Page 5 of His to Possess

A quick check of my watch tells me it’s almost time to go. I’m dressed in my usual ensemble which consists of a black t-shirt, black jeans and leather boots. My right boot conceals a sheath that holds my knife. I leave my long, dark hair loose, grab my trusty leather jacket and head out. Even though it’s warm out, I don’t care. This jacket has been with me on every single job since day one whether it’s August or December. I guess I consider it my good luck charm. Much like the blade in my boot, I never leave home without it.

After locking up, I walk down the street where my Jeep is parked at the curb and slip inside. According to intel provided by Fox, John Grady was last seen two days ago at an Italian restaurant eating dinner with a friend. Apparently, he’s wanted by a businessman who he swindled a hefty chunk of change from. I hate con artists and I have no trouble bringing them in.

I did some research and discovered Grady has a membership to a fancy-shmancy athletic club and, after talking to a few knowledgeable people, I found out he goes there to play racquetball every Wednesday evening. The only problem I’ve run across is the target’s picture won’t download properly so I can’t see what he looks like. And, even though I did some searching online, I came up empty-handed which is kind of strange. Nowadays, most people are on social media. Apparently, he values and guards his privacy like he’s some kind of A-list celebrity.

Whatever. I’m not worried. The club boasts ten racquetball courts and I’m pretty damn good at sniffing out scum buckets like Grady. Also, being a Wednesday night should help because that also happens to be the club’s least busy time according to my google search.

The drive doesn’t take me too long because, for once, traffic is cooperating. I did some recon earlier to figure out my exit strategy. The best thing seems to be to park in the rear alley by a back door and then we can slip out and hop right into the car. I’m hoping he cooperates and I won’t need to stun gun him, at least not until we’re outside and well out of sight of any prying eyes and potential witnesses. I want this to all go as smoothly as possible.

I pull my Jeep right up to the back door then hit my hazard lights on. They start blinking and I hop out of the car. From my experience, I’ve rarely run into issues when I park my car somewhere illegally with the hazards on. Most people assume you’re running in and out and, as long as other drivers can pass by, it’s always worked for me. No police, no tickets, no bother.

Plus, I move fast. There’s no screwing around when I’m on a job. In and out, smooth as butter. That’s my motto.

After double-checking the stun gun in my back pocket, the handcuffs on my belt and the knife in my boot, I slide my phone into my leather jacket and head around the building. The back door is locked, so I’m going to have to walk through the front door. More precisely, the restaurant’s front doors. Since I don’t have a membership, I’m going to have to sneak in through there.

The whole thing is even easier than I expected. After entering the restaurant, I slip over to the athletic club through the connecting door. Whoever is supposed to be manning the side entrance has vacated their post or, more than likely, no one is working the spot tonight because it’s so quiet. So it’s up to members to slide their membership card through the reader then push through the gate. I scan the area, don’t see anyone, then hop right over the barrier with ease.

I’m not exactly dressed in my workout clothes, but hopefully no one pays me any attention. As I make my way to the racquetball courts, I pass a few people working out, but they’re so consumed in their own workout and listening to music, no one even bothers to look up. A couple of employees stand near the sauna chatting, but I slip past them easily enough without drawing any unnecessary attention.

The place is huge and when I finally reach the courts, I do a quick walk past all ten. Three are currently in use. The first contains two women battling it out, so I ignore them. There are two men on the second court and on the final one is a man and a woman playing. Any of the three men could be John Grady, so time to do some snooping.

Right outside the court is an area members can leave personal belongings such as water bottles, equipment or bags. I decide to start with the last court since I’m right here. Doing my best to stay out of sight, I push the door open, sneak in and quicklycheck the bag for some kind of identification. A tag catches my eye, I flip it over and bingo. John Grady’s name stands out like a blinking beacon in the night.

Gotcha!

