. I have to go.” Annie popped out of her seat and snared her coat. She made her way quickly through the restaurant.

Tossing money on the table, he hurried after her. It was becoming a bit of a pattern.

He caught up to her on the sidewalk, frantically scanning left and right.

“Who are you looking for, Annie?”

“No one.”

“Like fuck.” She flinched, and he took a deep breath. “Sorry.”

“I can’t deal with you right now,” she said in a near whisper. “I have to go home.”

He’d take her home, but no damned way was he leaving her alone.

Not now.

Not ever.

As to whoever had put that frightened look on her face? Ticktock, asshole, I’m coming for you.