Bait: A dark erotic thriller (Hunter & Prey Book 2) (16 page)

“He said so himself.”

“That he doesn’t love her?” The incredulity in her voice made me wonder if she’d somehow managed to put a wire tap on me without my knowledge.

“He said I’m the only one who understands him. Or understands him best, at the very least. Don’t you think that significant?” I offered.

Agent Smith shrugged, still not perturbed, but at least the fake humor had left her demeanor.

“It just underscores that he’s still obsessed with you. Not that he won’t come after her.”

“But she is just a tool to him,” I objected, or tried to.

“To accomplish what?”

“Obviously to draw me back to him,” I said. “Which worked perfectly, wouldn’t you say? Now he can dangle her in front of me. Tease me with the one thing he knows will unnerve me to no end. But beyond that, she’s worthless to him.”

I hated how my admission made me sound gullible, but in this, I couldn’t very well protest as it was the honest truth. Agent Smith’s lips compressed into a thin line, but she still didn’t relent.

“Then there’s no reason not to kill her. If anything, she’s in more danger now—thanks to your brilliant plan that has yet to yield any results, I might add—than she ever was before.”

I stared back at her, wondering if that woman had listened to a single thing I’d explained about Darren Hunter’s MO.

“For him, killing someone isn’t just a one-minute deed and then it’s over,” I pointed out. “It’s a ritual that involves stages. Perfectly timed, well-crafted stages that are all set in motion by an initial prerequisite—him getting disappointed by the woman he loves. Why should he waste that amount of time on a stupid girl that might be good for sticking his cock into, but beyond that she’s nothing to him? He’s driven by strong emotion and a need to exact revenge on the woman he perceives hurt him gravely. I doubt that anything she’d be able to cause in him goes beyond annoyance.” My explanation didn’t do a thing to sway her, so I decided to pull one last register. “Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe my plan really isn’t working and I’m just deluding myself. Give me this last chance. If this fails, I will do whatever you think is best—and only what you think is best. But unless you have a better idea, please let me go through with this.”

I hated pleading with her like few other things in my life, but the bait was too good to be ignored, when she finally inclined her head.

“Under one condition.”

Nothing’s ever free. “Which would be?”

“I’m going to put a security detail on her.”

That was the least likely objection I had expected—and it made me wonder if that, in turn, meant I was about to be left on my own, which should have made me feel free rather than afraid, but I couldn’t help but feel like Agent Smith had just signed my death certificate. Because what I hadn’t explained—but which was abundantly obvious—was that Darren would see right through my game, and if Daliah was out of the picture, that left me exposed, vulnerable, and likely at the very top of his kill list.

I still didn’t hesitate to nod. I’d known from the start that I was—barely—an asset for her, and not one she would weep over losing, except for my potential usefulness.
 

“Very well. I will update you with the time and venue as soon as I have the details myself,” I said, trying to end this quickly now before she could change her mind, but Agent Smith wasn’t done with me yet.

Leaning closer, she raised one finger, pointing it at me. “I will hold you personally accountable for the harm that comes to anyone involved in this. My agents. Daliah. That male prostitude you’re paying to seduce her. Any and all innocent bystanders. Is that understood?”

I nodded again, my mouth suddenly dry, but I did my best to hide the rising scorn inside of me from showing. Immunity she might grant me, but I doubted that she could just pin anything on me that I hadn’t actually caused. And it wasn’t like I didn’t have ties to a certain law firm that specialized in slapping the justice system in the face.

My gaze was involuntarily drawn to Adam, who had listened to the proceedings with his shoulders hunched, his fingers drumming nervously on his knee. What would happen to him if I flipped? After all, what little freedom he had right now was all because of my willingness to cooperate. Would Agent Smith follow through with the threat of making him disappear, or at the very least throw him into prison? Or did Brigitte have a point and he was, either way, too valuable an asset to lose? Until my return to the city, I hadn’t contemplated that there was another option for me besides becoming Agent Smith’s pawn, even if she let me have the illusions of me setting out on my own. Adam’s fate was a tighter leash than any threats she could have uttered against me personally. But in the meantime, things had changed. I hadn’t expected Darren not to come after me. I hadn’t anticipated my own reaction to him once we got a moment on our own. And Adam himself had—if jokingly—admitted once that he wasn’t sure if the case against him hadn’t been manipulated. I doubted Darren would get him out of the hole he was sitting in out of the goodness of his heart, but maybe, just maybe I could use myself as the ultimate bargaining chip to resolve this situation in another way. What was one more case he could let any of his associates handle in favor of my willing cooperation?

