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She shrugs. “My target isn’t supposed to be much of a physical threat. Clearly, not you.” She blows out a breath. “It was supposed to be an easy job. Quick. In and out. No collateral damage.”
“Name’s James Cannon yeah?”
“Yes. How do you know that?”
My alias.
It’s real worrying that she’s got a hold of it. That fake persona ain’t got nothing to do with our screwed-up worlds. That alias is a completely legit, boring guy, a small-time businessman. I gotta know how she got it, who she’s working for.
I holster my gun and gesture down the hall. “Ground floor. Salon. Let’s get a drink and talk.”
“Salon, huh? When did you get so fancy?”
“It’s just a word. You want the liquor, or not?”
She smiles and saunters ahead of me.
The way I like it.
And it ain’t just about checking out the sway of her hips and her tight little ass. It’s because there’s no way can I risk a woman with her rep at my back. I can’t be letting my guard down until I know the whole story here.
One of the major things I ain’t never forgotten about her is how goddamn dangerous she is. She wouldn’t have survived and thrived in the twisted world she exists in if she weren’t.
Charlotte “Kingmaker” Brant is the best of the best.
