Charmed (Death Escorts) (11 page)

I cleared my throat and sat back. “It’s actually not that bad. The cut, I mean. Those kinds of things always look worse than they are. The swelling will probably be gone in the morning.”

I began gathering up the supplies and wrappers. When I turned from the trashcan, he was inches from me. I gasped. “Just because you can move that fast and apparently silently doesn’t mean you should.”

“Frankie,” he said. He leaned down close, so close I could see the different shades of green that all worked together to create the vibrant shade that made up his eyes. I swallowed; my stupid heart began to race with his closeness.

“What?”

“Don’t forget what you’re supposed to do tonight. At dinner.”

I made a sound of disgust and shoved him away. I swear he laughed beneath his breath. “Oh, I won’t forget.” I promised, leaving the room.

At this point I would tell her anything he wanted just so I could get a little space.

Chapter Thirteen

“Fiber -
the parts of grains, fruits, and vegetables that contain cellulose and are not digested by the body. Fiber helps the intestines absorb water, which increases the bulk of the stool and causes it to move more quickly through the colon.”

Charming

We met at a small local pizza place that specialized in wood-fired pizza. Frankie refused to ride with me and I wasn’t going to argue. I had enough of her already to last me an entire lifetime.

I don’t know what I’d been thinking telling her about my abilities. Talk about giving away the home court advantage. One minute she was putting that shit that burned like hell on my face and the next I was answering her questions without even thinking about it.

It had to be the head injury.

It was making me behave foolishly.

But after tonight I wouldn’t have to see her as much. My
sister
could just be a topic of conversation between the Target and me while we were out on dates. I wasn’t fool enough to think that the minute I announced I wasn’t actually gay she would jump into my wholly available and waiting arms.

I had no doubt that her people would be running background check after background check on me. It didn’t matter. They wouldn’t find anything other than what I wanted them to see. To her I was just a businessman who worked in real estate and property development. I went to an Ivy League college and worked my way up to the self-made millionaire that I was today. I was divorced (because a guy like me would have to be damaged goods to never have been married before) and I had no kids.

In fact, on paper I looked like the perfect guy for a senator’s daughter to date. I would even look good in the family photo.

It was going to be tricky to insert myself in her life so quickly, but I knew I could do it. The key was to move slowly at first, gain her trust, pass all the checks they wanted to do, and appear uninterested in the fact that she was a senator’s daughter and worth a lot of money.

Acting uninterested in her money wouldn’t be hard at all. They would never know it, but I had way more money that she would ever have.

I parked my car in a spot in the back of the lot beneath a streetlight and cut the engine. I sat there and watched as Frankie pulled in and parked that tin can of a Jeep on the other side of the lot. That thing was hideous. It had vinyl seats a basic interior.

I frowned.

It probably wasn’t safe at all.

I shook off the stray thought (I wasn’t hit that hard, but my brain sure was acting scrambled) and got back to business. The hardest thing about this job was going to be acting interested in the Target. She was attractive and I was sure she was well educated and all, but she wasn’t my type. She was one of those girls that people built a glass house around because everyone thought she was important. She probably never had an ounce of fun because of the duties that had been bestowed upon her just because her father chose the career he did.

Maybe that was it. Maybe the key to getting to her heart fast wasn’t romance. Maybe it was fun. Excitement. Maybe I should break down that glass house and show her what life on the outside was all about.

I sighed. I didn’t really know what life was about either. All I did was plot and kill.

I watched Frankie walk across the parking lot. She was wearing a pair of loose-fitting black cotton pants and a pair of heels. The red pea coat she wore flared out around her waist and swung around as she stepped. She would know all about how to have fun. Like I told her before, she was brimming with energy.

But I wasn’t going to involve her any more than necessary. Not like she would cooperate anyway. She was more stubborn than a mule’s ass.

A black BMW pulled into the lot and parked in the row right in front of me. I caught a flash of long dark hair and knew it was the Target. Time to get to work.

I waited until she pushed open her door, and then got out of my car, pressing the lock button on my key fob. The SUV beeped and just like I hoped, she looked over her shoulder at me.

I smiled and held up my hand. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Charming, glad you could make it.” Her eyes swept over me quickly and then settled on my face, or rather the injury that was unnoticeable.

“What on earth happened to you?” she asked just as I fell into step beside her.

“I was at the grocery store earlier and I saw this little old lady trying to reach onto the top shelf for the last box of cereal. I reached up to get it for her and would you believe she thought I was taking it for myself and she clobbered me.”

