Page 3 of Dax
“It was nice meeting you,” I say, leaving an upwards inflection at the end of my sentence. Hoping I'll be able to put a name to this semi-naked stranger whose presence has made my knees wobbly and my ovaries light up like a disco ball in a ninety-seventies New York nightclub.
"Dax," he purrs, taking my hand and kissing the back of my fingers, “and I can assure you, the pleasure was all mine.”
2
Dax
I take a sip from my scalding hot coffee and put the binoculars back to my eyes. Still nothing.
It’s been a week since I bumped into that curvy, brunette bombshell, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her for a minute.
So much so, that I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands.
Some people leave things up to fate. Believing that serendipity will be their friend. But that’s not how I was trained in the special forces.
In a war zone, you get given your objective, and then you implement. And that’s exactly what I’m doing now.
It took some doing to track the woman down. But as soon as I realized she’d delivered the menus and the place cards for the wedding, it was a piece of cake.
“Kate,” I say the name out loud as I look down on the parking lot outside her friend's coffee shop.
The name sounds good in my mouth. But I can think of a few other things of hers that would feel even better.
My phone buzzes and I press the button on my headphones to pick up the call.
“What the hell, Dax?”
It’s my brother, Preston, and it doesn’t take a mind reader to figure out he’s seriously pissed.
“Shit,” I growl, looking at the time on my watch. I was meant to have a meeting on the other side of town an hour ago.
“Shit indeed! Peter’s just called me up… he’s fuming.”
“Peter’s a piece of shit.”
I hold my breath as a dark blue sedan rolls into the parking lot. Picking up the binoculars, I use them to verify the license plate. From this angle, I can’t see her face, but I know it’s Kate.
I mean, it’s either her, or it’s someone else driving her car. But the intel I’ve gathered says she comes to this coffee shop every day to pick up lunch for her and her employees. And that’s exactly why I’ve been camped out on the roof of the building across the road all morning.
Just like being back on the job, except this time I’m not hunting down scumbags who tear through towns on a mission to rape and enslave anyone unlucky enough to be in their path. This time I’m hunting a totally different kind of prey.
The target’s the same though… double-tap, straight to the heart.
“I’ve got to go.” I click off the call, cutting my brother off mid-sentence.
No doubt I’ll be receiving an extremely curt e-mail at some point in the not-so-distant future, but that’s a problem I can worry about later.
I messed up. It was my fault. And I’m the kind of man who’ll admit that, and not try and point the blame somewhere else.
I’ll also fix it, and that’s a guarantee.
All this moaning, and whining from my brother. It’s all a performance. He knows I’ll come through for him and make things right. But he’s the kind of guy who needs to have his feelings heard. He likes to know people respect him. Listen to him.
Normally, I’d let him have his say. But today I have bigger fish to fry.
I need to get my ass down to that parking lot and get in place.
You never know with an ambush. There’s a million variables that can ruin the plan. Blow it up in the blink of an eye.