I’m about to walk out and find a place to hide out until he’s done playing, but something snags my attention and I glance through the small window of the door leading to the court. The man is younger than I was expecting and he’s laughing. He possesses a killer set of dimples and I can see them from here. Great physique, too.

Giving my head a shake, I turn and slip back out of the room. I’m debating where to hang out and wait then decide I want to watch them play. Not because Grady is attractive, but because I’m interested in studying my prey. Or, so I try to tell myself.

Stepping behind a huge potted plant, I peer through a gigantic palm frond and focus on the couple playing. The court and players are visible through the floor to ceiling glass and there are even benches set up outside along the windows for people to sit and watch. Obviously, I can’t get that close, but from back here, I still have a pretty good view.

Too good,I think, my gaze dipping down to admire Grady’s firm ass as he runs forward to smack a ball with his racquet.Mm-mm. I wouldn’t mind taking a bite of that.

He might be a conscience-less asshole who swindles people, but John Grady is something to admire when it comes to the looks department. Although I don’t want to find him so attractive, it’s hard not to appreciate such a delicious-looking male specimen running around in those yummy shorts. His thighs are muscled, shoulders broad, chest firm. And don’t even get me started onhis face. He’s too handsome and looks like he should be walking down a red carpet and starring in the latest Marvel superhero flick.

He probably knows it, too. Men like that are arrogant pricks and usually full of themselves.

My gaze drifts over to the woman he’s playing with and she’s just as fit. Just as gorgeous, too, and for some reason an arrow of jealousy pricks me. I’m not the kind of woman who gets easily possessive or envious, so the emotion catches me off-guard. It’s strange and I don’t like it in the least, so I quickly push it away.

As I bide my time, studying them and planning my next move, I have to admit they’re a cute couple. They laugh a lot and seem very playful. However, the more I study their body language, the less like a couple they seem. They seem to be teasing each other, but she just punched him in the arm again and he playfully walloped her upside the back of the head. Definitely not anything lovers would do. Maybe they’re only friends.Or, friends with benefits,my evil inner voice suggests. Ugh, sometimes I’d like to smack that inner voice of mine.

Although I shouldn’t care in the least about their relationship, the idea that they’re only friends makes me happy. Not that it matters. My only focus is to snag the guy and deliver him to the drop zone. Then I get the rest of my cash and can call it a night.

And then what?

And then you can go back to your lonely apartment,that evil inner voice responds.

Oh, shut it!I want to yell. Instead, I shove that depressing thought down, and decide to enjoy the eye candy prancing around on the court while I still can.

Eye candy is the understatement of the year. Even though John Grady is a big douchebag, his body is making my mouth water. The way he slams that racquet against the ball with so much raw power has me shifting and squeezing my thighs together. I can’t help but wonder about other things. Like is he that powerful in the bedroom? All wild and strong? Primitive even?

I also notice he’s extremely fast. Powerful and quick isn’t a combination I want to deal with when I’m getting ready to move in for a capture. It worries me. It’s definitely important that I remain alert and be careful because I can’t risk him escaping from me.

Laying a hand over my back pocket, I feel the reassuring lump of my stun gun. I have a good feeling I’m going to need it once we get outside. Hopefully not before, though, because the man is far too big for me to carry out to the car by myself. I have been known to knock my target out before, but I don’t think dragging him through the athletic center while he’s unconscious would go over very well. Even though it’s a quiet night, that sight would be bound to raise some questions from concerned onlookers.

They continue to play and I don’t know anything about racquetball or how much longer this game is going to last. So, I settle in beneath the palm frond, lean a shoulder against the wall and cross my booted ankles. And I enjoy the show. Er, game.

Oh, who am I kidding? The man has a body like an adonis and I can’t seem to pry my eyes off him. Most guys don’t grab or hold my attention like this, so it’s a little disconcerting and surprising to me. For the next half an hour, I watch him run, leap, dive and spin to smash every ball he can, and he rarely misses a play. I can’t say I really understand how the game works, but I do enjoy watching him work up a nice sweat.

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