I sucked down the last few bittersweet drops of my Jack Daniel’s Black Label—neat, thank you very much—and tapped my phone to consciousness to check the time. My could-be loverboy from LoveStruck was officially fifteen minutes late. That’ll teach me to swipe right on anyone willing to meet for a drink on Christmas Eve in Vegas.

It was a shame, too. And a waste of my slinkiest black dress. Johnny Cisnero—his stage name, if you can believe it—was tall, blond, and pretty in a show-businessy, veneer-toothed kinda way. Midwest boy who got lost in LA for some years, just missing out on a few good breaks before moving to Vegas and taking to the lounge singer circuit. Not that he’d told me any of that in the handful of text messages we’d exchanged since yesterday. I have an aversion to deep discussions over text. Besides, I have other sources for deep background.

After two years of training at one of the government’s more clandestine agencies and three years of kick-ass field work, if I do say so myself, I’d worked my way right up into management. There I called the shots and watched someone else execute the moves. Turns out, I’m not much of a voyeur. The agency and I parted ways mostly amicably three months ago, long enough for me to be out of the loop about the short-term operations that are their specialty. But I still have access to their database to help me steer clear of dirtbags who might take an interest in what I used to do for a living.

And if all else fails, there’s always the mace concealed in one of my high-heeled boots and the small-gauge pistol tucked into the other.

“For what it’s worth, he’s an ass.”

Startled, I glanced behind me at the man who had gotten the drop on me. No one ever used to get the drop on me. Three months and I was already getting rusty. And worse, the man with a voice like fine whiskey—deep, smooth, with a bit of heat in the finish—was hella hot. Thick brown hair, long eyelashes, clean-shaven jaw that revealed a tiny scar under his left dimple. And don’t even get me started on his bespoke black suit. If I had to guess, as I sometimes did, I’d estimate he was 6’2” with 40-inch shoulders and a 30-inch waist. Damn, I hoped he wasn’t a Russian cutout.

“Who’s an ass?” I asked. Smooth, Cynthia. Apparently, all my game was disappearing along with my ops skills.

“Whoever was supposed to meet you.” Tall, dark, and delicious glanced at the phone in my hand. “Which app?”

You can tell a lot about a person based on their dating app of choice. Mine said “pretending to look for love while really interested in a hook-up.” I laid my phone face down on the bar. “It doesn’t matter,” I answered.

When he grinned, his dimple deepened and the scar disappeared. He inclined his head to the barstool next to me. “May I?”

I was pretty sure it was a terrible idea. Not because he was a bad guy. My gut told me he had his secrets, but they weren’t dangerous ones. And while I always told my girlfriends to never trust their first instincts except when those instincts said “don’t get on the elevator with him” or “turn around and run”, my own intuition was well-honed and had never yet been wrong.

I shrugged. “Whatever.”

My feigned indifference didn’t deter him. Or maybe he was able to see through my bullshit and knew that after a couple of lame pick-up lines, I’d be his for the taking. After a quick trip to the ladies’ room where I would run a background search on him with my phone. Hence, the bad idea. A night with this guy could lead to a mad crush, which was the last thing I needed to throw into the directionless mess that was currently my life.

Up close, his dark red tie had a relief pattern. Pine trees. “Festive,” I said, pointing at it.

“You too.” He glanced at the red baubles I’d chosen for my necklace and earrings. They were fakes, but good ones. “So, you know the drill,” he said, and I nearly fell off my barstool. “Tell me, what’s a beautiful woman like you doing alone on a night like this?”

I composed myself. Sat up straight. Stared down at the sticky residue in the bottom of my empty glass. “Getting thirsty.”

Shit. Did I really say that out loud?

His laugh—low and seductive like his voice—confirmed that I had. “What are you drinking?”

He didn’t gloat over my unintentional double entendre. I could kiss him for that. At some point very soon, I probably would. “Whiskey.”

“What kind?”

I met his unflinching gaze and tried hard not to blink. “The most expensive one they have.”

He nodded and slid off the barstool. He got the attention of the bartender a few feet away from me, and had a quick conversation I couldn’t hear. He sat back down beside me, and seconds later the bartender arrived with new glasses and a very interesting looking bottle.

“I didn’t ask if it’s their most expensive one, but it’s close,” my new favorite come-on artist said. “And it’s my favorite.”

The bartender poured a finger of whiskey into each glass—mine neat, new guy’s over one perfect cube of ice—and left us to our own devices.

“I’m Derek,” new guy said, as if he knew I was calling him new guy in my head. “Derek Winston.”

It had the ring of a real name. “Cynthia,” I said, returning the favor of what I perceived was honesty. No last name, though. I’m not a total idiot when I’m drinking and hitting on strangers.

We clinked our glasses and I brought the glass to my lips. The first whiff of it was heavenly. I don’t know much about whiskey other than what I like, and I knew I’d like this one. We both took a long pull of our drinks and smiled as heat turned to honey turned to smoke on our tongues.

“Wow,” I said.

“Wow,” he repeated, but he was watching the way I licked my lips and I was pretty sure he didn’t mean the drink. “So, Cynthia, you were about to tell me all about yourself, starting with what brings to Vegas on Christmas Eve.”

Civilian that I now was, I didn’t have to give him a cover story. “Product of a single mother who likes to celebrate all the winter solstice holidays. We don’t have any particular attachment to any of them, she’s busy with work this year, and I’ve always wanted to see Vegas.” All true. With all the crazy-ass places I’d seen working for the Agency, they’d never once sent me to sin city in the desert. “How about you?”

He took another drink and glanced down into his glass before looking into my eyes again. Trying to prove his honesty. Establishing trust. “I was on the west coast for work and about to catch my flight back east for the family celebration when I found out the potential business associate who’s been blowing me off for weeks wanted to take a meeting. In Vegas. On the 24^th.”

That sounded sketchy as hell. “What kind of business associate is this?”

