Page 10 of Tell Me All Your Lies

My driver has been with me for years, which I’m grateful for. He knows what I do and often supports me in my endeavors outside of driving me to events for personal and professional reasons.

“Confirming, pick you up in an hour?”

“Not tonight. I’ll be in touch.”

“Aha.”

“Don’t comment.” I sigh.

“Not me. Never, sir.”

This is his sign that she’ll be there—Cara. My best friend’s daughter, my rival, and sadly, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. It’s quite the situation I’ve found myself in.

I still remember the first time that we discovered we were both in this line of work. The night that Dodger hedged his bets and hired two contractors for the same case in addition to the slew of agents he had working on it already.

The night we caught the Masked Millionaire.

A woman.A woman beat me to him.

I wouldn’t call myself a sexist man. In fact, I love women. Women can be in any field. I know of some agents and even a few other contractors who are great at this job. My issue is I’ve never had one beat me to a capture before. Honestly, I can’t even remember the last man who beat me to a victory.

Long, pitch-black hair is high in a ponytail, swinging against her thin yet strong frame. She’s wearing all black since its best to blend in with the night.

The way her leather pants are shaping against her ass is mouthwatering. I usually get a twitch in my cock when I capture my conquest, but this is entirely new.

The wanted man is tied to a chair with a gag in his mouth—or so I assume from the muffled sounds coming from the opposite side of the warehouse.

The woman flips a gun with one hand and props the other on her hip. The way her heels elongate her already mile-long legs isn’t helping me stay focused.

There’s only one woman this could be.

She’s kept her identity mostly hidden from me. I’m sure I could have figured it out by now, but I’ve never had a reason to.

I’ve followed her career, and it’s been impressive, including a near-perfect record of contracts she’s taken.

I methodically step forward to see her work in person. She freezes in place, clearly not expecting anyone else to have found the Masked Millionaire’s hideout as quickly as she did.

Part of me wants to taunt her, and I’m not sure where this urge is really coming from.

I start to give a slow clap as I continue my approach.

“Well done.”

Her shoulders straighten, and her back goes rigid.

“Are you with him?” she asks.

The way her voice feels like velvet as her words roll off her tongue only intensifies my need to taunt this woman.

I laugh darkly as I slip my hands in my pockets.

“I don’t think so, darling.”

“I’m not your darling, sweetheart.”

A silent laugh vibrates along the length of her body as the Masked Millionaire’s muffled sounds continues. The rocking of the wooden chair he’s tied to bangs against the cement floor as he struggles in the ropes.

“Nice knot work,” I say.

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