Page 8 of Identify
“Yep.”
“And you aren’t worried about running out of money?”
“Nope.”
“I wish I had rich Russian relatives who left me a bunch of money.”
“No, you don’t.”
Not only is Daria crazy wealthy, but she’s a total badass. I’m not. Rich or a badass. I’d like to be both, but I’ve got a few things working against me. She’s tall. I’m short. She’s thin. I’m curvy. She has eagle eyes. I wear contacts. She owns two successful businesses. I’m under-employed. She can take down a man twice her size with one hand. I can barely count on one hand.
Okay, I’m totally exaggerating with that last one. But you get my drift. Daria is like an Olympic gold medalist at life and I didn’t even make it to the tryouts. What’s worse is she’s got a handsome ex who’s still madly in love with her and constantly trying to win her back. While I’m perpetually single, salivating after the one who got away.
I say got away as though I once had him. But I didn’t. He, Reed Roberts, friend-zoned me a long-ass time ago after we first met, and I’ve never recovered.
Technically, my boyfriend at the time introduced Reed and I—and the two of them are best friends—so back then being in the friend-zone made sense. Guy code and all that. But David, that’s the ex, he and I broke up a while ago and we only dated for a few months. So, I figure anytime now Reed will come to his senses and realize what a catch I am.
I hope.
Daria’s handsome ex, Mack, and Reed are partners in the FBI’s Criminal Investigative Sector (CIS). Which is how I still get to see Reed from time to time, when Mack visits Daria and I’m around. Unfortunately, it’s always with the same outcome. I try to catch Reed’s eye; he doesn’t notice I exist.
I return my attention to Daria; she can be close-lipped about her life before she came to the US. But her story is fascinating. Making me want to be just like her. “What would I need to do to become one of your Darlings?”
“Train.”
“Okay.”
“And train. And train.”
“I’d have to know how to shoot, right?”
“Shoot, stab, strangle, also self-defense, boxing, martial arts. My girls train three hours a day before they come to work.”
Daria has four women she employs to work at the bar who also work for her as contract killers/vigilantes. The bar is really a cover for her Dirty Darlings, the name she uses to refer to her group of trained killers. It doesn’t hurt that they are all crazy attractive and in shape. It’s like Coyote Ugly met Charlie’s Angels and they morphed into Daria’s Dirty Darlings.
“I’m not very interested in training three hours a day,” I admit to Daria.
“I didn’t think you would be.” She continues to move around behind the bar, wiping the counter, checking and rechecking alcohol bottle levels, stacking glasses. The same things she’s been doing for the last hour.
“This looks like a bunch of busy work, and I’ll bet you could better spend your time elsewhere. How about you train me right now to work at the bar?”
“No way.”
“Not as a bartender or anything. I’m talking behind the bar, like what you’re doing now, the little stuff that doesn’t require much talent. Or let me bus tables, sweep the floors, clean the bathrooms. Come on, D. There’s got to be something I can do.”
“What if we don’t work well together, huh? What happens to the friendship?”
“What are you talking about? We work fine together.”
“I would be your boss, Quinn. You would have to listen to me.”
“I can do that.”
“And obey. Like a dog.” She smiles.
I put my hands up like paws and pant with my tongue hanging out, always willing to show that I’m a team player.
“Okay, come on back here and I’ll show you how to run the glass dishwasher.”