He grinned, making the scar near his dimple disappear again and fine lines appear around his eyes. He was thirty-ish, probably. “The kind who got rich and famous shooting orange balls into tall baskets. The kind who might finally agree to an endorsement deal with my company.”

“So you’re some kind of deal-maker for a sports-related company?” I thought I had that right. Maybe not, though. I really should get out more. In my defense, I was used to flirting with marks after memorizing their entire dossier.

He pulled a card out of his fine-fitting suit coat and handed it to me. “Founder and CEO of Bespoke Sportswear.”

Bespoke. Like his suit. Like he’d read my mind. Which was the theme of a number of acts in this town, but not one that was playing in this swanky bar. My bullshit meter ticked up just a notch. “You don’t actually make tailored workout gear, do you?”

“At our accessible price point? No. But if we sign this deal tonight, we might launch a much more expensive line with Mr. Basketball’s name attached to it.”

I glanced at his business card, then tucked it into my tiny black purse. Plenty of information on there to help me do my background search. “Should I be impressed?”

“I’d like that.” This time his grin had a hint of leering in it. “But before you get too hot and bothered over the self-made man thing, you should know my uncle gave me a million dollars for seed money. I did pay him back after two years, turned a nice profit the year after that, and have been doing fine ever since.”

Just the right mix of self-assurance and self-deprecation. My meter ticked up another notch. If this was a spy game, I wanted no part of it. Time to move this along. “Is this where you present me with an irresistible invitation to join you in a private corner booth?” I batted my eyelashes just for extra effect.

He leaned closer. “I’d love nothing more.” His voice had gone from honey to molasses. Or quicksand. Deep enough for a girl to drown in. “But the concierge just gave me the signal that my business associate’s car just arrived. He’ll expect me to be in the private lounge by the time he gets there.”

If he wasn’t who said he was, my rusty skills had tipped my hand. If he was the real deal, my flirt game was way off. Unless… Was it possible in this day and age that he was telling the truth?

He slid off the barstool and took my hand. His fingers were long, his palm broad, his skin warm. “Thank you for your lovely company. I hope you thoroughly enjoy your first time in the city.”

When he let go of my hand, I just barely stopped myself from standing up and following him. “Thanks,” I managed to stammer at his back.

A few feet away from me, he turned around.

“Cynthia, have you ever seen the volcano?” he asked.

“The what?” I had seen exactly three volcanoes up close and personal, in different parts of the world. Not as part of my job. As bonus side trips during time off earned for work well done.

“There’s a hotel with a volcano out front that erupts every hour, on the hour,” he said.  “I like to stay at that hotel when I’m in town.”

Jackpot, all cherries. “I haven’t seen it. Do you recommend it?”

“It’s a must-see tourist attraction. If you were there, say, tonight, at the last show, I’d enjoy watching it with you.”

I forced myself not to smile or laugh or otherwise embarrass myself with over-exuberance. This guy might be for real, which meant I stood a chance of being rewarded for being such a naughty girl all year. “I’ll check my itinerary, see if I can fit it in.”

“Here’s hoping,” he said.

I was so engrossed in watching him walk away, I didn’t notice the small, jet-black stone he’d left on the bar next to my glass until he was gone. Volcanic rock, if I wasn’t mistaken.

The bartender came to clear our glasses, then laid his hands flat on the bar and flashed me a warm smile. Warmer than it had been when I’d appeared to be a woman drinking alone in a slinky dress on Christmas Eve. “What else can I bring you?”

I picked up the smooth stone, tested its weight in my hand. “Nothing. I think I’ve spent enough of my nest egg tonight.”

The bartender glanced in the direction of the door, where Derek had just left. “Your friend said to put anything you want on his tab.”

Trying to get me drunk, was he? Challenge accepted. “In that case, I’ll have another of whatever you poured me last time. Make it a double. And I’d like to look at a dinner menu.”

If a man was stupid enough to leave me in a swanky hotel bar with an open tab, I was smart enough to make him buy me dinner.

***

Shortly before 10 PM, after an excellent dinner and just a couple more shots of very fine whiskey, I walked two blocks to the fake volcano. It seemed absurdly early for the last show in Vegas, but it meant seeing tall, dark, and delectable that much sooner, so I hung on the edges of the crowd and waited for him. The volcano rumbled to life, spewing smoke and fake magma to the delighted oohs, aahs, and flash photography of the crowd. After a few unimpressive minutes—at least, if you’ve seen the real thing—the show was over.

And so was any hope I’d had of catching up with Mr. Right Now. Derek had stood me up. Second guy in one night. A girl could get a complex from less.

I refused to be daunted and chalked it up to the weird energy of the holidays in Vegas. Maybe I should have gone to one of those Hallmark-Christmas-movie towns, where the big-city girl with a bad attitude but a pure heart—yeah, I saw the flaw in that plan pretty quickly. Maybe a Utah ski resort or a normal, northern where at least I could have enjoyed some seasonal snow. Maybe there was still time, if I caught a red-eye flight.

I waited for the easily entertained crowd to thin so I could catch an Uber back to my hotel to grab my bags on the way out of town. Then I tall guy near me shifted and opened up my eyeline, and I found myself staring at bachelor number two. Images of fresh powder and snow angels melted into fantasies of a much hotter nature.

My heart kicked up a notch, but before I could even smile, I pegged a slight slide of Derek’s gaze to his left. It was the kind of thing you could easily miss after three months out of the game. God, I wish I had. Instead, I glanced to my right to see what was so interesting. Bachelor number one, aka Johnny Lounge Lizard Cisnero, was just feet away from me.

What were the odds that both of them being in the same place at the same time and bearing down on me was a coincidence? Yeah, I knew the answer to that. And I recognized the hustle Derek had lured me into. The Santa’s Toy Swap. I was the toy. Aka bait.

“Well, damn.” I muttered as Johnny reached my side.

He gripped my upper arm until it hurt.

