We get back to my apartment and I check for anything out of place. My house is a map—everything leads me to something else. I follow the exact same routine each day, and if something is missing or even a half an inch off, I’ll know.
“So the guy moved too fast for you?” Mark asks me again.
“Are you hard of hearing?”
“Why didn’t you ever bring me here before? This place is different.” He looks around at my things and adds, “I’m just surprised. I figured you’d have his name already. Aren’t you like a super spy?”
“I don’t have X-ray vision. Plus, you were spinning me and moving me. It’s kind of hard when I’m not leading.” I turn and glare at him. “Stop touching things!”
“Oh . . .” he nods. “You’re one of those kind of girls. Got it.”
My jaw falls slack. “What kind of girl is that?”
“Tell me again how you failed to get the description of the other guy.”
I want to slap that damn smirk off his face. Instead, I decide to focus on what we know and what I need to do. First, is to learn why I’m being tailed. Second, find out who it is and if it’s the agency behind it, which wouldn’t surprise me. My father had me shadow people after they took leave. We needed to be sure they weren’t doing, well, exactly what I’m doing.
I can’t make any mistakes this time.
“Mark,” my tone is serious. “We need to talk. In here.” We enter my very seemingly girly office.
“Never pegged this one.”
“You make an awful lot of assumptions, buddy.”
I know I’m not the typical girl. I don’t give off the makeup and hair vibe, but I’m the fox in sheep’s clothing. I should buy stock in Sephora with as much as I spend. I love to feel like a woman, especially because I live in a man’s world. It’s my one indulgence. Well, that and shoes. And purses. Okay, I’ll just say I have a serious shopping addiction. Just because I fight like a man doesn’t mean I can’t feel like a lady.
He steps close, and I defend myself against his presence. The fact that he affects me at all doesn’t bode well. I’m not sure why this man out of any can make me slip even a little. Could be because I haven’t gotten laid in far too long. Sure, I’ll go with that. I need sex, and then I’ll be over this little . . . whatever it is.
“I think you’ll be happy to know I’ve been wrong more often than right. You’re nothing like I expected. I imagined your office would be colder, sterile, like the illusion you give off.” His eyes don’t move from mine. “Instead, it’s warm, beautiful, and comforting, which is what I think you are deep down. You have a tough exterior, but inside, I think there’s more.”
“Don’t pretend like you know me.”
“I know more than you’d like,” he jeers.
“You think that.”
“Princess, there’s a lot a man can tell about a woman when her tongue is in his mouth. I know you wanted me. I know your breathing was shallow, your heart was racing.” He steps closer. “You loved fisting my hair, pulling me into your body. You kissed me like I gave you life.” He shifts even closer. “I could do it right now, and you’d let me.”
I move toward him this time. I see in his eyes that he’d be all too happy for another round. I’m not playing this game, though. I’m here for one thing—to avenge my father’s death. To destroy the people who’ve made my life miserable. This is an assignment I can’t lose, and Mark won’t be the variable to thwart my plans.
“I’ll tell you what I want.” I smile and then take my lip between my teeth. Seduction is a game I’m very good at. “I want you . . .” I pause, closing the distance. “To let me show you . . .” My body moves sensually as I push nearer. My hand presses against his chest as I move him back.
His eyes darken. “Show me what?”
Putty in my hands.
“Trust me?”
He smiles and wraps his fingers around my arms like a vice. “Fuck no, I don’t. I see through you, Charlie. You may be good at playing this game, but you don’t know who your opponent is.” Mark pulls me against his body. “You underestimate me, but I sure as hell don’t think you see me as a threat.” His lips close in.
What is going on? This isn’t what should be happening. Again.
“Which is your biggest . . .” He glides closer. “Fucking . . .” His lips ghost across mine. “Mistake.”
He can read me. He sees through it, but I’m the world’s best actress. It’s time to play as if I expected this. “Ahh!” I step back, smirking. “And you just played right into my trap. If we’re going to work together, you’ll need to be better at figuring out the end game.”
He releases me and bursts out laughing. He clutches his stomach as it rolls through him. “Okay, Charlie. Whatever you say.”
This new emotion runs through me. I’m not sure if it’s embarrassment or fear, since I’m not acquainted with either. He terrifies me, though. The fact he can sense when I’m bluffing seeds doubt. What if Mark is somehow involved in all this?
“Maybe we should talk another time.” I start to second-guess reading him in.
“What?” he asks in disbelief. “You’re joking, right? Because I didn’t drive up here and save your ass to have you back out.” Mark’s arms cross as he plops himself on my chair. “You want me gone? You’re going to have to drag my ass out.”
“We can’t cross lines. There’s too much at stake to even remotely play games with each other.” I go for honesty. Maybe if he sees, he’ll stop pushing the buttons I wasn’t aware I have.
“I agree. You’ll have to keep your hands to yourself.” He raises a brow.
“Is everything a joke to you?”
“Pretty much.”
“This won’t work,” I huff.
“Start talking, Charlie. We have a mutually important issue here. I don’t know what yours is, but you know mine. If anyone is at a disadvantage, it’s me. I came on your terms. I would’ve much rather had the upper hand.”
