Deadly Match Read online

  I didn’t die.

  Only because of some kind of fucking Christmas miracle, though. He should have croaked that day.

  Three gunshot wounds? That was a lot, although it was not the first time that had happened and probably not even the last if he continued with his current job.

  The difference this time wasn’t the coma or the rehab even. Been there, done that.

  What differed this time around was that it bothered him.

  I almost died.

  The elevator slid open as soon as he pressed for it. Reaper scowled as he saw who stood in the cab.

  Entering, he jabbed the button marked Lobby.

  “Going somewhere?” Harry asked—his boss, his friend, the reason he’d been held prisoner longer than necessary.

  “Home.”

  “Didn’t the doctor want to keep you another week to ensure—?”

  “I’ve been here long enough already, no thanks to you,” Reaper muttered darkly. Harry had greased enough palms to keep Reaper from leaving weeks ago.

  “Excuse me for fucking caring.”

  “You had them feeding me sleeping pills for weeks.”

  “To let your body heal because we both know you would have tried to hop out of that bed before your leg was ready.”

  “It left me vulnerable,” Reaper growled. The very idea of lying prone in bed, unable to defend himself… Yeah, that brought a chill that couldn’t be fixed by torching this place.

  “When you woke up, I offered for you to come stay with me. We could have arranged home care.”

  “Like fuck was I going with you.” Harry had a real home, with a wife and kids. He didn’t need some grizzly, broken assassin mucking shit up. “You should have let me go back to my place.”

  “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

  There was that pesky word again. Alone. Funny how it bothered him. It never used to. He used to revel in the solitude.

  Damned injuries had made him maudlin.

  Reaper shook his head. “I didn’t need a babysitter then, and I don’t need one now. I’m fine.”

  “Good to know. But I’m still recommending you book some time off for a vacation.”

  “I can do my job.”

  “Doc says you need to take it easy. That bullet came awfully close to your ticker.”

  Medical science had proven that he had a heart. Now, Reaper couldn’t ignore the fact that it existed—and it was lonely.

  “I’m good as new.”

  “I’m sure you are, but as your boss, and friend, I’m telling you to take some time to heal a bit more. It’s not like you need the money.”

  A lack of anyone to spend it on meant it accumulated, especially since Reaper had simple tastes.

  “Say I don’t come into work, what am I supposed to do? Twiddle my thumbs? Start knitting?”

  “Why not learn to cook?”

  “Says the guy whose wife makes all his meals.” Reaper had seen the lunches Sherry packed for Harry. They even included healthy vegetables.

  Harry grinned. “I grill a mean steak.”

  “Can’t live on steak alone,” Reaper noted as the elevator dinged and opened to the lobby.

  “Says the man who has all his meals catered.”

  “I wasn’t the one talking about learning to cook.”

  “Fine, don’t learn to wield a spatula. What are you going to do?”

  First off, enjoy the repast Reaper had ordered from the food service that kept him alive between missions. A prime rib with mashed potatoes, gravy, and asparagus. Yum.

  Then, a long, hot shower and a few minutes with his hand. Months without privacy in the hospital had left him with a need.

  A need a girlfriend would have satisfied for you.

  A significant other would have also asked who the hell shot him up. They were nosy that way.

  Once he was clean and fed, with some easy-listening Fourplay crooning faintly in the background, he’d find the cunt who’d shot him.

  He had a favor to repay.

  Harry must have read his expression. “We haven’t found her yet.”

  Probably because the woman had cleverly wiped her tracks. “She’s bound to surface at some point.” Because, otherwise, they were pooched. They had no leads. None at all, not even a picture to work with. When Mason went to copy the security tapes before wiping them, it was to find them already clean.

  There were no witnesses, no DNA, no fingerprints, no pictures, nothing, because the woman who shot him? Not Wendell’s girlfriend.

  So who the fuck was she? And why was she there with a gun? Had their employer on that particular job hired two assassins? He’d claimed he didn’t after Jerome paid him a visit and tortured him for a while. But then, why was she there?

  Had she mistaken him for Wendell, or was there someone looking to rid the world of Reaper?

  “I don’t want you haring off on your own. If you find the woman who shot you, bring us in, and we’ll help capture her.”

  By us, Harry meant Bad Boy Inc., an agency that seemed legit on the surface. International real estate. Great cover for operatives who needed to travel.

  Beneath their squeaky-clean surface, though, they offered specialty services available through the Dark Web. They ranged from small-time to mega jobs. Assassination and espionage brought in the biggest bucks.

  The staff of Bad Boy worked on contract, with only a few rules. They didn’t kill wives for rich men that didn’t want to pay alimony to fuck another pussy. And they didn’t kill kids.

  But drug dealers who’d crossed another big dealer’s line? Those fetched a pretty price.

  Want to know what a certain automaker was putting in their two thousand and something lineup? Bad Boy would bring you the blueprints so you could get the jump on them.

  Activities that skirted the edge of laws meant big money. It could also be dangerous. Kind of why he liked it.

  In the past, Reaper had worked well alone. He didn’t appreciate Harry implying that he needed assistance. “I don’t need help bringing in some chick.” He could handle one broad. A single bullet would solve that problem.