She laughed. “Actually, I don’t believe that.”

I shook my head. “I had no idea how serious old people were about their fiber.”

She laughed again as we approached the entrance. I stepped ahead to pull open the door and hold it for her. The scent of wood-fired pizza and bread wafted out onto the sidewalk.

“That smells so good,” she said.

We stepped in and my eyes found Frankie immediately. She was sitting in a booth toward the back. She saw us and waved.

When we arrived at the table, the Target slid into the booth, opposite of Frankie, and I wasn’t sure what she would think if I slid in next to her so I gave Frankie a light shove and sat down beside her.

“So that’s your story, huh?” the Target asked, picking up her menu. “Black eye by old lady?”

Frankie gave me a look.

I smiled sheepishly at the Target. “Actually, no. I was at the gym earlier. I do some boxing and some guy got in a lucky shot.”

“You box?” Frankie said, surprised.

“Been boxing since I was a kid. You know that,” I told her. She was a lousy con.

“Right. Sorry. I didn’t realize you still did it.”

I nodded. “When work allows me to get away.”

“Oh, I know how that is. I was in meetings all day.”

“What do you do, Rosalyn?” Frankie asked.

“Mostly I just head up some of my father’s foundations and causes. I wanted to go to law school, but my father needed me.” She shrugged.

“Not me. I hated school. College sounded like torture. Of course, now I’m stuck in a job that’s like torture so I guess I traded one for the other.”

“There has to be something you want to do that wouldn’t be torture. What is it?”

I knew I should interrupt their conversation, swing it in my favor, captivate the Target’s attention, but I kind of wanted to hear the answer.

Frankie’s cheeks turned pink. “I kind of like to bake.”

I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. I should have known it involved sugar.

“Yum, what’s your favorite thing to make?”

“Cupcakes,” she replied. “But it’s just a hobby.”

“Have you ever been to the Iced Princess?” Rosalyn asked.

Frankie’s eyes lit up. “That is my favorite place ever.”

“What’s the Iced Princess?” I asked.

“This ultra-fabulous cupcakery about an hour or so away.”

Frankie nodded. “There’s nowhere else like it.”

The two ladies launched into some discussion about cupcakes and pink and I totally tuned out. I was about to change the subject when someone walked in front of the window by our table.

All the air in my lungs seemed to disappear.

It was the same girl from the other night. From the charity ball.

Long blond hair, willowy figure. She was alone, her hands stuffed into a royal-blue coat. As I watched, she stopped walking, directly in front of our window and pulled a beeping phone out of her pocket. She glanced at the screen and smiled—
I knew that smile—
and glanced up.

Our eyes connected.

Hers were green.

My body jerked like it had been shocked and my mouth went bone dry.

The woman turned away and started walking again. I craned my neck to watch her until she disappeared from sight.

 “Charming, are you okay?” Frankie was looking at me with a funny look on her face.

I cleared my throat, glancing at her hand, which was resting on my forearm. The Target was watching me as well. “I’m fine. I thought I recognized that woman, but then I realized I was wrong.”

“Some people just have those faces,” the Target was saying. “You know the kind that everyone thinks they know.”

Frankie agreed with her and removed her hand from my arm. I kind of wished she’d left it there another moment. It made me feel grounded.
That looked just like her.

It wasn’t. And I wasn’t going to do this. Not now. Not here. I finally had my chance to get in with the Target and I wasn’t going to let anything blow it for me.

The waiter came around and took out orders and then came back with drinks all around. After that I tried to keep the conversation about the Target, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to appear interested but also maybe learn something about her that could be useful.

Frankie kept butting her big mouth in to talk about shoes, celebrities, and TV shows.

“Speaking of clothes,” Rosalyn said, turning away from me to look directly at Frankie. “I loved the gown you were wearing at the ball. Where did you get it?”

“Oh, there is this great little vintage shop downtown. Not many people know about it.”

“We should go!” the Target exclaimed.

The two made plans to go shopping that weekend and I couldn’t help but feel like Frankie was trying to move in on my Target.

When Rosalyn got up to use the ladies room, I leaned in close. “Quit being nice,” I growled in her ear.

She made a face. “Not everyone has the disposition of a turd like you do.”

“When she comes back to the table, we’re going to tell her that I am not gay. You’re going to play the worried sister.”

“And if I don’t?” she challenged.

“I’m going to show up at your apartment every day at six a.m. and pound on your door.”