Moving Target (Target #3)(6)

“So is eating. I like to eat things.” She nips at my chin. “You taste good.”

“I know good manners dictate that I should reply with a thank you, but I’m slightly worried you actually mean it.”

“Oh I do, TPK.”

“TPK?”

“You got your language and I got mine. Transporter-professional killer.” She cocks her head to one side. “Are all finance guys like you?”

Is she serious? Bloody hell, she is. “Finance?”

“Yeah.” She touches my shirt. “Totally Wall Street material.”

“You got me.” I hold out my arms a little. “I am in finance.” It’s not a total lie. I do handle financial transactions for every job I take.

“Score. Mario said hitman.” She takes out her phone and texts him. “He owes me a brownie.”

“Was Mario joking?” How much access does Mario have? Is he following us? Waiting for the right moment. Why in the hell would he allow his friend to leave with me… unless she’s bait.

Fuck my life, she’s bait.

I step away from her, scanning the area. It’s so full of trees and bushes that I can’t see a damn thing. Stupid, Dima, stupid.

Never go where you cannot be fully aware of your surroundings.

“Mario never jokes. Wait, I take that back—he thinks he’s funny, but he’s not.” She puts her phone away in her purse. “Are you okay? I was kidding about what Mario said.”

“You were?”

“Yeah. I thought we were having this moment. Uh, this teasing, back and forth thing. In our country, we call that flirting.” She winks at me. “What do you do in your country when you like a girl?”

I’m torn between laughing and pointing a gun at her head. “Deliver the heart of her enemy in a jeweled box.”

Her eyes widen. “That’s dedication. I’m down with chocolate hearts. No enemies here.”

I look at this woman, really look at Chloe. Her hair is in loose curls with only a headband holding it back. She’s wearing a brightly colored shirt with yellow flowers and a striped skirt, along with heels that are more practical than last night’s, but are certainly not made for running away from me.

Or anyone else.

All in all, she’s dressed rather impractically to be bait. She’s dressed in colors to bright to blend in.

Either she’s a professional that knows how to mind fuck a man, or she’s truly who she say she is, Chloe Riggs, a twenty-three year old woman from Deep Hollow, Virginia. A woman who’s spent the last twenty-four hours with me and who I will not enjoy allowing her to leave me on Monday.

I have to leave on Monday as well, a flight back to St. Petersburg, Russia.

Such is life. Such is always my life.



Bait or not, I didn’t stop this weekend from happening with Chloe. Which is why I’m deep inside of her, my hands on her hips while she rides me. Her head is thrown back, her curls are wild, and her breasts bouncing.

She cries out my name, her body tensing, and I surge deep, coming so hard that I can barely catch my breath.

My back is against the headboard. I bury my face between her breasts, breathing in her scent. Wanting to remember this moment. Wanting to believe that we’re nothing but a man and woman who somehow found one another in a city with millions of people.

That I’m not a killer. That she’s not the path to my death.

Some might say I’m thinking with my dick, but they would be wrong. My heart is beating for her. Only her.

In less than four hours, Mario will collect her and I will never see her again. Perhaps I can keep tabs on her, find ways to come see her here in the US. We can have many weekends like this. Many nights to—fuck, what am I thinking?

There are no weekend like this for me for a reason.

How would I really explain what I do? I was honest with her, told her the truth and she laughed it off. Made jokes. Enchanted me.

Ensnared me. Bewitched and Beguiled.

“Dima,” she sighs, tipping up her chin. “I don’t want today to be our last.”

I smooth back her damp hair. “All good things must end.”

She frowns, her full lips quivering a little. “Why? You live here and I live outside of D.C. We’re not that far apart.”

“I only live here for a small portion of the year,” I say. “You need a man who is more permanent.”

She lifts up and away from me before leaving the bed and heading to the bathroom. The door shuts behind her. While I have the opportunity, I get myself cleaned up and dispose of the condom, and check my text messages.

Chloe enters my bedroom again. As she begins to dress, my anxiety starts to kick in. “We have four hours left.”

“Why wait,” she says, her voice sharp. “I’ve already texted Mario. He’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

“Chloe,” I say, coming to her. “Don’t be this way. I only wanted you to have a good weekend.”

“You did. I did.” She closes her eyes, then opens them. The grey color reminds me of rain in the spring time. “It was amazing and magical, which is why I’m sad that you don’t want another weekend like this.”

“Amazing and magical only happen once in a lifetime.”

She nods, then finishes dressing before heading back to the bathroom to grab her purse and phone. “Thanks for everything. I’ll head downstairs.”