The Survivor - Cristin Harber Page 0,5
look. “Look, lady, I think this is a misunderstanding.”
“Fine.” She lifted her chin to dismiss him. “Leave.”
His jaw sawed. “Like hell.”
“Excuse me?”
He smirked. “If you were me—”
“I’m not,” she snapped. “You crept up here. If this is a misunderstanding, go away.”
A small part of him realized that he wasn’t paying enough attention to her gun. “Say you were me, and you came across a beautiful woman—”
“Give me a break.”
“With a gun,” Hagan continued, “demanding that I leave my—”
Her brows furrowed. “Stop! I don’t want to know anything about you.”
Interesting. His curiosity returned. “If you were me, would you try for a conversation?”
She arched a single, disbelieving eyebrow. “Are you flirting with me?”
Fuck yes. “Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know why you’ve done a single thing since I met you.”
“That’d make two of us.” Her training was evident, yet he didn’t see that hard edge recognizable in almost any operative in his line of work. “Who are you?”
Her nostrils flared. “You should leave.”
Intrigued and apparently stupid, he didn’t move from the woman with the gun. “Maybe you’re the one who should go, Annie Oakley.” Now, both of the dark eyebrows twitched. He held out a hand, willing her to lower the weapon, and make introductions. “I’m—”
“Stop,” she demanded. “Leave. Go. I don’t want to know anything about you.”
His ego found the wrong moment for a stubborn streak. Hagan wondered if it would be as much fun to get her to laugh as it was to make her eyebrows dance. He stepped closer. “Lower your weapon.”
“Fat chance.”
He took another step. “I promise, it’ll make for nicer introductions.”
“I can’t meet you.”
A desperate bent in her voice made him take a harder look. Something inside him jumped. Something beyond a reaction to the gun or her looks. He couldn’t place that faraway feeling of familiarity. “Have we met?”
“No.”
He didn’t believe her but came up empty when he tried to place her face. “I think we have.”
She scowled. “Trust me. You’re wrong.”
He studied her delicate features. She didn’t look like any of the renovation workers he’d seen roaming, and there wasn’t an overabundance of sexy women with steady trigger fingers in his building. Even if there were, he would have recalled Annie Oakley.
Stiffening muscles brought him back to reality—charmed or not, the lady still hadn’t lowered her weapon, something he needed to take more seriously. Hagan licked his bottom lip and tried again. “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot.”
Her nostrils flared.
“Do you work around here? Maybe Parker should look into name badges.” Hagan didn’t wait for her to respond. He’d already jumped into the deep end of a questionable flirting situation and might as well start swimming. “I could show you around.”
As though he’d said the magic words, she lowered her weapon.
“You want a tour?”
“You know Parker Black?” she said.
“So, no tour.” But he was making progress. “Though points for dropping Parker’s name?”
She gave a microscopic nod.
Hagan couldn’t help it and grinned. “Now, does that make us friends?”
“I don’t have friends.”
“Sounds like you live a small, sad existence.” He nodded to the gun. “Though you gotta wonder if it has something to do with first impressions.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why are you still here?”
“Hell if I know,” he admitted, laughing, “but I’m coming up to introduce myself. Don’t shoot me.”
“No promises.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Puzzles intrigued Hagan. Brutally honest women had always caught his eye. He couldn’t recall a situation where these interests converged. If they ever had before, it hadn’t come in the form of a dark-haired beauty packing heat. “At least you gave me fair warning.”
Irritation pinched the corners of her eyes.
Given the mysterious entirety of their brief encounter, he decided to take her words as the simple truth. No promises. She might shoot him. He almost laughed. What the hell was he doing?
Hagan took his time as he climbed the stairs, watching her trigger finger and studying the way she dressed. He couldn’t explain why, but her unremarkable attire seemed less a fashion choice and more a tool to hide in plain sight.
With minimal makeup and hair tied into a ponytail so severe that it almost gave him a headache, she hadn’t downplayed herself enough to keep his pulse from skipping. Or maybe her gun and attitude were what had his blood pumping. Either way, he didn’t care and wasn’t walking away.
Hagan took the final step onto the staircase landing. Her apprehensive gaze stayed on his, though she had to tilt her chin up to maintain the connection. Her feet