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She knew Declan Foster intimately, at least in terms of work, although he also went by an array of different aliases.
Echo. John Smith. Peter Brown. James Miller. Shadow was his favorite one, though. Those were just to name a few. There were also no visuals of him, so she had no idea what the man looked like in real life.
He was definitely lying.
In no universe would the real Declan Foster approach someone who worked for the FBI in a bar during the holiday season.
Right?
“Do you know him, Pie?” Ellie asked, grabbing Peyton’s attention while she also rose from her seat. Although her big doe eyes had already lit up and, Peyton could see her friend’s thoughts swimming in the completely wrong direction while holding up a neon sign that saiddate materialto nudge Peyton on. She knew that look and that spiel very well from Ellie.
“Forgive me, Ms...." He turned his incredibly smooth gaze onto Ellie and offered her a bone-melting smile.
“Ms. Ellie Katz." Ellie smiled, then actually bowed her head in supplication.
“Forgive me, Ms. Katz, but Peyton and I have some work to discuss.”
“Oh.Oh.You mean you’re also an FBI agent?” Ellie mouthed the last part about him being an FBI agent.
“He’s–” Peyton had been about to say he wasn’t, but he cut her off when he leaned in toward her.
Hints of citrus and sandalwood settled around her. He was too close. Heat flushed through her whole body as she started to tremble as if she were cold.
What on earth was wrong with her?
“You want to see Osiris’ last tattoo?” he whispered into her ear.
She almost staggered backward at his words. The implications of what he said shocked her.
“Something urgent has come up.” He continued for Ellie’s benefit, turning up the charm and making Ellie blush like a schoolgirl.
“Perhaps I could fill you in on the new developments in private. I’m sorry, Ellie, covert stuff and all that.”
“Oh, of course,” Ellie gushed.
Peyton hesitated. He was a big guy. She was a black belt in karate and had FBI training despite working a desk job now. If he wasn’t who he said he was, she could definitely take him.
If he was who he said he was, she would be dead before her next breath if that’s what he desired.
She wished she had a gun, though. But that was okay because if he was Declan Foster, she was Mrs. Claus in the flesh. Against him as an ordinary man, she could take care of herself.
Boldly, he reached for her purse on the table, handed it to her, and then scooped up her thick winter coat, which had been draped over the backrest of the chair. He then slipped his hand to the small of her back, scorching her skin and taking her breath away. She was already under duress, both physically and mentally.
“Come with me, Peyton. Or I walk out the door, and you won’t ever have another opportunity to catch me again,” he said softly.
A tattoo, Osiris, the artist who did it, the name, and Declan Foster... all of that was not common knowledge for a civilian to have. She had no choice but to go with him. He could know something about Declan Foster that would help the FBI after all.
“I won’t be long, Ellie.” That usually served as a code tocome and look for me if I was gone for more than ten minutes.
Was she crazy to be doing this? What if he was a madman, an impostor? Not that the original person was any better to be alone with in a room. But the hold he had on her now tightened.
She could break his wrist. It comforted her to know that.
He had led her into Ralphie’s office, and since the owner had gone home to be with his family, his manager filled in for him. Peyton was so disturbed that the manager took one look at the tall man beside her and was immediately too happy to let him use the privacy of his workspace.
She couldn’t help but notice how people went out of their way to please him, giving him room to move in the crowded bar with nothing but an offered smile on his part, exactly like the profile they had on Declan Foster.
Once alone in the overly warm office, he drew a gun from the back of his suit trousers and laid it on the desk.
