Page 42 of Assassin's Prey
Abby laughed. “It is.” Snuggling closer to my side, she said, “Charlotte, this is the infamous Levi Agozi. Levi, my friend Charlotte Alexander.”
I reached automatically for her hand, busy cataloging everything about her. Eli would be processing intel as soon as he heard her full name. I wanted everything, every detail. Any threat to Abby—
Delicate fingers slipped against my palm. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Levi.” Charlotte dipped her head closer to Abby, her gaze still trained on me. “He’s a bit fierce, isn’t he?”
You have no idea.
I startled when the same words escaped Abby’s mouth. The stares I’d received all night had barely registered beyond a vague impression of attention, but this woman knew Abby, had talked to her about me. What details had they shared? Had Abby told her what we did together? Who I really was?
No, Abby wouldn’t reveal something so crucial to my safety and hers. But something in Charlotte’s stare, the way she looked over my body, said she knew other things.
I dropped her hand, shifting uncomfortably, though I wasn’t sure why.
The woman had a rich, throaty laugh that made you want to join in despite the fact that you weren’t in on the joke. “I do believe that’s a blush, isn’t it?”
Abby winked my way. “I do believe it is.”
For fuck’s sake. Could we go back a few hours to when Abby had no close female friends?
And was I really that bastard, the one who didn’t want her to be happy? The lightness in Abby’s eyes right now, so different from when she’d looked to me earlier, worried about Redding, should have made me happy, not jealous.
For fuck’s sake is right.
“Charlotte, it’s a pleasure to meet a friend of Abby’s. Thank you”—I tugged at my bow tie, cleared my throat—“for the tux.”
The woman eyed me sympathetically now. “My father hates them too, but you’re welcome. Anything for Abby.”
Abby glanced up at me. “Charlotte and I knew each other back when…” Her smile faltered. “You know, way back when.”
When she’d still been under her father’s thumb.
“Thankfully both of us are in much better places now,” Abby said.
“Places where we aren’t bound by the dog-eat-dog rich girls’ code and can actually choose friends of our own.” Charlotte’s soft voice rang with relief.
“Where’s your fiancé?” Abby asked. “Is he here tonight? I was hoping to meet him finally.”
Charlotte’s smile hinted at strain. “He couldn’t make it, I’m afraid. Business in DC.”
“Of course.”
Something in Abby’s voice told me there was a story there, not that I should want to hear it. Abby concerned me, not other people. But there was something about the petite dynamo that had me wondering.
The women continued to talk, moving from the charities involved tonight to upcoming events to people they knew from years past. I listened, watched, and waited as the evening wore on, finding that the different parts of me clawed at each other—the assassin, the lover, the brother, all at war, all wanting control. They all coalesced when I caught sight of Warren Redding entering the ballroom when we walked in to dinner.
Abby saw him too; her arm, looped inside mine, went tight, and her step hitched.
“No worries, little bird.” I wouldn’t let there be, not for her. Worrying, and fixing that worry, those were my responsibilities.
“We’re over here,” Charlotte said, leading the way. Oblivious to the byplay following in her wake.
I slid my arm from Abby’s and flattened my palm at the small of her back, letting my touch in such a sensitive place warm her as I guided her toward our seats at a table near the front. I had just settled her into a chair when Redding appeared in front of us.
Satisfaction blossomed in my chest at the red, angry flush suffusing his face.
Charlotte, seeming to sense the tension gathering around her, glanced at the man. “Good evening, Warren.”
“Redding, correct?” With one hand on Abby’s shoulder, anchoring her, I reached the other across the table toward Redding.
