Robin Bielman: Veiled Target

The thought made her madder than hell.

Maybe a night out would help. Make her forget about her job and her promise. Away from work and extreme sports, she might feel like a normal girl.

She bounded up from the bed and took one more look at herself before heading out the door. “Guess I’ll see you guys later.”

“Or maybe not. Have fun!” Francesca called.

“I slipped a couple frangers in your purse!” Kensie added, a schoolgirl giggle following.

Great. Tess had condoms in her purse. In thirty minutes, she’d be sitting in a bar across from a total stranger thinking about a possible sex connection if nothing else.

She kept the speedometer of her BMW to the posted miles per hour—not an easy task, but she already had one too many speeding tickets—and drove around the block a few times to check out the restaurant before parking. When she entered the bar, she noted the burgundy walls, dark wood furnishings and oversized chairs. A low hum filled the airspace. A few heads turned her way.

One booth remained available at the far side of the room, so she grabbed it. She scooted along the leather upholstered bench seat and decided to order a drink while she waited. Her mouth was dry, her throat parched. And her deodorant was not living up to its promise.

I can jump out of an airplane, no problem, but I can’t meet a guy without sweating. Freaking get over it. “Whatever you’ve got on tap please,” she said to the ponytailed waitress who stopped by the table.

A glance at her cell told her her date was late. She drummed her fingers on the polished wood table deciding if he didn’t show, she’d eat and drink, watch the people around her, then leave. Go home to an empty bed. No biggie.

So why were nervous tremors ticking at the side of her neck? Why did she shift uncomfortably in her seat?

Because it did matter.

She wanted a date.

Jason had been her first love. They’d met in foster care and instantly bonded. First as friends, then as more. When she’d been recruited by P.I.E. at sixteen, the secrecy of the organization had taken her away from him. But less than a year later, he’d found her surfing the waves of Malibu Beach one foggy Sunday morning. He’d turned eighteen, was on his own and still made her heart skip a beat.

Tess hated keeping her occupation from him, but followed protocol during the next five years they shared together. He believed she was a production assistant, her irregular hours and time away due to film shoots, not missions. When he’d surprised her with a diamond ring and proposal on her twenty-third birthday, pure happiness had engulfed her. And she told him the truth.

One week later, a wolfen killed him.

She stared at the empty space across from her. Pictured the last smile he’d dazzled her with. Good memories hadn’t erased the guilt festering inside her. Blame still wove an intricate path through her soul. She hated herself because even without proof, she knew her job, and his knowing about it, had contributed to his death.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the restaurant door swing wide. A small group of college students in UCLA sweatshirts entered. Her gaze followed them to the bar while she thought wistfully about what it might have been like to attend a university. Study marine biology like she’d always wanted to.

Unsure how long she stared, she panned back to the entrance and spied a ruggedly handsome man with chestnut hair that was more long than short, a strong jaw and a mouth so sinfully appealing she gulped.

She dropped her perusal to his black leather jacket, trim waist and long jean-clad legs. When she looked back up, she found his eyes trained on her. Wow. A shiver raced through her body. The sounds in the bar immediately vanished. All she could hear was the beating of her heart. Was that Trey?

Even if she’d wanted to, she couldn’t look away as he approached. His eyes held hers with commanding authority and she never backed down from a challenge. Forget that their azure color was crystal clear and they held a sort of animal magnetism. If Tess didn’t know better, she’d say he wanted to devour her.

Holy shit.

“You must be Tess,” he said, sliding into the booth across from her. His voice was like dark chocolate and honey. Rich, warm, golden. “I’m…Trey.”

Umm, yeah. But hell if she could make any coherent sound. Instead, she took in his broad shoulders, tousled hair, leather scent. When her gaze met his steely blue one again, he seemed to read her like an open book.

“You are Tess,” he repeated. Not a question. A statement. That totally unsettled her and shook her from the trance he’d somehow cast. She’d never met anyone who knew her before being properly introduced.

“Yes, sorry. Nice to”—she thrust her arm across the table—“meet you.”

His hand enveloped hers and thanks to static electricity, included a shock that made her flinch and whip her arm back. A noise escaped her lips that sounded suspiciously like a giggle. She did not giggle. Not like that.

“The pleasure’s all mine.” He slouched against the back of the booth, the wood panel behind his head separating them from the next table.

Nope. The pleasure was not all his. If the tiny bursts of tingles thrumming through her body didn’t mean pleasure, she didn’t know what did. Scratch that. She knew exactly what did. It had just been a long time since the pleasure wasn’t a result of extreme physical exertion.

She directed her attention to the eatery, privately insisting he was not the best thing she’d ever seen. “Nice place. Do you come here often?” Could she sound more clichéd? She’d been out of the dating world for so long, she had no idea what to talk about.

“Often enough, but I’ve never sat across from such a beautiful woman before.” His eyes searched past her and he waved a hand. The waitress made a beeline to their table.

“What can I get you?” she asked, slightly out of breath.

“I’ve already got a beer coming.” Tess looked at the waitress with raised eyebrows. How long did it take to get a beer? She needed it. Like now. Beautiful? Her? Smooth talker. She didn’t care that it was probably a line.

“Make it two then.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a quirk of a smile that was far too dangerous for her liking.

She kicked off her shoes under the table and slid one leg beneath her bottom. He looked awfully comfortable and for the first time in far too long, Tess forced herself to relax as well. She took a deep breath, hoping he wouldn’t notice the rise and fall of her chest. Blind date jitters were not something she was familiar with. Certainly no man had ever made her feel this restless.

“I would have guessed you a scotch man.” She set her sights back on him and her stomach flipped. Hungry. She was hungry.

“Why don’t we just cut to the chase?” He leaned forward on his arms, hands clasped, the ease of a moment ago gone. There was no hint of playfulness in his expression, not an ounce of affection or desire on his part.

So Tess had no idea what the hell he meant. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. What exactly are you doing here?” He didn’t glare, but the narrowing of his eyes meant serious business.

“Isn’t it obvious?” I’m here on a date you moron. And you’re about to ruin it. Maybe Kensie and Francesca had lured him here under false pretenses? From the look on his face, the last thing he wanted to do was get chummy.

“I need you to spell it out for me.”

“Really? You look like a pretty intelligent guy to me.” This bonehead had obviously never been on a blind date before. Hell, she had never been on one, so who was she to spout the rules? Yet she still knew to be cordial. What had flipped this guy’s switch?