  What he needed help with was finding someone to Netflix and chill with. But don’t tell Sherry, Harry’s wife. The woman loved to match-make.

  And is that such a bad thing given my track record so far?

  Harry mocked him. “Of course, you don’t want a hand. You’re the big bad Reaper.” The bringer of death.

  “Did you just come here to hassle me, or did you have a real reason?” Reaper asked.

  “I’m here because you need a ride.”

  There wasn’t much point in asking how Harry knew Reaper would be leaving today. The man knew everything and had been a true friend since their days in the academy, which was probably why Reaper blurted, “What’s it like being married?”

  Harry almost hit the door face first he turned his head so quickly. His hand shot out at the last second and shoved it open. “Can I ask why you care what my married life is like?”

  “I’m thinking of dating.” The very utterance of the words earned him a startled side-eye.

  “When did you stop dating?”

  “I didn’t. Not exactly.” Reaper scrubbed a hand through his hair. “What I’m saying is, I’m thinking of something a little more permanent.”

  “You want a girlfriend?” The high note of incredulity would have been insulting to anyone else.

  But Reaper had made a point of living this long unfettered for a reason. “I think so. Yeah. I am getting older—”

  “Just fucking ancient.”

  “And it might be kind of nice to have someone to come home to. I mean, that’s gotta be one of the perks of you being with Sherry.”

  “There’re lots of perks to being married. Downfalls, too. Keep in mind, Sherry knows what I am. I don’t need to hide shit from her. You, though, are you thinking of dating someone from the agency or a civilian?”

  Reaper shrugged. “I hadn’t really thought about it. I kno
w some folks get away with leading a double life. So it’s doable.”

  “It is, but not easy if you’re still in the field. You retiring?”

  “Retiring is for pussies who lost their balls.”

  “There’s no shame in quitting while you’re alive. Your luck will run out eventually. We thought we’d lost you for good this time.”

  “I know.”

  “Is that where this interest is coming from? Facing your own mortality and shit?” Harry’s astute query dug into the heart of the matter.

  “I just think maybe it’s time I settled down.”

  “Weren’t you the one who said having a family is a liability?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Said that a wife and kids were just pawns that weakened an operative.”

  “Yeah.” Reaper’s jaw locked as he had his words tossed at him.

  “About time you admitted you were wrong.”

  He stumbled and caught himself with a hand on the bumper of a car in the parking lot. “I never said I was wrong.” When Harry smirked, Reaper sighed. “Okay, maybe I was a tad harsh in my opinions.”

  “A tad?” Harry snorted. “Whatever. I’m just glad you finally see the light.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means a man shouldn’t go through life alone. You should have someone to celebrate things with you. Someone to stand by your side, thick or thin. It’s about time you realized that and went hunting for that special someone.”

  “Hunt?” Reaper’s nose wrinkled. “I’d rather not.”

  “Then how do you plan to meet someone? Going to hit the singles clubs?” Harry asked.

  “I am not hitting the bars to look for a girlfriend.” Drunk women had no appeal. He’d reached an age where he wanted more than just easy pussy.

  Conversation might be nice, too.

  “I’ll bet Sherry knows some girls.”

  “I’ll bet she does, but I don’t know if I want someone who’s been around the agency.” Casual hookups happened a lot among them, especially since there were few women in the field. He didn’t want to have to kill colleagues just because they’d seen his girlfriend naked at one point.

  “How the hell are you going to find someone then?” Harry asked.

  “I’ve got a plan.” Reaper pointed at the billboard hovering overhead sporting a logo of a heart made to look like lips with a finger shushing it.

  Harry gaped. “You’re going to use Secret Match?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t exactly have a job conducive to meeting women to date, so I’m going to rely on some pros.”

  “A dating service, though?”

  “Don’t mock it. While I was being detained against my will”—Reaper glared at Harry—“I researched them online. They’ve got the highest success rate of all the local businesses.”

  “I can’t see you browsing profiles and checking them out.”

  “Because I won’t be. Secret Match does the work for you.”

  His boss shook his head. “You’re going to trust a company to find you love?”

  “I’m going to trust math and logic to find me a match.”

  How hard can it be?

  Chapter Three

  This is impossible. The man has no match.

  In all the years she’d been in the business, Annique had never come across such a dilemma. Everyone had someone they were compatible with.

  Though sometimes it took a few tries to really fine-tune the needs of individuals, to figure out who would make them happy. While her dating service couldn’t guarantee a happily ever after, it did usually manage a decent track record when it came to clients dating for months or years, with more than half sticking together even longer than that. She had a wall of wedding pictures from perfect hookups.

  Yet, she’d finally hit upon a man who stumped her. A man who seemed perfect on paper and did well in the interviews—because she didn’t accept just anyone into her service. There were some folks who couldn’t deal with love. She didn’t waste her time on them. She wanted single men and women that she knew could handle love but were just too busy to find it.

  She flipped through C.R. Montgomery’s file. Great profile pic. Those eyes, so piercing. The beard, rather sexy. His age, a little up there, forty-seven, yet no kids, so he didn’t come with baggage.

