Page 22 of Targeted By Desire

“Aht, you said the key word: if. A lot of doubt and room for error there.”

“Not if I put the bracelets on you myself.”

“I’d love to see you try.”

Simone’s lips pursed in irritation. Averting her gaze, she reached for a piece of flatbread topped with bruschetta, feta, and balsamic vinegar. “Well, if it is my last night alive, then I think I’m owed some answers to my questions.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” I reminded her. “But, if you answer mine, maybe I’ll answer yours.”

“You have questions about me?”

“Of course. It’s not every day a federal agent is in my cross hairs.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Why didn’t you pursue a law career?” I asked.

Her brows stitched together. “Wait, how do you know about my schooling?”

“You don’t think I hunt my targets without proper research, do you? I’m not an amateur.”

“Clearly,” she murmured. She thought over her answer as she chewed on a bite of her flatbread. “Honestly, I never wanted to be a lawyer.”

“Then why waste all that time on schooling?”

“Not so fast. It’s my turn.” She straightened up in her seat. “What’s your name?”

“Skip.”

“Skip? What the hell do you mean skip? This isn’t twenty questions!”

“I don’t care. I’m not telling you that.”

“Why not? I’ll be dead by the end of the night, anyway. Who am I going to tell?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.” I leaned back in my seat and crossed my arms against my chest. “Answer my other question about your schooling.”

Huffing, she mimicked my stance. “I wanted to avoid hearing my mother’s mouth. She wanted me to follow in her footsteps, become a partner at an esteemed law firm.”

I nodded. This time I held on to my follow-up question and let her have the floor. Maybe she’d ask me a question I was willing to answer.

“How’d you fall into this line of work?”

“Unlucky hand at life, unresolved trauma, the desire to make fast money - same old song.”

“Care to go into detail on the first two?”

“Not really.”

She opened her mouth to argue.

“My turn,” I said before she could. “Why’d you choose the FBI over law?”

Lowering her eyes, she murmured, “I wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps.”

Silence followed her answer, and I assumed it was safe to ask another. “What happened to him?”

“He died in the field when I was ten.” She blinked a few times, pushing back the moisture forming in her eyes. “The last time we spoke, he told me he’d be home before I woke up. But, he wasn’t.”