I hadn’t seen Johnny’s arrival, but I could still pick out the four guys with ponytails and matching black suits along the edge of the crowd who shot surreptitious looks our way. The bad news: he’d brought muscle, the kind few second-rate Vegas acts could afford. The good news: so had Derek, and his colleagues not only formed a barrier between me and bad guys I was sure were packing heat, but they were forcing said bad guys to retreat inside to the safety of the crowded hotel lobby.

If Derek was worried about potential civilian casualties—and I knew he was, because that’s part of the gig—he covered it well. He strode toward Johnny and me, but Johnny had a good fifty pounds on me and my stiletto-heeled boots proved useless in digging into the cement sidewalk.

“And here I thought you were a nice girl looking to get laid,” Johnny said, pulling me along so fast, I nearly tripped over my own feet. “You were working with the good guys all along. Such a disappointment.”

“I am a nice girl. I’m not with them. And I was looking for a date.”

He laughed. “If that’s true, you’re just a pawn. Even more pathetic than I thought.”

We’d exited the crowd and stepped into the shadows. Civilians safe: check. Away from prying eyes: check. Mad as hell at his characterizations of me: double check.

I dropped to my haunches, lowering my center of gravity and pulling Johnny off-balance. Derek’s men were closer than I’d realized, and everything happened at once. One man dove for Cisnero’s arms and pinned them behind his back. Another pulled out a gun and shot a dart into his neck. A third raised his hand in a signal to someone. And I clenched my fist and pulled back my arm to land a well-deserved punch on the lounge singer’s smug mug.

I’d also shifted my weight, putting me right in line with a fourth man who’d also been tempted by Johnny’s punchable face. Before my punch could connect, pain crashed into my cheekbone and stars exploded behind my arms. Felled by friendly fire. Well, maybe not friendly as much as on the same side of the law.

My legs buckled and I would have smashed something else on the sidewalk if I hadn’t fallen straight into the waiting arms of my second date.

***

I sat on a folding metal chair in a small, back room of the casino where they secured poker chips and obscene amounts of cash, with an ice pack pressed to my face.

From what I could gather, Vince Cararre, aka Johnny Cisnero, had been hustled into a waiting black van. Trust me, you do not ever want to be hustled into a waiting black van. The lounge singer must have been into some pretty shady shit to get that treatment.

While two of his associates watched security feeds of casino muscle rounding up Johnny’s—or Vince’s—bodyguards, Derek barked orders into his cell phone. At least, I wished he were barking. He was actually talking in that smooth, sultry way of his, making me not want to stay furious with him.

I’d been observing all three men for ten minutes, which was nine more than I needed to know they were private contractors who were discreet, proficient, and hired to take care of jobs that a government agency couldn’t do in-house.

Derek stepped in front of me and squatted down on his haunches. “Sorry you took that hit. I didn’t realize how rusty your reflexes are.”

“Rusty? That’s it.” I threw the icepack on the floor and immediately regretted it. The shiner his associate—Jensen, but that was probably a fake name, too—had given me still stung like a sonuvabitch. “You wouldn’t have pulled me into this without the Agency’s approval.”

“The Agency’s insistence, actually.”

“So why didn’t you inbrief me?

“There wasn’t time. For the record, your LoveStruck match is up to his ass in money laundering for a cartel.”

I knew what Derek—or whatever his name was—was doing. Drawing me in. Inviting me to ask questions. Trying to win back the trust he’d lost. That last bit wasn’t going to work, but it would be nice to know why his associate had nearly broken my face. “Which cartel? South American? Eastern European?”

“American,” Derek, aka what’s-his-name, answered. “Call me old-fashioned, but I think it’s nice to catch homegrown criminals once in a while. No oligarchs with delusions of world dominance causing international incidents. Just some guys with thick Jersey accents flouting our domestic laws.”

“That is nice,” I said, because it really was, as much as I hated to agree with him. I ventured a glance at the icepack, then crossed my arms over my chest. “Still, it would have taken all of five minutes to prepare me.”

“But then you would have been a willful participant, and for us to cover the liability, you would have had to be working for us.” He picked up the pack and held it out to me. “There wasn’t enough time to clear the paperwork.”

“Damn it.” I snatched he cold bag from his hand and pressed it to my aching cheek.

He grinned and I had to look away so I wouldn’t smile back. “Damn it because your face hurts, or damn it because you hate to admit I’m right?”

Well, if he was going to be such an ass, scowling instead of smiling was no problem. “Damn it because you’re a liar.”

He nodded. “Fair enough.”

Behind him, Jensen or whoever the hell he was, said, “Derek, casino security has all of Cararre’s men. Security took their guns and are walking them to the front door.”

“Make sure their van is waiting for them,” Derek said. Both of his colleagues left, and he turned to me. “I called in a favor with the pit boss so we wouldn’t have to get the casino management involved. That means we only have this room for five more minutes and X is going to want to talk to you, so if there’s anything you want to ask me, you should do it now.”

“Your ex? What does—”

“Any questions for me, Cynthia?”

Point taken. He knew my name, and knew it was real, not a cover. Did I want to know his? Would he tell me the truth? Did it matter? “And you are…?”

“Derek really is my name. Winston isn’t. I was an Army ranger for four years, until I took some shrapnel that made me too big a liability for the government to send out on special ops.”

“So they hooked you up with a private group.” The story wasn’t an unfamiliar one. And it hinted at something more. “You said you dragged me into this at the Agency’s insistence.”

“They don’t have a place for you in the field anymore, but your previous supervisors are worried you might get bored.”

I tried to scowl harder, but I only hurt myself and settled for rearranging my icepack in a pointedly annoyed way. “Then I suppose thanks are in order for entertaining me.”

He laughed, all honey and whiskey and seduction. I refused to be intrigued by it. Much. “The sportswear company is a good deep fake.”

“That’s because it’s real. The company makes a real product, turns a real profit. I even show up at a board meeting every now and then.”