It only took me a moment to shake the temptation to consider this, but it was an option, if only one I would take if everything else failed. I had no illusions about how that would end for me—or in what manner. Maybe it was a testament to my own spitefulness that I considered giving up my life rather than let Agent Smith have her way. Then again, I was sure that my plan would work—yet if I was wrong, I didn’t doubt that heads would roll, and as she’d just told me to my face that if that happened, she’d have my ass, it was the logical consequence.

She made me explain my exact plan three more times—and offered quite the slew of objections still—until she let me return to Brigitte and the meeting with the girls.
 

It was only on the way out that I realized that at no time did she express concern about anyone except Daliah—except for who to blame. Me, I could understand—she had made it plain that if I got myself killed, she wouldn’t consider my blood to be on her hands. But she’d also seemed perfectly unconcerned about the male escort in question—who, if Hunter actually lashed out, might become collateral damage. After all, he’d pretty much confirmed to me that if Adam and I’d had sex, he would have come after him eventually. I wasn’t sure exactly where that line ran, but if Daliah let herself be seduced, the escort could be in danger.

I was still mulling this over as I stepped into Brigitte’s boudoir, ready to prep the girls who, to everyone but Brigitte and me, were utterly expendable.

If I’d ever needed a reminder of the stakes at hand, that thought certainly served the purpose well.

It was easy to forget that I’d been back in the city for less than a month—but the following days felt like weeks, or even years. When Alison had handed me the copy of Darren’s schedule, I’d thought I’d have my game plan pretty much made for me. If my plan hadn’t changed, I would have found opportunities aplenty to lie in wait and drag him into the next available nook—or, considering how most of our encounters had turned out, getting cornered by him. But finding the opportunity to turn Ricardo—the male escort Brigitte’s friend had referred me to—loose on Daliah while also getting the chance to make Darren jealous as hell?

That soon proved to be quite impossible.

It wasn’t like they weren’t attending their share of events—but half of those were either invitation only, or set up in a way that wouldn’t let me play my cards right. Sure, I could have waltzed into that fundraiser for children in need easily, but the dinner arrangements were small tables, very intimate, and not the occasion where Daliah would just wander off and be the perfect target. Others, like the mayor’s award ceremony for courageous citizen acts, might have been perfect as it screamed of networking where, sooner or later, Daliah would have been unattended, but that was invitation only, and with way too many people around who thought it pertinent to follow the letter of the law rather than what made sense—ergo not the event any whore dared set foot in. I even considered the country club, but wouldn’t you know it, the following Sunday I found myself alone there, without the other Jaguar making an appearance. I could take a guess whose fault that was—and that Daliah had so much power over Darren, even if he was just obliging her to string me along, grated. A lot.

Two weeks in, I was almost ready to throw in the towel and consider a different plan—or maybe host an event myself; it wasn’t like I didn’t have access to assemble quite the guest list—when I got a call from Alison. It was barely after six in the morning, my hair still wet after washing the chlorine from swimming laps out, and not the time I normally conducted business at. Then again, Alison had already proven to be quite the early bird, and I doubted that she considered being considerate of someone else’s schedule a prerogative.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?” I asked as I picked up, pitching my voice that fake kind of sultry that I knew would make her laugh. It did, which was strangely satisfying.

“Strictly business, I’m afraid,” she stated. “I think it’s about time I call on that arrangement of ours.”

“What do you have in mind? Or give me a number and I’ll take it from there,” I promised.

“It’s not quite that simple,” Alison said, giving a derisive chuff. “One of my current clients would do good to stop flirting with me, lest I not get actually annoyed with him and decide that my court record is less important to me than my dignity. I think he just needs encouragement, you know? If he were to find himself in the right kind of company, I’m certain he would focus on someone else than me.”

