Page 66 of Nothing to Fear

“Dance with me,” she said.

“I don’t dance.” And he didn’t, which was a good thing. Where Willow was concerned, he was a weak man. A little cha-cha could easily lead to the horizontal mambo.

“Come on.” She tried to tug him from his seat to no avail. “It’ll keep me from thinking. You said any distraction is good.”

“I never dance.” He sharpened his tone, needing some emotional and physical distance from her. “Besides, I’m steering the boat. I need to keep us on track.” In more ways than one.

Willow looked deflated, that renewed spot of light in her eyes going back out.

Guilt ate away at him. He was the most conflicted bastard on the planet at that moment. Comforting her and not getting sucked down the emotional rabbit hole were two needs at war.

She retreated outside to the deck with the notebook and box of drawing pencils he’d picked up for her from the store.

He kept his back turned to her, smothering the desire to stare at her. She was so beautiful.

Proximity and physical contact had always been occupational hazards as a government assassin. Now it seemed they had become personal ones too.

26

Saint Margaret’s Hospital, Vienna, Virginia

Saturday, July 6, 2:45 p.m. EDT

The air in the parking garage was thick with unrelenting heat and sticky humidity.

Omega sat in the passenger’s side of the van with the window lowered, sucking down a disgusting wheatgrass protein smoothie. His taste buds revolted with every gag-worthy swallow.

The protein was essential for him, and the wheatgrass was a treat for Daedalus.

Seven years ago, Daedalus had remarked how the nutrient-rich sprout enhanced Omega’s essence, making the taste addictive. What lover wouldn’t endure the putrid flavor of liquefied lawn clippings after receiving such an endorsement? He’d been slinging back the sickening green stuff ever since. Now that was love, or some twisted version of it.

But he was going to sever the spinal cord of the next motherfucker who got his order wrong and had the wheatgrass added to his smoothie instead of getting a double shot on the side.

The elevator doors opened. Keys jangled, and heels clickety-clacked across concrete.

“Richard, both of our girls can’t be mistaken about seeing Simone kiss you,” said the woman, her voice booming off the walls. “They’re six, not stupid. And I’m not being paranoid.”

The suburban snowflake prattled on ad nauseum as she passed the van without a glance in their direction. Omega nodded. Epsilon put the van in drive, trailing her.

She strolled toward the far end of the garage, blabbing on her cell phone, oblivious to the dark force bearing down on her. The pampered princess was insufferable, with her whiny complaints and complete lack of situational awareness. Her head was buried so deep in the sand, it was a wonder she hadn’t suffocated to death already.

“You have no idea the stress I’m under. After I finish a five-hour drive, I find out my father’s in a coma, the house burned down, and the cops are saying Willow did it! That brat ran off with some guy, leaving me to clean up her mess. I can’t handle any misunderstandings right now, Richard. I’ve been thinking, the girls are so big, we don’t need an au pair anymore.”

Lights flashed on a Jaguar as she hit the key fob. The elitist snob had parked in an isolated position, far from other vehicles, probably out of fear of an accidental scratch or ding.

Omega gave the hand signal to advance. Epsilon drove past the Jag into a position parallel to her vehicle with one empty spot between them. Her cloying perfume tainted the air, mixing with the earthy taste of his wretched smoothie.

She dropped her keys and bent to grab them. “I’m not overreacting or jumping the gun,” she snapped. “Yes, I know, but—” Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. “No, we don’t want you to be late for tee time.” She sighed. “I love you too. I’ll be home as soon as I can. Bye.”

After she disconnected, she swore in mommy-speak, “Fudging fiddlesticks.” She tossed her cell into the designer purse slung over her forearm.

That hothouse flower didn’t stand a chance. Omega gave the go sign, draining the last of his repugnant drink with a slurp. The side door of the van slid open. One second.

His men hopped out from the back. Two.

She gave a long, slow blink before their presence registered and she gasped.

Three.