More understanding dawned on me. So much had been right in front of my face, and I’d missed it. After just three months out in the cold, it was like I was a newbie recruit. “And your uncle who gave you the star-up money, that was Uncle Sam.”

“Yours and mine.”

There was a knock at the door and he cracked it open, exchanged some whispered words, then pulled it open wide. “X, this is Cynthia. She lives up to her file and then some. Cynthia, Ms. X. Our boss. I’ll leave you to it.”

Then he was gone, thick dark hair and long eyelashes and smooth laugh, gone forever for all I knew. Not that it mattered. Much.

I turned my full attention to X. She was small but commanding and wore a black dress that was a lot less slinky than mine. She had pale skin and wore bright red lipstick. Her black hair was pulled into a severe bun on top of her head. Her gaze was so piercing, I couldn’t look away from it. I’ve stared down trained assassins who are less scary than X. Although, I realized, there was nothing to say she wasn’t a trained assassin herself.

“How’s your face?” she asked.

“Getting better.” I laid the icepack on the floor as if to prove my almost-true statement.

“You never should have taken that punch. Your skills are rusty. Nothing we can’t fix.”

“So this was a test?” My tone sounded testy, but that’s just because I was back to being furious. If I was right, that and not the timing was the reason they’d kept me in the dark, which meant Derek had lied again.

“No,” Ms. X answered. “It was a short-turn op and we needed to get someone with the right skill sets on the ground fast. You’ve been trained, you were close, and your affinity for dating apps was icing on the Yule log.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Did you tweak Johnny’s—Vince’s—profile to attract my attention?”

“Just a bit. Lucky for us, he’s not very observant and your tastes are rather…adaptable.”

She glanced at the closed door and I could almost hear her wondering what common trait Vince and Derek shared that had me lusting over both of them in the space of a few hours. It was the eyes. I’m a sucker for a man with beautiful, intense eyes. Not that I would tell her or Derek or anyone else that. They knew too much about me already.

“But you are interested in hiring me?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. “After tonight, we’re interested enough to bring you on for a trial period. Similar benefits as your last job, twice the pay.”

I opened my mouth to speak, to see what else I could get out of her.

She held up a hand. “No negotiation.”

“I was going to say, I’m pleased to accept your offer,” I lied.

“Good. I’ll have the paperwork ready by 2 PM tomorrow. I’ll send a car. You can sign on the way to the airport.” She turned and knocked on the door. It swung open and Derek stepped inside.

“Are congratulations in order?” he asked me.

“They are,” Ms. X answered. She frowned as she glanced between us. I would have put my money on that look being pity, but my people reading skills, like everything else, apparently, were going to hell in a handbasket. “Derek, bring your new colleague up to speed on company policy.” She turned to me. “Until tomorrow,” she said, and then she left, closing the door behind her.

“What policy?” I asked, but given the way she’d said it, I was pretty sure I didn’t want an answer.

“There are lots of policies, but if I had to pick one,” he shrugged a shoulder, “I’d guess the one about no fraternizing.”

“No fraternizing? As in…”

He nodded, but reached out his hand to me. I took it and he pulled me to my feet, where I stood way too close to someone who was off limits for fraternizing. He brushed his thumb across my knuckles. “You know,” he said, “you’re not officially an employee for another fifteen hours.”

“That sounds like a technicality.”

He grinned. The man should never be allowed to grin around defenseless women. Or poorly skilled ones. “People get off on technicalities all the time.”

That was it, the last pick-up line he needed to make me his for the night. “Did I hear you mention something about having a room here?”

“It’s a suite. It even has a small Christmas tree in it.”

I stepped close enough to feel his body heat. “Anything or anyone you’d like to put under that tree to unwrap?”

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a tiny microphone. He switched it off and dropped it into his hip pocket. “Come to think of it, there is.”

“Damn it, Derek, you could have warned me. Who was listening? I’m going to be working with these people.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, pulling me with him out of the room and down the narrow hallway to an elevator. “Everyone knows how rusty you are. They don’t expect much.”

“You’ll pay for that.” Maybe I would tie him to the bed, tease him, then go sleep on the sofa for the night. Then again, I wasn’t that stupid.

“While you’re scheming about how to get back at me, let’s talk about the rest of our evening.”

As we stepped into the elevator that only went to one floor, the highest one, he pressed his hand into the small of my back. All my bits had already been a-tingle, and now his touch made every inch of me merry and bright.

“Fifteen hours,” he repeated. “You’ll want to shower and be all pretty for your meeting with X, so that’ll take an hour.” He closed one eye and squinted the other at me, like he was making an assessment. “And while I peg you as a woman who prefers a good eight hours of sleep, I’ll bet you can do just fine on four. That leaves ten hours for us to kill.”

“Nine.” I did my best to look more interested in the gilded elevator walls than our conversation, even though we both knew it wasn’t true. “We’ll need an hour for breakfast. And thank you for dinner, by the way.”

“Fed you dinner, did I? Lucky for you, I’m not the kind of man who thinks a woman owes me anything for buying her dinner.”

“Lucky for you, I’m the kind of woman who wants to do very naughty and nice things for you anyway.”

He slid his hand up my spine, and I closed my eyes and forgot where we were in our conversation. “So, about those nine hours,” he whispered in my ear.

“Hmm. Yes, how will we pass the time?”

“Working on your skills.” He pressed an achingly soft kiss to my lips. The elevator bell dinged and the doors slid open. He led me by the hand into his penthouse suite. “We’ll start with endurance.”

***

Read the updated, steamy version of Derek and Cynthia’s Christmas(ish) meet cute in Baby It’s Hot Outside!

The post They Shoot Lounge Lizards, Don’t They? appeared first on Harper Cross.

