Page 7 of Over the Edge

We stepped into the gilded lobby of the Hôtel de Paris Monte-Carlo, and by tacit agreement, we headed outside. I couldn’t risk saying the things I needed to say in the hotel. I hadn’t finished checking my suite for bugs, and I didn’t dare risk anyone eavesdropping.

The night was balmy, kissed with the salt-sweet breeze off the sea and perfumed by manicured gardens that wrapped around the square in lush, deliberate excess.

We passed the famous fountain in front of the hotel, its marble nymphs frozen mid-dance beneath a spray of sparkling water. Lights shimmered across the surface like scattered diamonds. Tourists lingered near the edges, taking selfies, laughing too loudly. A Bugatti idled nearby, a woman in couture climbing out with a laugh like broken glass. Monte Carlo at midnight was all pageantry.

My “bodyguard” didn’t say a word as we moved down the steps and left the façade behind. I could feel his gaze even though he stayed a step behind and to the right, exactly where a bodyguard should be. But that wasn’t what he was, and we both knew it.

We turned down a quiet side street where boutique storefronts were shuttered and cobblestones replaced the polished marble. The buzz of the square faded, replaced by the softer sound of our footsteps and the distant echo of a Vespa engine somewhere near the harbor.

The air here was cooler, realer, and I felt like I could finally breathe again. But I couldn’t enjoy it.

I let the cork pop on my fury, and I dropped Elisa’s accent entirely. My real voice cracked through the night like a whip as I spun on him. “Who the hell are you?”

He grinned. It was a slow, lazy pull of his lips that was absolutely nothing like Moreau’s practiced smile. This was genuine amusement, like he found my anger entertaining. Like I was a kitten hissing at a wolf.

Yeah, well. This kitten had claws, and she was dying for a chance to use them.

“Flynn Shepherd,” he said, extending his hand like we were meeting at a damn cocktail party. “But the team calls me Outlaw.”

Outlaw. I’d seen that codename attached to other Edge missions. He was an independent contractor they brought in when they needed extra muscle. A lone wolf type.

No one had mentioned he’d be joining this op.

“Outlaw,” I repeated, ignoring his outstretched hand. “Yeah, you look the part.”

“And you are the lovely, deadly Siren. You also look the part.” If he was annoyed that I didn’t shake his hand, he didn’t show it. He simply hooked his thumbs in his pockets and rocked back on his heels with a devil-may-care grin. “I’m your partner.”

“I don’t have a partner.”

“You do now.” His smile widened, showcasing a dimple in his cheek and setting off a weird fluttery feeling in my belly. I hated it. The smile. The sensation. Hated that I suddenly noticed the way his shirt stretched over broad shoulders and lean muscle. Hated that I wondered what he’d look like without the suit.

Seriously. What waswrongwith me?

I should be furious. No, Iwasfurious. He’d nearly blown my cover and wrecked the mission, all while waltzing in like a knight in pressed Italian armor when I did not need saving.

I should’ve punched him.

“The Grim Reaper sent me,” he added, an infuriating twinkle in his eyes.

Of course he fucking did.

CHAPTER3

FLYNN

This woman was notwhat I expected. I knew she’d been CIA before coming to Edge Ops, but most of the spooks I’d encountered were cold automatons, overconfident blowhards, or bland chameleons without a personality to call their own.

Lyric Renard was none of those things. She was fire wrapped in silk.

I followed her into her suite and leaned against the door frame, watching as she shed the Elisa Deveraux persona as if she were peeling off a second skin.

And damn if I wasn’t a little impressed.

Without a word, she picked up a scanner and started sweeping the room for bugs. I could tell her I’d already done it before tracking her to Moreau’s suite, but where was the fun in that?

Besides, I was enjoying the view as she bent to run the scanner along the baseboards.

That dress really was something else.

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