That’s partly true. I have the cards and the information he wants. Mark, Jackson, and Aaron are the ones who are trying to wade through the dark. Of course, I don’t have anything solid on who’s pulling the strings, but I have a hunch. I know Al Mazir is involved. They tortured Aaron for information he didn’t have. And if Mark knows a name that Aaron figured out, I would bet my house that’s why he’s here.
I know bluffing. I know dying before giving up anything. I also know very subtle things the human body can’t lie about. But as well trained as I am, and as damn good as I am, I have a tell.
“I have to be able to trust you, Mark. I need to know that no matter what, you’re in this. One hundred percent.”
Mark stands. “I will find the information I need with or without you. I think if we work together, we’ll accomplish a hell of a lot more and a lot faster. Trust works both ways. How do I know the CIA isn’t somehow involved in this? What if you’re trying to gather something from me? I don’t know if you are, so I have to trust you. You’re not the only one taking a risk, but answer me this . . .” He seems to weigh his words. “You know everything about me, I’m sure. You know how long I was a SEAL, my service record, the medals I’ve been awarded, and the people I’ve killed, but what do I know about you?”
“Nothing,” I answer, because he’s right. “It’s meant to be that way.”
“Exactly. So again I ask, who is taking the real risk?”
“We both are.”
“Wrong answer,” he says and turns to head out the door.
“What are you doing?”
He stops at the threshold. “Leaving. When you’re ready to tell me everything, no holds barred, feel free to call me. Until then, good luck, Charlie.”
My mind is at war. I have choices, we all do, but hesitation isn’t something I have time for. Mark is my best shot at having someone smart, cunning, and ready to do whatever needs to be done for answers. He won’t flinch if we have to do something unethical.
The choice is mine, and maybe I’m playing into his hands. Maybe he isn’t being transparent, but my gut says he is. “Stop,” I command. “I’d rather save you another trip here.”
He turns, walks back in the room, and resumes his last location. Mark doesn’t gloat or rub it in my face. Instead, he sits quietly and waits.
I turn on the monitors behind the one-way mirror, press the button that engages the steel door, effectively locking us in and ensuring no one can overhear, and activate the high frequency noise in case someone planted bugs. The trap door under my desk opens and I pull the file out.
“You’re going to share the name of your decorator,” Mark jokes.
I can’t say I don’t enjoy the awe in his eyes. I have more safeguards in this space than anyone could guess. But I needed a place where I could escape, hide, and sometimes lock myself away. “You’re not high enough on the food chain.”
“I joined the wrong government agency.”
“It’s okay. I’ll let you look at my toys.”
His gaze shifts to my breasts.
“I’ll play with them, too.” His green eyes deepen. “Your toys, that is.”
“Sure, that’s what you meant.”
He shrugs as if it was only natural to be caught staring. “They’re eye level.”
I shake my head and sit next to him. It’s time to get to work. Each minute we spend doing this is a minute my finish line gets farther away. “So, how much do you know about Al Mazir and the cell that held Aaron?”
“I know this isn’t the first time I’m hearing that name.” Mark’s voice is smooth as glass.
“Well, allow me to enlighten you.”
“First, I need to know something.”
“What?”
“What’s your first name?”
“Not on your life, Dixon.”
“You look gorgeous, darling,” my mother appraises as I enter the ballroom. I’m a little late, so I expect the zings to start very soon. It’s not within her to hold back.
“Not nearly as breathtaking as you.”
She pushes the orange satin between her palms. “It was your father’s favorite color.”
The one trait I share with my mother is her love of clothing—especially designer fashion. Priscilla Erickson doesn’t dress in anything cheap. Her purses are all coveted, and don’t even get me started on the shoes. I’ve requested all of them be left to me in her will. I could sleep in her closet and be happy.
My dress is a deep navy-blue silk ball gown. It has thin spaghetti straps and a plunging neckline, which I had to tape to ensure I don’t have a wardrobe malfunction. But the back is where the magic happens. The hemline has a small train—the entire reason I bought the dress—and there’s practically no material all the way down to my butt. It’s luxurious and sexy, yet it still appears classy. To finish it off, I wore my strappy gold heels.
“Your hair would’ve been better up.” Zing number one is out of the way.
“I thought it would be better down, but thanks for the suggestion.”
“I don’t see why you wouldn’t want to show off your neckline,” she continues. “You’d look so much prettier if we could see your blue eyes. But you keep them covered by your bangs.”
I sigh and close my eyes. I wish we could just stop. She’s all I have other than Dominic. We don’t have a large extended family. Both my parents were only children, and my grandparents passed away before I was old enough to remember them. But my mother insists on keeping me at arm’s length.
“Mother.” My knight in shining armor appears.
“Dominic!” she squeals in delight. “You look positively perfect. Unlike some people.”
Zing number two. I’ve got at least four more to go.
“As do you.” He smirks knowingly. Bastard. “Hello, my gorgeous sister. Kill anyone today?”
“Only you in my dreams,” I snicker playfully.
