Page 3 of Catch Me
Cold blasted me from the open freezer door as I contemplated the two choices. “Oh, I don’t know Hannah, which coma-inducing ice-cream screams ‘drowning my sorrows in chocolate’ the loudest?”
Was I standing in front of my refrigerator talking to myself about ice-cream choices and feeling completely sorry for myself about the shitty way my life had been going lately? Yes, yes, I was. I frowned, glaring at the smiling faces of two animals on frozen cartons, trying to sell me false happiness in the form of diabetes. “Fine, Chunky Monkey it is. Not a fan of moose, anyway.”
Grabbing the carton, I slammed the freezer door closed before turning to my rack of dishes and fished around for a clean spoon. I didn’t have any need for a bowl. It was just going to be me, this spoon, and a broken heart for the rest of the evening. I’d told myself that tonight I would console myself with wine and chocolate. But that tomorrow I would move on with my head held high, knowing I did the right thing. By now, Simon should be back with his team, assuming that the word of Agent Waters was good, and they would be off on whatever mission they were assigned to next. And I would be here in my dinky apartment, with no job and definitely no secret mission. Just me, my books, and Mr. Chunky Monkey. I flopped down on my couch and stared at the smiling monkey holding his banana and riding a wave of chocolate and walnuts. “Probably going to be just me and you for a long time Mr. Chunk.” I mock “cheered” him with the back of my spoon. “Here’s to a long lasting whatever this is.”
My phone buzzed on the coffee table, and I set the carton down with a sigh as I reached for it and swiped the screen open.
Unknown Number: Chunky Monkey won’t solve all your problems.
I froze. One hand still holding my spoon and the other holding my phone as all my senses went on high alert.
Unknown Number: And now you’re thinking that someone is watching you, but I assure you, I am not.
Unknown Number: I just know you better than you know yourself.
I set the spoon down slowly and then texted back.
Me: Funny, I’m pretty sure I know myself very damn well, because Chunky Monkey has always solved my problems.
Unknown Number: Wrong, Hannah. Chunky Monkey is a distraction. You run to distractions when the truth is too overwhelming for you to handle.
Unknown Number: Like the fact that you are currently sitting in your crappy apartment with a career down the drain, in love with a man who could never allow himself to form attachments, all while being hunted by an underground criminal group that is very upset with how much you’ve disrupted their status quo.
I swallowed, a pit forming in my stomach, and my hands shook as I responded.
Me: Very cute Sybil. Why don’t you come by and tell me all about my miserable life in person? It’s your favorite game.
Unknown Number: Finally, putting your brain to work. Good job, but not good enough. You’re being hunted, Hannah, and you don’t even realize it.
Me: If you’re trying to scare me, Sis, that train has passed. I’m not afraid of your royal pain in everyone’s ass anymore.
Unknown Number: Still as obtuse as ever. This is the only warning you will get. You’ve ruffled quite a few feathers.
Me: I thought you would be glad someone else is hunting me. Isn’t that what you wanted? Me gone and out of your way?
I stared at my phone, waiting for her response, but it never came. Chunky Monkey sat forgotten on my table, the carton dripping melted chocolate onto the faux wood top. When I realized those little text bubbles weren’t going to pop back up, I picked up the ice-cream and spoon, stomped over to my kitchen and hurled them into the trash.
“Did the spoon deserve that…” I whirled, my Glock 19 out of the waistband of my yoga pants and in my hand. My thumb was instantly on the safety, ready to switch it off, as I aimed at the head of the voice that growled behind me.
“… lass?” Steel-grey eyes glinted in the low lighting of my living room and I stood there, speechless.
He moved closer, gaze flicking down to my gun and then back up at me as a smirk curled the corners of his lips. “This is the third, or is it the fourth, time you’ve pointed your weapon at me? Are you ever going to pull the trigger?”
Somehow I found my voice. “I might. Depends on if you keep calling me lass or not.” My hand lowered, and I moved the thumb off the safety. He was here, in my apartment, and he hadn’t disappeared into the shadows like I’d thought he would. Like he should have. Why?
Simon towered over me, his body blocking out the light from the soft lamp that lit my living room. I wanted to back away. I wanted to see all of him, to blink and make sure my heart wasn’t imagining things, but all I could do was tilt my head back and stare.
He reached out, fingers tracing my jaw, my neck, leaving a burning trail across my skin until they slowly slid down the length of my arm to where my hand still gripped my gun.
“I think we both know that’s never going to happen.” He pried the weapon gently from my fingers and I let him. His earthy scent washed over me, filling my senses. He smelled like pine and leather. I wanted to wrap myself in it and never let it go.
“What’s not going to happen?” My voice was husky as I responded. “I’m not going to shoot you? Or you’re not going to stop calling me lass.”
He moved in even closer, his body brushing against mine as he reached around me to lay the gun on the counter that was just behind me.
“Both.”
Then he tipped up my chin, the pad of his thumb brushing against my bottom lip. “You got me captured.”