Going straight was for the birds. Literally. I glanced down at the deflated inflatable flamingos I clutched by limp necks. Who the hell had ever heard of flamingos in a Christmas lawn display? There weren’t flamingos in Bethlehem or at the North Pole. No respectable Christmas story featured the ridiculous pink birds. But Mrs. Leary had insisted that the damned things – part of her year-round yard décor on her 2-acre plot in the heart of Beverly Hills – be included in the Christmas decoration design.

“Miss Klauson, you wanted to see me?” Old Mrs. Leary, probably never very tall but now well under 5 feet, with tight shoulder-length curls shot through with gray, tottered toward me.

“Please, it’s Sandy.”

Sandy Klauson. Seriously. I mean, Jesus of Nazareth. Never let it be said that Ms. X doesn’t have a sense of humor, but if she had to cut me loose a few weeks before Christmas, she sure as hell could have come up with a better cover name for me. And a better civilian job. And a better place than LA at Christmas time, under a beating hot sun with nary a snowflake in sight. X had probably done it out of spite, but it was ridiculously unfair. Anyone could have made the mistake of tranquilizing an overly handsy ambassador from a small but important US ally. OK, so it was more of a choice than a mistake, but still.

Mrs. Leary sucked in her breath and opened her eyes wide in surprise. “Oh, this is a catastrophe!” She reached out and petted one of the limp plastic birds. “My dearly departed husband gave me these flamingos on our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. I’ve had them in my yard ever since.” Her eyes filled with tears.

Well hell. So much for the suggestion of rehoming the birds in the trash can.

“I don’t know what happened.” I didn’t mention the small slits I’d found in their throats. “I found them like this. But I’ll fix them for you. We’ll make them good as new.”

Mrs. Leary wiped away a tear. “Oh, you’re a good girl. Thank you, dear.”

As the old lady returned to the house, I looped around the outskirts of the palatial building until I found TJ, the job foreman, and explained the dilemma and my plan. “I’ll just take the van, find a garage or bike shop, and have someone fix these for me, like a flat tire. I should be back in a few hours.”

Across the lawn, the old lady emerged from the side door with her oversized chauffeur – whom I suspected doubled as a body guard – steadying her, and headed for the detached garage. Her daily 2 PM outing to get a newspaper, a cup of tea, and a comb-out at the beauty parlor. Yes, I’d clocked her movements and done some recon. So sue me. Old habits die hard.

I turned back to TJ, who’d been watching me watch her. He had his own interesting habits, and with his height and heft, I wouldn’t mind having him at my back in a fight, just like Derek…I wouldn’t let my mind go there. Still, TJ would have been good Company material, and if X hadn’t lost her mind and fired me, I might have recruited him.

TJ shook his head at me. “Get the old lady’s birds fixed. But you can’t take the van. We still have half the strings of lights in there. Take an Uber and get a receipt.”

I nodded and headed for the front gates, which stood wide open to give us easy access to our van and equipment that Mrs. Leary refused to let us park in her driveway. I’d just pulled out my phone to contact an Uber – and yes, I would save the receipt and turn it in for reimbursement, thank you very much, since X had frozen my assets – when something caught my eye. Something that didn’t belong on this neat, narrow, tree-covered street in the Hills.

The scuffed black work boots immediately gave away the game. He was half a block down and on the other side of the road, leaning against the side of a shiny black, expensive-looking pick-up truck. He had his thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his jeans, and wore a tight blue tee shirt that showcased his broad chest his rock-hard biceps. His long legs stretched in front of him and crossed at the shank of those boots I’d know anywhere.

“Bastard.”

Obviously, he still read lips, as he touched the brim of his baseball cap and grinned at me. I did the only sensible thing one can do when Derek is within a five-mile radius. I ignored him. I looked back down at my phone, hell-bent on ignoring the fact that my hands were trembling so hard I was having trouble opening the app.

The phone rang in my hand and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

So much for years of training and field work. This was the problem. This was why X had split us up a year ago. We’d been the team with the highest close rate in the Company, but we’d been up to our naughty bits in a steamy affair, and we’d been distracting each other. I’d wanted to kill her on the spot at the time, but seeing how he could still get to me had me rethinking her wisdom. And he wasn’t even close enough yet for me to smell him or taste his skin or feel his…Holy hell. The phone was still ringing.

I answered it. “What the fuck?”

“I missed you, too. Come closer.”

“Not a chance. I have my orders. X finds out I’m consorting with someone from…my past and I’m dead.

“X is in a chalet in the French Alps with a leggy blonde she met in Paris. Come closer. I need you.”

I dropped the phone and nearly fell on my ass. This was bad. So, so bad. Why in the hell had I thought celibacy was the right choice after X sent Derek away? It will focus me, I’d told myself. Help me get my head back in the game, I’d said. I hadn’t counted on seeing him again. It’s not fair to be parked in front of a buffet of mouth-watering delicacies when you’re starving, knowing you can’t touch the goodies. And god help me, I wanted to touch all the goodies.

I thought about making a run for it, but he’d already closed half the distance between us and while some of my body parts were on fire, there was barely feeling in my legs. I focused on Pranayama breathing. Deep, even breaths. I slowly put one foot in front of the other until I was actually walking. But damn it, I was walking toward him.

“I wasn’t kidding. I need your help.”

We stood just a foot apart. I clenched my fists at my sides to keep myself from laying my palms against his chest. Which gave the unfortunate appearance of wringing Mrs. Leary’s flamingos’ necks.

“I’m supposed to do a solo, but this target requires a team.”

I shrugged. “So get a team.”

He shook his head. “No one can get here fast enough, and you know how thin we’re stretched over the holidays.”

Adrenaline shot through me and my hands shook for a different reason. What the hell was I thinking? That I was bored stiff and death at X’s hands was starting to sound better than a life with lawn ornaments. “What’s the play?”

“The Santa Baby.” He grinned at me like the wolf to Little Red Riding Hood. “One of your best.”

And one of the easiest. I could do it in my sleep. Hell, I probably had. “All right, but if X finds out, it’s on your head. And I only have a few hours.” I held up the birds still clutched in my left hand. “And we have to stop somewhere to fix the flamingos.”

