was more like a deprogrammer, but she didn’t want to explain that. Legally, she really couldn’t. So she just nodded. “Yes, it’s boring. What about you?” she asked. “What do you do for a living?”
“Government job,” he replied. “It’s boring, too.”
“Politics?” she asked. With that face, she could see him smiling at voters, kissing babies, shaking hands...
He shook his head. “That probably wouldn’t be boring.”
“Probably not,” she agreed. “So you have a desk job, too?”
“Sometimes,” he replied.
He had that whole mysterious thing going on, which had probably worked well for him with some of the other women. But Claire wasn’t looking for complicated. She’d already had enough of that in her life. She was looking for simple and open and honest and fun—which was why none of the other men had worked for her, either.
Finally the smile left her face. She didn’t have the strength to make the effort to fake it anymore. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t be here.”
Maybe she wasn’t ready. Maybe she hadn’t done enough research. Maybe it was that feeling of being watched—even if she was totally wrong—that unnerved her.
“Aren’t you available after all?” he asked.
Again she felt as if he asked a question to which he already knew the answer. She shook her head and tried to shake off her uncharacteristic paranoia. “That’s not it,” she said. “I’m just not ready...”
She pushed back her chair and stood up as he stood up, too. He towered over her in height and breadth with his impossibly wide shoulders and chest. His black sweater and dress pants made him look incredibly handsome and incredibly imposing. She definitely wasn’t ready—especially not for him.
She couldn’t believe someone like him would have even come to a speed dating event. He had to have women throwing themselves at him constantly. He didn’t belong here, either. But she would leave it up to him to figure that out.
“I have to go,” she said, and now panic was joining the paranoia, pressing down on her chest so that she struggled to draw a breath.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I need some air...” She whirled around so quickly that she knocked over her chair before rushing from the room.
His deep voice called after her, “I hope it wasn’t something I said...”
A woman Claire passed on her way out laughed. “That’s not likely...”
Claire heard nothing else but the sound of her own pulse pounding in her ears. What about that man had made her so nervous?
She hadn’t even waited for the bell to ding before leaving him. For some reason she hadn’t dared. Maybe it was the feeling he already knew things about her that she hadn’t told him that had unnerved her. Or had it been the way he had looked at her—as if he could see right through her?
Or maybe it had just been the way he looked—too handsome. Dating him would be like going from a bicycle to racing motorcycles. If she was going to start dating, she needed to start on the bicycle with training wheels.
She had taken a room in the hotel for the night in case she’d had too much to drink and hadn’t wanted to risk her life or anyone else’s by driving. But she had barely taken more than a sip of her glass of wine, so she could drive herself home. She would feel safer in her apartment than this hotel. As she crossed the lobby, she felt as if even the eyes in the portraits were following her. She didn’t need to go up to the room since all her overnight things were still in her oversize purse. So she headed straight for the front doors.
Night had fallen since the speed dating event had started. Even with the streetlights, the parking lot was dark. This hotel was outside the city of Chicago, so it had no parking garage and no valet service. She had to find her own vehicle but at least the lot was just out in front of the hotel.
She was reaching inside her bag, digging for her keys, when someone grabbed her. A strong arm wrapped tightly around her, binding her arms to her sides, as the man lifted her off her feet. She parted her lips to scream, but a big hand clamped down hard over her mouth, muffling her cry for help and nearly smothering her.
Or maybe it wasn’t the hand but the handkerchief it held against her mouth and nose that smothered her—with the sweet, cloying scent of chloroform.
If she didn’t fight fast and hard, she would soon lose her chance.
And maybe her life...
“I lost eyes on her.” A voice emanated from Ash’s earpiece. It was a two-way radio that transmitted what he said and what the other agents said. “She’s gone...”
Claire Molenski had stepped through the front doors of the hotel and disappeared into the darkness. Ash had followed her from the dining room, but at a discreet distance that had only drawn the attention of the older woman who had earlier noticed him staring at Claire. The woman had winked at him, either teasing him or encouraging him. Ash had waited only a few minutes before exiting those lobby doors and stepping into the lot.
“Where the hell has she gone?” he asked the question more to himself than to the other agents who could hear him through their earpieces. He hadn’t been far behind her.
“We lost the visual on the subject,” another agent remarked.
Ash cursed. How had she slipped the surveillance so easily? The woman was a bigger threat than even he had realized. And from the minute her name had come to his attention, she’d had his full attention. He’d known this woman was going to be dangerous.
He stepped deeper into the shadows of the dimly lit parking lot. And he heard something. Something muffled and soft—like a crying kitten—was just loud enough to draw his attention. There were plenty of strays in the questionable outskirts of Chicago.
But was it a trick? A lure?
He moved carefully between the parked cars, keeping low so that no one noticed him. But he noticed a dark shadow, probably of a man, bent over as he lifted something from the asphalt. Lights flashed on as a car started, dispelling the shadow to the image of a hulky bald-headed man. The light shimmered off the pale blond hair of the woman that the man carried.
Claire.
Her head lolled back, her eyes closed. She was either unconscious or dead. That cry Ash had heard must have been her last weak attempt to scream for help. Had he heard her too late? But if she was dead, why was the man carrying her? To dispose of the body?
Ash reached beneath his sweater and drew his gun from his holster. He could have spoken into the radio and signaled for help. But then he might have also made the man aware of his presence. And if he was going to overpower him, he needed the element of surprise.
So he crept through the rows of parked cars as the driver of the vehicle with the lights honked and rolled down his window. Ash