“Any preferences you think your client might have?”

She made a noise low in her throat that I thought was a grunt. Very unladylike, and very unlike her in the frustration it held.

“There is simply no way to phrase this in a circumspect way. He’s a pig, and he likes to prove it. Just to be sure, make it three, and ones who can go a week without the means to earn anything. I will, of course, compensate them accordingly.”

My stomach knotted up at her words, but I did my best to play it light.

“Are you sure that you’re not talking about your husband?”

Now her laugh returned to more usual cadences. “Trust me, Penelope, when I tell you that compared to that man, Ray is a gentleman. My concern is that if he won’t be distracted, he will go looking for company on his own, and that would be a shame. I only just diverted a lengthy jail sentence from becoming his near and far future. I would like to keep it this way, at least until he has vacated my home turf again. Do you think you have someone suitable for this in your stable?”

Honestly, the idea of subjecting any of my girls to this made me sick, but I knew a few who were emotionally stable enough to tough it out, and the odd desperate one not to care about the consequences if the money was right. When I asked about said compensation and heard Alison’s answer, I knew just who to call.

“Perfect,” she purred when I told her so. “I’m sorry that I’m calling on such short notice, but the soiree I need to accompany him to is tonight. I will have four invitations sent to your address as soon as I’m at work.”

The printed out schedule lay on the table right next to me, and, true enough, there was something penciled in there Friday evening.

“Make that five, and we have a deal.”

“Why, are you bringing company?” Alison asked, just a hint disappointed.

“Company, yes, but not for me,” I replied, and left it at that.

“Very well. You should find the invitations at your reception in an hour or two,” she promised, then paused. “I hope you haven’t forgotten about our other arrangement?”

Now it was my turn to offer a humorless laugh. “With luck, that should be taken care of tonight also.”

“Very promising,” she enthused, then hung up, our business concluded.
 

True to her word, Philip brought a thick, white envelope up about an hour later, and when I checked the bank account I’d given Alison, the money was already transferred. I hadn’t asked any names, and seeing how eager she was about this, I didn’t want to know. Which was a problem, really, because it was my obligation to keep my girls safe. Two calls to the right people, and I had the list of potential men narrowed down to two, thanks to this week’s court records with a cross-reference of whose cases Alison had taken on herself. Neither option sounded too conspicuous, but then it was often the quiet ones who created the biggest messes—see Darren himself case in point.
 

I wondered if I should have conferred with Brigitte first, but I could already see what her answer would be—and it wouldn’t be a note of sympathy. The resounding guilt I felt certainly made me realize that it probably hadn’t been that easy for Brigitte to send me on assignments similar to this one, even if she’d sounded confident, or hard when I’d tried to protest or just wanted someone to assure me that it all would be okay. In hindsight, hearing that from her would have worried me a lot more than knowing I might leave that night with bruises and the odd stay in the hospital. So when I called the girls, I acted just like she had—I informed them of what was expected of them, of what they would get for doing it, and that they better not butt heads with me. Pamela tried—as I’d expected—but shut up when I told her exactly how much money was in store for her. That made me like her even less, although I wasn’t above seeing my own hypocrisy.

Last, I called Ricardo, promising to pay him double if he dropped his already-made appointment that he probably would have a chance to attend either way, if he just postponed it an hour or so. I hung up after telling him where to meet me.

With nothing else to do until tonight, it might have been relaxing to spend the day obsessing over what to wear, but I already had the perfect gown in my wardrobe—had had so for days, in fact. Darren had always loved dark jewel tones on me, so the sapphire color was perfect. The cut was asymmetric, leaving my left shoulder free, balancing the draped design with a high slit on the right side. It was classy on the more sophisticated side, bordering on boring over sexy. It was the last dress anyone would expect a whore to wear. It was also very accessible, and could be dropped within seconds—I’d tried that out myself. Maybe I should have been ashamed of myself selecting it with that in mind, but it was mostly how I looked in it, not how fast I could get out of it, that had made me select it over more accentuated options. I knew Darren would love it. So I loved it. And that was a very bad, bad thing.