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“So,” Finn began, rocking back and balancing the stool on two legs. “Want to dance?”
Angela looked at the mass of writhing bodies packed together like sardines under the flashing lights. “Absolutely not.”
“You look completely horrified,” Finn informed her, laughing his ass off.
“Because I am,” she declared. “I’d rather be curled up on the sofa with my cats.”
“Fair enough. How about you tell me all about my future wife?” He smiled winningly.
Angela sprayed tonic water all over the table as she choked and coughed. His query was very poorly timed. “What?” she wheezed.
“Are you okay?” He jumped up to pat her on the back. “Don’t die on me. I have a feeling that wouldn’t end well for me. And I’m talking about Morrigan. What does she like to do in her spare time? What’s her star sign? Does she prefer boxers or briefs? Because I can vibe with either.”
“Finn, Morrigan is also listening in,” Angela whispered, even though it made no difference.
Her sting buddy grinned cheekily, making his eyebrows dance. “I know. Women like upfront men. Come on, do me a solid. Does she have any hobbies?”
Angela thought about Morrigan’s extensive weapon collection, as well as the poison cabinet she kept in her kitchen. “She’s not really a hobby kind of person.”
Finn hummed, looking intrigued. Which was the opposite of what Angela was aiming for. Personally, she thought Morrigan would be lucky to have a man like Finn in her corner. But her friend would sooner knife him than date him. And Angela couldn’t have that.
“What does she do for a living? Is she a full-time bodyguard?” Finn continued.
“No. She’s an assassin,” Angela stated truthfully.
Finn paused, his glass halfway to his mouth. “Come again?”
“She’s a contract killer,” Angela repeated. “And by the way, I’m going to need you to forget everything you see and hear tonight.”
“I’ve been a nurse for fifteen years, Angela. I know all about confidentiality,” Finn reassured her, holding up three fingers as if he were a Boy Scout. “Now, back to Morrigan. Is she really an assassin, like from Assassin’s Creed?”
Angela was startled into a laugh. “Oh, please ask her that next time you see her.”
“Okay,” Finn agreed readily.
Angela shook her head, snorting. Finn had done a very good job of distracting her from the stress of the trap. But the longer they sat and talked, the more she thought it was a bust.
One hour and another tonic water later, Finn asked, “So, what now?”
“We wait longer and see if the creep takes the bait,” she replied. There was nothing else that could be done.
“Which is you.”
She nodded. “Right.”
Finn opened his mouth but shut it with a snap a second later. His arctic eyes narrowed past her left shoulder. “Can we help you?” he asked politely.
Angela looked over her shoulder, finding their target standing there in a pale-gray suit and white button-down shirt. Her expression didn’t shift but her pulse went wild.
“Dr. Angela Hawthorne,” Wayne Hutchins said jovially. “Hello.”
“Hello,” she returned. “Do I know you?”
Wayne shook his head, putting his beer down on the table. “We haven’t had the pleasure of meeting before now. But we have a mutual friend.”
Angela cocked her head curiously. “Oh? Who is that?”
The bastard watched her carefully, saying, “I believe you know him as Godfrey. Or perhaps the Foreman?”
