Authors: Natalie Dae and Sam Crescent
Shades of Grey (22 page)
Stop thinking about her like that. You’ve still got work to do. Get it done, then get the fuck out of here.
He knew he should, knew he ought to fulfill his obligations, pack his small bag and check out, taking the goods to his boss. Have a few days off before another assignment came his way. But he couldn’t resist getting up and following her, a hound dog chasing the scent, across the terrace and around to the front of the hotel.
She stood leaning against the building beside the semi-circular front steps, talking into a mobile phone. He stopped short, mind whirling with options, and decided on staying where he was, her spotting him be damned. She grew agitated, talking in sharper tones, pressing one hand to her free ear as if she needed to hear better. She nodded, glanced up and spotted him, then muttered something before cutting the call.
He smiled, wanting to put her at ease, but it clearly hadn’t worked. She stared at him, eyes wide, that caught-in-the-act face he’d seen too many times to count. He sighed at having such a delicious mark—it made his job more difficult—but he had to take her out whether he found her attractive or not. If he didn’t…well, it just wasn’t an option.
In three long strides he was beside her, gripping her elbow and steering her to the other end of the hotel, where darkness cloaked the side of the building and the trees looked nothing more than black blobs against the inky sky. Cloud coverage was nil, and the moon hung behind them, giving him the perfect setting to perform his last task here.
She struggled, quite the hellcat, but didn’t say anything, walking beside him until they reached the far corner of the building. He let her go, bracing himself for her to turn more feral, some kick-arse woman who knew martial arts and could take him down without a second’s thought.
She didn’t, instead leaning against the hotel, her face hidden by shadow and the night.
“What do you want with me?” she asked.
He savoured her voice—such a shame she wouldn’t speak ever again after five minutes with him—and clenched his teeth knowing what he had to do. Sometimes he hated his job.
“You know what I want, Fallan Jones. Know what I’ve got to do.” He kept his hands by his sides, delaying the inevitable lift and clutch, her neck snapping beneath his grip.
“I…I don’t know what you mean,” she whispered. “And how do you know my name?”
Very good.
She sounded genuine, was quite an actress, and he nodded his approval.
“The bag you put on the dessert trolley.” He sniffed, drawing her scent into his nose again.
“What about it?”
He chuckled. She was coming clean, then, giving up the pretence that she didn’t know what he wanted with her.
“What’s in it?” He guessed jewels—wasn’t it always jewels in those bags?—and waited for her answer.
It came quickly. “I don’t know. I was told not to look.”
Just as he’d expected.
“Who do you work for?” he asked, taking a step closer in case she had a mind to bolt.
“Asda.”
He laughed heartily at that. God, she was playing the game right until the end, wasn’t she? Asda…couldn’t she have picked a shop a little more upmarket? Waitrose, at least?
“It’s a job,” she snapped. “It pays the bills.”
“I’m sure it does. What about your other employer?”
She snorted. “You think I have time for a second job? I work all the hours God sends as it is. What do you want with me? I phoned someone back there, and when you came along I told him. You’ll get caught for whatever you’re thinking of doing, the man told me that.”
He ignored her, unperturbed by the threat. “You must earn a good wage to be able to afford to stay here and wear a dress that must have cost two week’s wages working for
Asda
…”
“I won this weekend away! What has it got to do with you anyway?”
He had to guess, what with the darkness, but he’d bet she looked at him now, mutinous, angry.
“It has everything to do with me. You’re lying. Who do you work for?” He snatched her wrist up, squeezing with enough pressure to let her know he meant business but not enough to leave a bruise.
Not that it mattered. She’d be dead in a few minutes. A pity, that.
“I told you!”
She tried to wrench her arm free and, failing, sagged against the wall. He wished he could see her face, read her expression, but perhaps it was just as well he couldn’t. He might well start believing her.
He sighed. “You know what happens now, don’t you?”
“What?” she asked, that one word spoken with the first hint of hysteria. “Please, I don’t know what you’re talking about. And you’re hurting me. You have me mixed up with someone else.”
He laughed again, quietly this time. Didn’t they always say that? Wasn’t that the general patter they came out with every time he caught up with them? A script that every mark was instructed to use, taking their true identity and that of their employers with them to the grave.