If looks could kill, Dominic would’ve never lived past his eighth birthday. He chose not to follow into the family business. Instead, he’s in politics, the equivalent to killing people to our father. He wanted to make a difference, a real one, he said. I believe he knew he couldn’t hack it in the CIA, which is unfounded, but it helps me tolerate his choices.
Dominic laughs and leans in to place a kiss on my cheek. “You owe me.”
“Put it on my tab.”
“Come,” Mother calls our attention. “Charisma, I expect you to behave like the antiquities dealer you are. None of your bullstuff tonight.”
“Shit, Mother. The word you’re looking for is shit.”
“Watch your mouth!” she chastises me. “And where is your date? I told you not to show up to this party alone.”
“I left him at the morgue.”
“You’re going to send me to my grave.”
It’s so easy. However, I earned myself some more zings.
Our mother gives us both a look, turns, and heads into the ballroom, which is the indicator that we should follow. Like the good, obedient children we are, we do. Dominic and I smirk at each other while we play the part we’ve been groomed for. Being socialites hasn’t always been easy, but together we created games to make it fun.
“Ten bucks each time someone tells you that you look like Dad.” I try to get him to bite. I’ll make at least a grand if he takes it.
“Five,” he counter offers. “And five each time someone tells you that you should really eat more.”
“Done.”
No one will ever say that to me. They don’t think women can ever be too skinny. If anything, they’ll tell me I should really start seeing their personal trainer, whom they’re probably screwing on the side.
“Be ready to pay up, sister.”
We enter through the double doors, and now I’m in awe. The décor is more lavish than anything she’s ever done. Crystal is everywhere. The lighting is low but catches every facet of glass in the space; the room sparkles. The tablecloths are burnt orange. It’s a far cry from her usual white and black style.
“Holy shit,” Dominic mutters.
“Did she hire a new party planner?”
“Or maybe she had a lobotomy and we didn’t know?”
“Would explain it,” I say before our mother spins and levels us both a death glare. “Nose goes,” I say with my finger on mine.
“Brat.”
“Loser.”
I love my brother. He accepts me for who I am, makes me smile, and keeps me human. With him, I never have to pretend. He stalks off toward the devil incarnate as I grab a flute of champagne off a passing tray.
“Keep these coming,” I say to the waiter. He nods with a knowing look on his face. Yup, it’s going to be an alcohol-required kind of night.
My natural instinct is to scan the room. It’s habit, and it truly comforts me. I gain a sense of control when I know the enemy is lurking. I see a few family friends and our nosy neighbor who attends everything so she can build her case that we’re into something illegal. I love that my mother indulges it, almost provoking her to try it.
“Charlie!” Kristy squeaks as she rushes toward me. “It’s been forever. How are you?”
Kristy Tubb is my childhood friend. Her father Dean was an agent for twenty years and my father’s handler. Naturally, they pushed us to be friends, and it was a blessing we got along. We grew up having only each other to talk to. Our “family vacations” were always spent together in some remote place with nothing to do. We had to entertain ourselves with made-up worlds and games. Kristy suspects I’m truly a spy, but I’ll never trust anyone outside the CIA.
“You!” I smile. “You look amazing!”
She scoffs. “Hello! Look at you! I mean, do you eat?” My face falls. I’m not telling him about that one. She doesn’t count. “I was hoping you’d be here tonight. Is Dom here?”
I chuckle. “I think your ship sailed, my friend.” I loop my arm in hers as we walk toward the bar. Where, of course, my brother happens to be talking to someone.
“Not until I get one sailing trip in,” she jokes. “I’ll never lose hope on him.”
I laugh and roll my eyes. She’s a mess. You’d think after twenty years, she’d move on. But instead, she just keeps trying. “Look who I found, Dom.”
“If it isn’t Kristy Tiny Tubb.” Dominic slips into politician mode. I watch as his body tenses, but he uses the nickname that drives her insane. “Been a while. You look great.”
She nods and then downs her champagne. “It’s been a long time, and I really hate that you still call me that. I’m not so tiny anymore.”
His eyes peruse her for far longer than I’m comfortable watching. “I’ll let you two catch up,” I say a little too loudly. “Come find me when the deejay shows up!”
“Not a chance in hell Priscilla hired a deejay.” Kristy giggles.
“But I might have.” I tip my glass with a grin.
I saunter off to find that waiter with the drinks. I’ll need to keep a full glass if I’m expected to stay for any period of time. Of course, Mom spots me before the nice man can refill me.
She gives me that mom stare that pins me to the floor. If I could read minds, I’m sure that look would say, Move and I’ll kill you. Don’t test me, Charisma. So, like a good daughter, I stay put.
“There you are, Charlie.” This woman. She actually sounds as if she happened to stumble upon me. Maybe she really is in the agency.
“Yes, here I am. Just standing here hoping that my new best friend makes his rounds.”
“His?”
I lean in. “I like the waiter.”
“Anyway,” she decides not to play along. “I want you to meet someone.”
Oh, this can’t be good.
“Mr. Dixon, this is my daughter, Charlie Erickson.”
My mother steps to the side, and sure enough, Mark fucking Dixon is standing before me.