He raised his eyebrows but didn’t ask. “You and the flamingos get comfortable in my truck. I’ll grab the phone you dropped and make sure no one saw us together.”

Damn it, I’d been ready to leave my phone behind. Distracted. Totally distracted. “OK, but do not shoot any of my co-workers.”

“Would I—”

I quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, don’t answer that.”

* * *

I sat in the passenger seat of Derek’s truck, thankful for the tinted windows as I held a silver bit of material that was approximately the size of a large band aid in my hands and contemplated how I would get into it.

We were parked on another residential street, this one not as nice as Mrs. Leary’s, but still pretty damned swanky. We’d been watching a house with no gate but a long driveway, where vested valets hung around the fountain out front, amongst a parking lot’s worth of expensive cars. I assumed our mark was one of the party guests.

“So, what’s this guy’s crime? Making a movie starring the Rock?” I giggled at my own cleverness.

Derek shot me a less than impressed look. “The Rock goes by Dwayne Johnson now, and he has nothing to do with this. Our guy is mobbed up. Russians. Nasty ones. And trying to snake his way into the movie business.”

“How hard can that be? In this town, can’t he just throw out some money and see who bites?”

“Apparently, even Hollywood has standards. There’s been some resistance to being his laundromat.”

I nodded. “Dirty money. So that’s where they draw the line.”

“Not everyone, but someone got spooked and called a friend at one of the three-letter agencies, and they called X.

“And here we are.” Great. Mobsters. They tended to be more handsy than ambassadors, and I was about to slip into something indecent to entice them. I held up the tiny scrap of cloth. “If I’m going to squeeze into this thing, you’ll have to close your eyes.”

He grinned again. I didn’t like it. He was grinning way too much. “Like I haven’t memorized every inch of you. I could pick out your body parts from a line-up.”

I shrugged, figuring that buffet with the untouchable goodies could work both ways, pulled off my work outfit of shorts overalls and a tee shirt, and slid the shimmery thing over my head.

“You know gold’s more my color.” I adjusted the girls so the low-cut neckline showed them off to perfection.

Derek shook his head. “No. You always say that, but you’re definitely a silver blonde, not a gold. And speaking of hair…” He pulled my ponytail free from its holder and ran his fingers through my loose hair.

I pushed away his hands. “I’ve got it.” I tried to sound annoyed rather than turned on, and probably did a good job of it.

“Perfect. You look desperate to get laid.” OK, maybe not such a good job of it. “Poor slob won’t know what hit him.”

“If the recon on this job was bad enough to confuse a solo hit with a team effort, how can you be so sure I’m his type?”

He narrowed his eyes as he stared out the window. “Well, there’s a ninety percent chance you’re his type. If he falls into the other ten percent, come back here and I’ll slip into that dress and you’ll take the gun. Just keep your shooting hand steady. I wouldn’t want you to hit the wrong man.”

“Ha ha. I’m an excellent shot and you know it.”

Derek leaned in close. “How about a kiss for luck, just like old times?”

No. Of course not. We absolutely couldn’t. “OK. For luck.”

He planted one hand on each side of me on the seat and bent his head toward mine. His soft breath tickled my lips and I sighed, like the pathetic creature I am.

“Hold that thought,” he whispered, then shifted back into his own seat. “It’s show time.”

I followed his gaze out my side window and saw a thirty-ish guy with thinning brown hair and serious stubble, holding a Santa hat and beard in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other, clad in a Santa suit complete with belly padding.

“You didn’t tell me we’re pulling the Santa Baby on Santa.”

“Don’t worry, little girl. The real Santa is safe and sound at the North Pole. This is just one of his helpers.” He leaned close to me again and whispered in my ear. “Besides, you’re always on Santa’s naughty list anyway. Which reminds me, take off your panties.”

That shot an electric jolt straight up my spine. “Are you crazy? Right now?”

He laughed. “See, your dirty mind is what gets you on the naughty list. The lines are showing through your dress. It ruins the effect.”

I gritted my teeth as I slid off my panties, neither of us missing the fact that he’d ordered me out of my underwear and I’d obeyed. I’d make him pay for this, one way or another.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” I said. “To do the Santa Baby, I need—”

He pulled a whisky bottle from under his seat. “To smell the part.” He handed it over to me. “Just like at the dentist office. Rinse and spit.”

I pulled off the cork, took a swig, and swirled it around my mouth. It was warm and rich and I swallowed it, loving the burn that lit its way down my esophagus.

“What the hell? You’re on the job.”

I shook my head and handed the bottle back to him. “You forget, I don’t have that job anymore. I’m just helping out an old…colleague.”

I eased open the truck door and slid down to the pavement. Carrying my stilettos, I snuck down the sidewalk and kept out of Santa’s view, then crossed the street, slid on the shoes, and walked back up the sidewalk, making a beeline right for the jolly red target. When I had his attention, I added a woozy wobble to my step, which is harder than it sounds in four-inch spike heels.

“Santa!” I exclaimed as I came upon the mark. I lurched forward and leaned against him. “I hope you have your sleigh. I need help getting home.” I stuck out my lip in a spoiled-party-girl pout.

He flicked away his cigarette. “Sorry, baby, I didn’t bring my sleigh today.” He glanced behind me. “Anyone with you?”

I shook my head. “I was at a party, and I left, and drove my Beemer right up over a curb! Now it’s stuck.” Again with the pout, which he seemed to like.

“I could, uh, help to get you unstuck, but I’m not sure I should put you behind the wheel in this condition.”

Bingo.

“How about I call you a cab.”

Oops. “No! I’ll need my car later.” I turned the pout to a sultry smile. “How about you drive me home, then call a cab to get back. It’s only 15 minutes each way.” I ran my hands over his fuzzy white lapels and dropped my voice to a whisper. “There might even be a surprise for you under my tree.”

