For some reason, Reaper stood staring at the building longer than he should have. He’d escorted Annie safely, and yet, something nagged at him. His danger radar pinged.

Surely, Annie wasn’t in danger. The woman led a boring life. Nothing he’d turned up on her indicated anything untoward. She didn’t even travel.

Despite her clean background, he highly doubted she was academy trained. During the attack at the restaurant, she didn’t do anything right, from climbing out the window without checking for enemies first to sauntering up the alley without a care. The woman had no sense of self-preservation.

Unless she was in cahoots with the shooter.

That would make sense. Perhaps this was a ploy to lull him into a false sense of security. Have him lower his guard so he’d trust her and let her close.

Except her fear had been very real. Even the best actress couldn’t hide the sour scent of trepidation, the rapid flutter of a pulse in panic, the whimpers held back.

Apart from the physical signs, the fact that she ignored his text once he got to his office—You okay?—was odd for a woman supposedly trying to get closer to him.

Annie had actually done everything to keep Reaper at arm’s length.

What if he was overthinking things? Not everyone was out to get him. Although there were a good many who wouldn’t mind seeing him dead.

Like Harry, who waylaid him on the way into the office.

His boss glared. “You missed another meeting.”

“And I’ll keep missing them so long as I’m grounded.” No point in being briefed on missions Harry wouldn’t let him accept. Why waste his time listening to lectures about adventures he couldn’t enjoy when he had files and real clients that needed his attention?

“The doctor said to take it easy.”

“I’ve been taking it easy for months,” Reaper growled.

“And it won’t kill you to wait a few more if necessary.”

“Says you.”

“Don’t be such a whiner. You almost died. Try counting yourself lucky instead of bitching about the fact that your old ass needs longer to heal.”

“I am not old.”

“Says the guy with more salt than pepper in his beard.”

The reminder had him stroking it. He did have quite a bit of gray and white in there now. Especially since the incident. “I’m not too old.”

“No, but you also can’t do the same kinds of physical missions as before with your bum leg. I’ll let you know when the right job comes along. Things have just been quiet lately. Blame it on the holidays.”

Way to remind him that he’d yet to get a tree. Then again, why bother? Putting presents under it for himself from himself seemed pathetic. But it did give Reaper the opening he needed.

“Speaking of holidays, I’m going to need a few days off.”

“You finally going to do something to celebrate?”

Not quite. He planned to follow a lead on the woman who’d shot him. “I was thinking of visiting a chalet in the mountains.”

“You hate skiing.”

“But I do love hot rum toddies.” And lounging by a real wood fire. For some reason, he couldn’t help but wonder how Annie felt about real fur on her naked body.

Harry interrupted his interesting thought process about bear rugs and his matchmaker. “You can have time off. But keep your phone handy. As you know, the day after Christmas can get nuts.” Blame the spurt of marriage proposals on Christmas Day and New Year’s for couples suddenly needing a home.

“Sure thing, boss.” The grin he projected apparently didn’t reassure.

“You’re up to something.”

“Who, me?”

Harry frowned. “Where’s your jacket? It’s bloody cold outside.”

“It might have been left behind at the scene of a crime.”

“What do you mean?” Harry shouted before lowering his voice and leaning close. “You called in a cleanup crew, I assume.”

“No, and before you freak, it wasn’t my crime. Some random shooter took aim at the place where I was eating lunch.”

“Targeting you?”

“No idea.” Lie. He kind of got the impression that the shooter was looking right at him.

But almost got Annique instead.

Had his past caught up with him? He’d have to watch himself. Be more careful in his dealings and outings. Keep away from civilians to avoid accidental casualty.

The shooting, possibly directed at him, gave him a reason to stay away from Annie, and yet, the first thing he did once he got into his office? He logged into the secure network and then played around with some software Mason had installed on his computer. Software sounded legitimate and good.

Wrong. Because of his tech buddy, Reaper could access just about any database he wanted. Department of motor vehicles, police files, FBI. Even the CIA had some loopholes. About the only system that was secure was Interpol. They had a hacker to rival Mason working for them.

Today, he wasn’t after driver’s license pictures and addresses or school records. He wanted a certain security camera feed.

A camera system that kept an eye on the offices of Secret Match.

He wasn’t stalking her. Merely ensuring her safety. It took only a few clicks to flip through the security footage until he saw the one he wanted.

He stopped and watched Annie pacing her office, arms crossed over her chest, pausing every so often to look at a vase of flowers.

Who sent her flowers?

Not him, or her fake husband. The research he’d done thus far didn’t show any signs of a boyfriend—her cell phone records and texts were always about work, nothing personal. Yet someone felt a need to send her flowers.

And she didn’t look happy about it.

Whirling suddenly, she grabbed the vase and threw it, smashing it against the wall, sending blooms scattering.

He fired off a message to Mason. I need to find out who delivered some flowers to the offices of Secret Match.

Because if someone was harassing Annie, he wanted to know.