Page 31 of Bad Guys Need Love Too

Ren’s phone made a noise. “Tenley’s spotted our guy,” he said. “She’s approaching.”

Lark turned her attention back to the screen. Through the hidden camera in the brooch on Tenley’s blouse, she saw him.“That’shim?”

Ren nodded. “That’s the guy I saw. And it was confirmed by the hospital. Gunshot wound to the right thigh.”

“But he looks so…”

“Normal?”

Hot. That cold-blooded fucker could be a model, and it just pissed Lark off. People who took money in exchange for murdering strangers should be ugly. That would just make sense, karmically speaking. But her would-be murderer was genetically blessed in a way that was just offensive. There were Italian underwear models who weren’t as hot as this asshole, for fuck’s sake!

If she had to guess, she’d say he was lighter than Ren by a substantial amount of bulky muscle, but close to his height. And while Ren looked like a power lifter who could crush a watermelon with his biceps, this guy looked more like an Olympic swimmer—lean, but strong.

Messy coal-black hair, melted dark chocolate eyes, cheekbones you could perform surgery with, highly kissable mouth, smooth, olive-toned skin, scruff that looked at least an hour or two past 5 ‘o’clock shadow, wearing a designer suit like it was his damn job…yeah, it was a lot to take in.

The cane leaning against his table did Lark’s heart a little bit of good, though. He might have the face of a fallen angel, but thanks to Sherry, he at least wasn’t going to be running after her or anyone else anytime soon.

“Showtime,” Ren murmured, watching Tenley approach the abnormally good-looking contract killer.

Tenley had grabbed her drink and was seemingly scrolling on her phone one-handed as she got within range of the killer so that Ren’s device could synch to his laptop and phone. As they watched on the computer monitor, she faked a stumble (it looked real enough, but Lark was willing to bet good money that Tenley could run a mile and kick someone’s ass in four-inch heels, so it was definitely a fake stumble). That stumble allowed her to bump the killer’s shoulder with her hip, distracting him while she got her phone closer to his computer.

“Get it a little closer, Ten,” Ren said into his com device. “Just like another half inch or so.”

The killer glanced up at her, brow furrowed. Tenley set her phone and coffee down on his table, giving both a nudge toward his computer, then gasped and raised one well-manicured hand to her chest. “Oh, my Lord,” she said in a high, lilting drawl so different than her real voice that Lark was momentarily stunned speechless. “I am so sorry. I’m such a klutz. I slipped right off my heel, can you believe it?”

She lifted one foot onto the extra chair at his table, giving him a good, long look at her leg. His eyes moved up that leg slowly, and by the time his gaze met hers, his brow had smoothed out and he even offered her a little smile. “Those do look dangerous,” he said smoothly. Lark wasn’t sure if he meant the heels, or the legs. Not that it mattered. The statement would apply to both.

Tenley offered him a sly smile in return and twirled a lock of hair around her index finger. “You know it. But I truly am justmortifiedthat I nearly fell at your feet like that.”

His gaze shifted back to her legs for a moment when she put her foot back on the floor. Lark could see his eyes darken even through the computer monitor. Clearly, he was thinking about Tenley on the floor at his feet. Probably on her knees. “Well, I’mtrulyglad you weren’t hurt.”

She giggled, and it sounded like freakin’ bells. “How does she do that with her voice?” Lark asked.

“That’s Savannah,” Ren answered. “One of Tenley’s favorite alternate identities. She can do that voice in her sleep if she has to.”

Which was scary and super cool all at the same time. Lark couldn’t do any sexy alternate voices. She could do a pretty decent impression of Patrick Star fromSpongeBob. But something told her she couldn’t use that to her advantage, like Tenley used Savanah to hers.

Tenley put her hand on the killer’s shoulder. “Thank the good Lord I didn’t spill coffee on your beautiful suit.” She trailed her fingers down the length of his arm, lingering at his thick wrist. “Armani?”

“Gucci,” he answered.

“Nice,” she cooed.

Ren hit a few keys on his computer. “OK, Ten, I got it. You can get out of there. Swap your coffee for his on the way out, though.”

In a couple of smooth motions, Tenley tapped the killer’s nose with her index finger (oh my God, she booped the snoot of a killer!), grabbed her phone andhiscoffee, and grinned at him.“I’ve enjoyed our conversation, handsome, but I gotta bounce. You have a great day now, you hear?”

His confused sounding “you too” followed her as she practically skipped out the door.

“Wow,” Lark said, feeling as stunned as the killer looked. “She’s…”

“Terrifying?” Ren supplied.

“Um…yeah. And really,reallybadass. I wish I had a little of…whatever it is that she has.”

He glanced over at her and frowned. “That’s the last thing I’d ever want. More than anything, I wish she was more like you.”

Lark swallowed hard at the vehemence in his voice. In their (admittedly short) time together, she’d never heard him speak with that kind of passion. Intensity, sure. He was brimming with that. But passion? This was new. “Why me? I’m nothing special.”

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