He swallowed audibly and smiled at me with too many teeth. “Well, I do like surprises.” He ran his hands up my arms and squeezed my shoulders while I focused on not gagging. “Hold that thought.”

He ran up the driveway while I kept myself out of view behind a tall hedge.

“Hey, Vito!” Santa called. “I have to run an errand. Be back in 45.”

Forty-five minutes! With half an hour of travel time, that meant he’d left a whole 15 minutes to spend on me. Asshole. He was making this whole hit thing easier and easier.

By the time he got back to me, he was panting with exertion. Yeah, fifteen minutes had probably been optimistic.

“I’m stuck down this way.” I smiled up at him as he took my arm and propelled me forward with just a little too much force. I waited until we were at the exact spot Derek had pointed out, then turned toward the bushes and made gurgling noises.

“Oh, shit.” Fifteen-minute Santa laid his hand on my exposed back. “You gonna hurl?”

I stood up straight, wishing I had a better upchuck reflex. I’d have been tempted to use it on him. I turned toward him and reached out my arms. “No. I just need to stand still for a minute. Just one minute. Really still.”

He held onto my arms and stood still with me, just like a good little target.

His eyes went wide at precisely the split second I heard the whizzing sound and the impact in the side of his neck. He fell forward into me, and with his last bit of strength, made a claw with his right hand and copped a feel. I brought my knee up hard into his gut, eliciting a satisfying grunt, then let him drop face-first onto the pavement.

“Perv.” I crossed my arms over my chest and waited for Derek to pull up so we could toss this piece of trash into the truck bed.

* * *

I stared out the window of a 50th floor suite of one of the high-rise hotels in downtown LA. I rubbed my arms, chilled by the AC. If it had been up to me, I’d have been back in more suitable clothing by now, but Derek had parked me by the window and asked me to be patient.

“When will the clean-up crew get here to deal with our Santa problem?” I asked. He’d asked me to be patient. I didn’t say I’d listened.

He stood behind me, reached his arms around me without touching me, and presented Mrs. Leary’s flamingos with healed neck wounds. “Oh my gosh, they’re perfect! The patches are even pink.” I turned toward him and he propped his hands on the window sill on each side of me. “You had a repair kit with you. It had pink patches. Almost like you knew you’d need them.”

There was that infuriating grin again. “I had to find a way to get your attention and get you out of work during the afternoon.”

I threw the flamingos onto a nearby chair and glowered at him. “You ever think of texting ‘Hey, meet me for a cup of coffee’?”

“Nope.” He leaned close until his lips were just an inch away from mine. “You ever think of yelling at me less and kissing me more?”

“Maybe.”

He placed his hands on my outer thighs and slid upward.

“About that clean-up crew.” I asked again.

“Close by. But you know LA traffic. It could take a while to get here.”

I didn’t get to ask any more questions because he’d finally pressed his lips to mine and his hands had slid further up my body, reminding me I wasn’t wearing any panties. He had just deepened the kiss and had me rethinking ever wearing underwear again when a noise came from the bedroom.

“Hold that thought,” he whispered in my ear, then pulled away from me.

He pulled a syringe and medicine bottle from the same leather bag where he’d stashed the flamingo repair kit. “Sounds like Santa needs another dose of Christmas joy.”

“There wasn’t enough tranquilizer in that dart to knock him out for more than an hour?”

Derek tapped the syringe to expel the air bubbles. “They have us using lower doses these days. Seems somebody tranqued an ambassador and knocked him out for 15 hours. Nearly caused an international incident, if memory serves.”

Geez, office gossip. For a clandestine operation, the Company sure was chock full of chatty Cathys. “Don’t believe everything you hear. It wasn’t a minute over 13 hours.”

He laughed as he disappeared into the bedroom. When he re-emerged less than a minute later, his smile was gone. “Clean-up crew texted. They just pulled into the garage. Time for us to go.”

I didn’t know how much I’d enjoyed the afternoon until faced with the prospect of its end. “Well, shit. I was just getting used to you again.”

“Likewise. But we have to finish our mission.”

“Finish? But the clean-up crew’s here to take Santa.”

He nodded. “Now we need to take care of his accomplice. She’ll know we’re onto her by now, since her contact missed their daily meeting.”

That jolted me to attention. “Wait, daily meeting? At 2 PM?”

“Yes, in fact, that’s right.”

“And their meeting place is a beauty parlor.”

“Get that smart lady a prize! So, you ready to slip back into something less revealing and take down a kingpin masquerading as a nice little old lady?”

I nodded. “Still, Mrs. Leary? She really is nice. A little lonely. Talks about her late husband all the time.”

“Before you get too sentimental, you should know Gladys Leary is a cover name, and she’s never even been married.”

I looked at the flamingos, those annoying damned birds. She’d made me feel sorry not only for her, but for a bunch of kitschy lawn ornaments. “Oh, that old biddy is going down!”

* * *

The plan was simple. Lure her outside to look at the flamingos, give the back-up team time to get in place so they could neutralize the body guards inside the house, then stab her in the neck with a hand dart. Easy peasy.

I had one hand on Derek’s truck door handle and the other wrapped around the flamingos repaired necks when something important occurred to me, almost too late. See, distracted! “What about the decorating crew? I don’t want them getting caught in any crossfire. I mean the back-up team should—”

Derek had furrowed his brow as I’d been speaking, as though willing me to understand something.

It hit me. “The crew is the team. TJ and the other guys are Company.”

“The smart lady gets another prize.”

Now I grinned at him. “And I get to choose it, too.”

I slid out of the truck and walked the half block to Leary’s – or what’s her name’s – house. I waved at TJ as I came up the drive.

“Good to see you Sandy. You get those birds fixed?”

“Yes sir. I’m about to inflate them right now and show them to Mrs. Leary.”

“I’ll let her know to come see you.”