A shuffle to their right brought him up short. He should have expected it. The waiter would have passed a message on by now, and whoever had booked a night here in order to collect that bag would be on the lookout for him. He glanced to the side, tightening his hold on her, and saw a retreating black movement—someone’s shadow following the person it was tagged to. Whoever had peered around the side of the building had stepped back out of sight after making the mistake of creating noise.
“Come with me.”
Bishop made for the hotel’s rear, dragging Fallan behind him. She stumbled several times trying to keep up with him, pulling against his hold, tiny whimpers coming out of her. He forced himself to remember she was acting, that she’d been paid to do just this, and forced her to walk faster. Once at his car, he shoved her inside, strapping her into the passenger seat.
“Don’t even think about getting out.”
She stared up at him, eyes full of fear, and he almost felt sorry for her. Maybe she was new to this game. Maybe this was her first job. Whatever, it shouldn’t matter to him, shouldn’t be something he even thought about, but he had and would have to address that when he had some downtime. Marks weren’t supposed to get to you. Marks were meant to be removed from the equation, quickly, easily, no mess. Marks weren’t meant to sit in your bloody car and look at you in that way, melting the ice around your damn heart until you convinced yourself they were telling the truth.
Fuck it!
He slammed the door, rounded the bonnet and climbed into the driver’s side. Engine revving, he swerved out of his parking space, making a mental note to call the hotel in the morning and check out. They could send along his bag containing a few changes of clothes, toothbrush, deodorant and shower gel, but then again, it might be safer if they didn’t. There was nothing he needed desperately, nothing he’d mind being without. The waiter having something to do with this… No, they could keep his bag and send it to the address he’d booked in with.
Out on the main road, Fallan silent beside him, he eased his foot to the floor, conscious of the pinprick headlights behind them. If he put his mind to it, he’d lose that bastard and take Fallan to his flat in London, deal with her there and have his boss send someone to remove her body.
“I heard that if you do as you’re told,” she said quietly, “an abductor is less likely to kill you.”
He frowned, eyeing the rear-view mirror again. What the fuck had made her say that? “I heard, that if you work for dodgy outfits, you’re more likely to get killed than if you worked for a company like, say, Asda.”
He wanted to laugh again but held it back, concentrating on the distance between his car and the one behind. It was gaining on him.
Fuck.
“I swear,” she said, “I don’t know what you mean. I won that break away, won it!”
“How? Where did you apply?” He may as well humour her.
“It was a treasure hunt thing. Offer came through the post. Several people each won a weekend away at different locations, and each of us had to hide some treasure. Shit, I wish I’d never applied now, but I couldn’t afford a holiday and it seemed the perfect thing to do. And I didn’t expect to win. Didn’t think I had a cat in hell’s chance and I—”
“Be quiet.” He needed to think. Either she was a pro or she was telling the truth.
Something inside him leaned towards the latter.
Jesus Christ, this is all I need. Some innocent caught up in this crap.
He gritted his teeth, jaw muscles pulsing, and looked in the rear-view again.
The car was getting closer.
About the Authors
Natalie Dae is a multi-published author in three pen names writing several genres. She lives with her husband, children, and three cats in an English village. She writes full time and is also a cover artist and blog designer. In another life she was an editor. Her other pen names are Sarah Masters and Charley Oweson.
Email:
[email protected]
Sam Crescent has always had a love of fiction; through her teen years she would find friendship between the pages rather than in an actual person. By the time she turned sixteen she discovered Mills and Boon and never looked back. She loved the quick happily-ever-after read. A guarantee that, no matter what happened, the heroes and heroines would always find their soulmate. After college and starting a degree, one lonely, bored night she searched the internet looking for a new author to read. On that night, and in the years to come, she discovered romantica and erotic writing.
Email:
[email protected]
Natalie and Sam love to hear from readers. You can find their contact information, websites and author biographies at
http://www.total-e-bound.com
.
Also by Natalie Dae
Fantasies Explored: Think Kink
Fantasies Explored: Thinking Kinkier
With Lily Harlem
Also by Sam Crescent
Total-E-Bound Publishing
www.total-e-bound.com
Take a look at our exciting range of literagasmic™
erotic romance titles and discover pure quality
at Total-E-Bound.