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7
Anissa
Unease accompanies me the entire way home, the dull throb pulsing through my veins.
This isn’t me—the taunting. The facade.
Okay, maybe that’s a lie.
Just a tiny one.
When working with informants, I need to be able to bend them to my will. It takes a certain level of manipulation to convince them to talk when they don’t want to. And yes, it becomes a game of mastery.
But I never indulge criminals.
Especially not antagonistic pricks like Cole.
I’m giving him exactly what he wants—my attention.
I can’t win without engaging in battle. The situation is a double-edged sword that requires a foolproof strategy.
I can’t get him out of my head. Not once I reach my apartment, and definitely not while I’m in the shower, attempting to scrub my skin of his effects.
When I turn off the lights and climb into bed, he’s all I see. Every time I close my eyes, he’s staring back at me with that devilish smile. The satanic smirk. All I hear is the deep purr of his voice. It whispers in my ear, making the hair on my arms stand on end.
I’m still awake when the sun rises. I don’t pass out until after the busy rush of peak-hour traffic fills my head to distract me from the nagging thoughts of a predator.
It’s quieter when I wake, the bedside clock glowing red to a
Every time I think about Taggert, I distract myself with exercise. I punish myself with sit-ups or squats. I even lower myself to the pain of burpees. I let the burn take away the thought process, because I can’t change my mind.
I’m doing the right thing.
I know I am. Despite breaking a promise to Easton.
I don’t lose sight of my goal, not through the slow afternoon hours when I try to strategize. And not when my pulse beats faster as the time of reckoning approaches.
I dress simple. Black slacks, white blouse, and two-inch heels, with a faint hint of makeup to mask the sleep deprivation.
For the briefest second, I’m tempted to put on a business suit, until I force myself to realize the appeal is based on nothing but a cheap thrill.
I’m as eager to antagonize him as he is with me. It has to stop. At least on my behalf.
This is serious. I can’t keep walking into every trap he lays before me. The lives of so many women are at stake. Not just the nine who have been reported missing over the last five days. It’s also all those who remain in the clutches of Luther’s sex-trafficking syndicate.
When seven o’clock draws near, I catch the elevator downstairs, my cell in my pocket, my purse and keys in hand.
I don’t wear a wire. I don’t even contemplate going behind Cole’s back to record our encounter.
I’m sure he’s smart enough to have contingencies in place to scramble any signal. And if he doesn’t, then he has no intention of spilling secrets. My aim is to trick him into revealing the truth. Taunt and torment.
I push through the glass lobby door and step outside, finding the streetlight beaming down to highlight a nightmare.
Double-parked right in front of the building is a sleek, black limousine drawing the attention of people passing by like a stripper handing out hundred-dollar bills.
This isn’t the car Cole sent. It can’t be.
Neither one of us want to be seen together. The prince of the underworld and a special agent with the FBI. Whispers of an alliance wouldn’t be good for either of us.
I glance down the street, then back in the opposite direction, searching for another option as the driver climbs from the limo.
“Ms. Fox?”
I ignore the call as my irritation climbs to new heights.
Should I flee inside to escape being seen? Should I give up because I didn’t anticipate yet another game?
“Ms. Fox?”
Shit.
Why the hell am I surprised?
I suck in a deep breath and stand tall, meeting the driver’s gaze. “Yes?”
He smiles, the expression filled with gentle kindness. Obviously, he’s not a seasoned asshole like his employer.
“It’s nice to meet you.” He swings an arm in the direction of the back door. “Are you ready to leave?”
No.
Hell fucking no. But do I have a choice?
Wherever my tormentor is, I bet he’s laughing his ass off.
“I’m ready.” I’m not going to let the prick win this early.
I make my way toward the limo, pause when the driver opens the door, and then slide straight inside. I’m closed into the shadows within seconds, immediately finding the significant space occupied by another soul.
Cole sits on the leather seat ru
“Good evening.” I measure my breathing, not willing to show I’m off balance. It’s too early for him to be getting to me. “Thanks for the ride. I didn’t think you’d go to this much trouble in an effort to impress me.”
“Then you must doubt your allure.” He takes a drink, the action highlighting the rough tease of stubble along his jaw. “You look nice.”
I ignore the compliment as the vehicle begins to move, the slow glide either marking the start of another mistake or the begi
“Would you like to join me in a drink?” He indicates the stocked bar with a tilt of his scotch. “I took the liberty of pouring you a glass of Beluga. I vaguely recall vodka being your poison of choice.”
It’s not a vague recollection. Or a guess.
It’s a fucking statement of knowledge.
I’m sure he’s learned everything there is to know about me. I just don’t want to contemplate how.
“That’s right.” I drag my gaze toward the lone glass sitting in front of expensive bottles of liquor, the ice swimming amongst a sea of clear liquid. “But I’m not in the mood to drink right now. Maybe later.”
There’s another tweak to those lips. “You can pour your own, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I mimic his expression. Smug. Self-assured. Fucking confident. “I’m not worried.”
I’m almost certain he has no plans to kill me. This is nothing more than a show of power. He’s succumbing to the weakness of messing with me, which can only work in my favor.
He’s a slave to these games.
It’s only a matter of time before he makes a mistake.
“Good.” He licks his lower lip. “My aim for tonight is to build trust between us.”
“That sounds nice.”
He continues to eye me over the rim of his glass, drinking in slow sips.
His attention is consuming. It’s almost tangible. The potency of his gaze wraps around me, slightly restricting.
He isn’t distracted by the passing traffic or the blare of a nearby horn. He keeps watching me. Reading me. He coils his presence around me so tightly, without a single word, that I grow discomforted by the silence.
“Where are we going?” I turn my attention to the window and focus on the passing buildings. He will surprise me with the location. He’ll either take me to a place in full view of the public eye. Or somewhere entirely remote. Because he thinks both locations will daunt me.
And he’s right.
I don’t want anyone seeing us together. If my actions get back to Taggert, I can kiss goodbye all new information on any case revolving around the Torians. I’ll be locked out, if I don’t lose my job entirely.