A few minutes later, I’d inflated and stood up the birds and waited for the old lady to join us. Derek hadn’t been wrong about her being pissed. The set of her jaw and glint of anger in her eye even gave me pause, and I’ve stared down some bad-asses in my day. But when she saw the flamingos restored to their glory and holding air, she clapped her hands together.

“Oh Sandy, that’s marvelous!” Her smile faded slowly, and my Spidey senses tingled.

She turned slowly toward me. “Sandy. Sandy Klauson. What a ridiculous name.”

She shoved her hand into the pocket of her loose, flowered dress, but I already had the dart in my hand. I shoved it into her neck and pressed the button to pump her full of tranquilizer before she could even hope to wrap her withered old hand around the tiny pistol we found on her.

“For someone named Gladys, you sure are judgmental.” Still, I caught her in my arms as she fell. I laid her gently on the ground. She might be a liar, a criminal, and in bed with the Russian mob, but it’s not like she tried to cop a feel.

“Nice.” Derek bent beside her to check her pulse and pulled open one eyelid to look at her pupils. “But I have to agree. What kind of name is Sandy Klauson?”

“You’ll have to take that up with X. On second thought, don’t. Don’t mention you even know where I am.”

“It’s a little too late for that,” said a woman from behind me.

Oh shit. I pasted a smile and what I hoped passed for an expression of innocence on my face and turned to face Ms. X. “Ma’am, what a surprise! I’d heard you were vacationing in the French Alps.” I shot a murderous glance at Derek.

“I was, and I was supposed to stay there through the end of the holidays, but I got word Gladys was preparing to disappear before the end of the year, so we sped up the timeline.”

“We. The timeline.” The cobwebs were clearing, but I didn’t like what was hiding behind them. “It was a set up. This whole thing was a set up!”

“Yes and no.” X crossed her arms over her chest and watched as TJ and one of his men carried off Mrs. Leary or whatever the hell her name was. When it was just her, Derek, and me, she continued. “I wasn’t lying when I said you were too angry and it was making you a danger to yourself and others.”

“Hey, that ambassador had it coming.”

She smiled. I wasn’t sure I’d actually ever seen X smile. Her face is narrow and birdlike and she wears her dark hair in a very severe bun, so a smile just looks creepy as hell. I sincerely hoped I’d never see her smile again. “Lots of people have lots of things coming, Cynthia, but we’re not their judges or their juries.”

“Yes ma’am.” We’d already had this conversation, but the weeks I’d spent away from the Company had given me enough perspective to appreciate it now. “I understand why you had to let me go.”

“Good. And after your performance today, you’ll understand why I’m bringing you back.” She took a deep breath and spoke the next words as though they pained her. “And it occurs to me that I might have been hasty in splitting up my best team, despite the good reasons I had for doing it.”

My heart pounded with joy, but my brain put on the brakes. “Not so fast. There’s the matter of back pay.”

“No need. You’ve been paid all along. Deposits went straight into one of your accounts. One of the reasons I wanted you frozen out of your assets. That, and to make sure you didn’t quit the decorating job before we completed the mission.”

A trial. This whole damn thing had been a trial. I scowled at Derek, who threw up his hands defensively.

“I just heard about all of it two days ago, I swear. If I’d have known—”

“He’d have told you everything, which is exactly why he didn’t have a clue.” X shot him a withering look, but he took it like a man and only withered a little bit. “Now that this is wrapped up, your next assignment awaits.”

“No.” I crossed my arms over my chest and held my ground. She wasn’t getting off that easily. Or that cheaply. “I’m not going to come running back just because you snap your fingers.”

“If you’re waiting for an apology…”

I wasn’t that stupid. I shook my head. “More like cold hard cash. A twenty percent raise.”

One of her eyebrows shot up.

“And a vacation for the rest of the year.” I winked at Derek. “For my new partner and me both. We’ll be ready to report for duty first thing January second.”

“The raise, of course.” Which meant she’d planned to give it to me anyway, which made me wish I’d held out for more. “As for the vacation, do your really…” She shook her head. “Where would you even go over the holidays on such short notice?”

I grinned. Derek caught the look and shook his head, but what the hell. ‘Tis the season and all that. If X decided to kill me, it would be a lovely time of year to die. On the flip side, if she let me live, there’d be wine, chocolate, snuggling in front of a roaring fire, and doing delightful and unspeakable things to my once and future partner. “I hear there’s chalet going to waste in the French Alps.”

“For the record, X,” Derek said, “I had nothing to do with this.”

Ms. X’s face was bright red, but she gave a curt nod. “Fine. I suppose I do owe you…something. I’ll phone ahead and let them know my friend Sandy will be taking over my reservation. Now get out of my sight before I decide to hurt you.”

She didn’t need to tell us twice. A few minutes later, we sat in Derek’s truck, laughing our fool heads off, giddy with the joy of a mission well-done and the Christmas miracle of having escaped X’s wrath.

Derek grabbed my hand and kissed it. “You know, of course, she’ll hand us our asses every chance she gets for the next year.”

“I’ll be disappointed in her if she doesn’t.” I leaned forward and kissed him, then nibbled his lower lip.

“You know, I still have that hotel room, and Santa’s long gone by now. You could slip back into that silver dress…”

I kissed him deep and hard, slipping my hands under his tee shirt and sliding skin over bare skin. But payback is a bitch, and I owed him. I pulled back and whispered in his ear. “Hold that thought.”

I took pulled his tranq gun off the back seat and loaded a few blanks in it.

He reached for the gun. “What the hell?”

“Trust me.” I rolled down the window and took careful aim, hitting first one flamingo, then the other, right in the pink patches on their necks. I watched with immense satisfaction as they slowly collapsed onto the ground. “Now, let’s get out of here. We have a plane to catch.”

***

This is only the beginning of Cynthia and Derek’s romance! Read their entire story and see them get their HEA in Baby One Last Time.

The post They Shoot Flamingos, Don’t They? appeared first on Harper Cross.