  Employed steadily with a real estate agency. Wore a suit to work. Owned his penthouse condo, a car, and a motorcycle. Tidy nest egg in the bank. A seasoned world traveler. University educated. No arrest records.

  Yes, she was that thorough; her livelihood depended on it. Due to previous experiences, she no longer dealt with gamblers. Their love of losing money usually ended up ruining their chances at a happy match. She also avoided those addicted to hard drugs like Oxy and cocaine. Pot smokers were okay, though, as long as they didn’t use it as an excuse to couch potato all the time.

  According to his last physical—and the copy of the blood workup he volunteered—Montgomery was clean.

  So what was wrong with him? Why did every date he embark on end in failure?

  The women who’d met with him thus far had nothing truly bad to say about him.

  He’s very polite.

  Gruff, yet sweet.

  Doesn’t talk much. The strong and silent type.

  Sexy and smells good.

  Although those first dates seemed to go well, he hadn’t clicked with any of them. Never called any back for a second date. According to the women, he treated them very gentlemanly, no attempts to get them into bed. Not even a kiss, which meant he wasn’t using her service as a sex buffet.

  Good thing. Annique didn’t deal in manwhores or sluts for that matter. Relationships should be about more than just sex.

  Why wasn’t he clicking with anyone?

  She could think of one reason. Don’t tell me in this day and age there are still men hiding in the closet.

  Time to find out if Mr. Montgomery was one of them.

  She tapped her glass-covered, touchscreen desktop to open a channel to her assistant’s Bluetooth earpiece.

  “Please send Mr. Montgomery in.”

  Annique stood, smoothing down the line of her skirt, which dropped past her knees. In a day where skirts got shorter and tighter, she opted for a more modest look. She didn’t want people noticing her for her body. She preferred that they didn’t notice her at all.

  As Annique came around the side of her desk, the door opened. Mitzy—her red hair a curly halo around her head and her glasses a cat-eye design in green jade—held it ajar and mouthed, “Wow.”

  Wow indeed. Montgomery entered her office and practically sucked all the air from it. How else to explain her sudden gasp?

  There was no doubt he was a handsome man. Tall, so very tall. She stood a respectable five-foot-six, and she didn’t quite reach his chin.

  He also took the term wide to a new level. He filled out the shoulders of his suit jacket, broad and defined. The button at his midsection didn’t strain over a paunch. According to his file, he kept in shape.

  His sharp blue gaze scanned her, and she might have flushed as he took in every detail of her. Not in a lascivious way. His stare never left her face, yet her body reacted as if he’d undressed her with his eyes.

  Her hormones were obviously in old-lady overdrive. Her girlfriends had warned her once she hit forty that she might start getting urges.

  Urges shouldn’t happen with clients, though.

  “You are Mrs. Darlington?”

  The deep, rumbling query snapped her out of her fantasy of touching that carefully trimmed beard to test its softness.

  Get your mind out of the gutter. No stroking the silver fox.

  She held out her hand. “Mr. Montgomery, thank you for taking the time to come and see me.”

  “How could I resist a request from the mysterious owner herself?”

  “Hardly mysterious, merely very busy.”

  “I’m not sure what you think a face-to-face meeting can accomp
lish.” His hand slipped around hers, and she hoped he didn’t notice her shiver at the touch. His fingers were rough and more callused than a man who worked in an office should have. Did he have hobbies not mentioned in his file?

  She pulled her hand free and gestured with it. “I’m not about to give up on you yet. Please, have a seat.”

  The seated position didn’t render him less imposing. He still seemed to consume an inordinate amount of room in her office. Given her shallow breaths, the air was also thinner.

  He crossed a leg and leaned back in his chair, his eyes partially hooded as he studied her. “I’ve already spoken to your associates several times.”

  She had a staff of three working under her, competent people whose tasks involved dealing with clients to fine-tune files. Updating all the tiny little details she’d built into the program, which then sifted through the options and paired those it computed as perfect matches. But, sometimes, black and white facts weren’t enough.

  “While our usual methods work for most clients, in some cases, a more personal approach is necessary.”

  “Is this your way of saying I’m too complicated?” His lips twisted into a wry grin. Evidence of that sweet charm she’d heard of.

  “Perhaps too challenging for the more automated methods, but I’m not about to give up on you. I know your match is out there.”

  “Perhaps that person isn’t a member of your agency.”

  With hundreds of accomplished clients, she highly doubted that. “I’m not giving up.” She leaned forward in her chair. “We just need to fine-tune your requirements, which is why I’m going to come straight out and ask. Are you homosexual?”

  “No.” Flatly spoken.

  “There is nothing wrong with an attraction to the same sex.”

  “Except, I’m not gay.” His gaze narrowed, and his lips tightened. “I am very much into women. Interesting women, which those you had me meet with were not.”

  “Not interesting?” Annique frowned and opened the folder on her desktop, her finger sliding over the touchscreen. A double tap brought a profile to life in the air, a hologram image they could both see of a lovely Asian woman in her early thirties. “Sook Leung is a neurosurgeon who has been studying parasitic activity in the human brain.”