which this one had been. Still, he felt more than a little uneasy.
“Well?” the woman purred. “Are you going to accept? Or should I go away and tell him you weren’t interested?”
Lawlor hesitated, then thought: How long has it been? Three weeks? No, at least four.
He thumbed the buzzer, said, “Third floor, end of the hall.”
CHAPTER
11
EXCITED BUT CAUTIOUS , Lawlor hurried to the bedroom and pulled on dark slacks and a black V-neck T-shirt. He crossed to a suitcase and got out a small knife in a sheath hanging off a strap. He put it around his ankle, then found a small Ruger nine-millimeter pistol that he stuck in his waistband at the small of his back.
A gentle knock came at the apartment door. He slipped on running shoes, padded to the door, peered through the peephole, and saw a very chic woman in her thirties wearing a long black faux-fur coat that went well with her jet-black hair, high cheekbones, ruby lips, and pale skin.
Spectacular, he thought as he turned the door handle. Bloody work of art.
She stepped in. Lawlor smelled her perfume and her own intoxicating smell.
He closed the door, took her hand, spun her around, and pushed her firmly against the wall.
“Hey!” she protested, though she didn’t struggle.
“Hands up against the wall,” he said. “I need to check your purse and pockets.”
“For what?” she said, raising her hands.
“Things I don’t like.”
He took the purse from her and set it aside. Then he patted her down from behind; he found nothing.
“Turn and open the coat.”
She sighed, pivoted, and undid the two hooks holding the coat shut.
The flaps fell away, revealing a very fit body in lacy black lingerie, stockings, stiletto heels, and nothing else.
“Surprise,” she said, smiling.
“Sorry, my sweet,” Lawlor said. “Old habits.”
“You were a cop?” she asked, looking nervous.
“Soldier,” he said before picking up the purse and opening it.
“Where are you from?”
He didn’t answer as he went through the purse, finding a cell phone, two condoms, a black elastic hair band, a small bottle of lubricant, a pair of thin latex surgical gloves, a small lint brush, a shower cap tucked in a sleeve that advertised the Willard hotel, a container of breath mints, and a tube of lipstick.
“Gloves?” Lawlor said.
She smirked. “Some gents enjoy a little prostate massage.”
Lawlor grunted. “None of that.”
She shrugged. “Are we done or do you want to do a full strip search?”
“We’re done,” he said, handing her the purse.
“You’re not much for setting the mood,” she said, taking it.
“Give me time.”
She grinned saucily at him.
He gestured toward the hallway, said, “Can I take your coat?”
“It’s part of the show,” she said, and she giggled pleasantly as she headed down the short passage into the sitting area. “Nice place.”
“Airbnb,” he said.
“No kidding?” she said, sounding impressed. She looked around before walking to the thermostat. “Mind if I make it … hot in here?”
“By all means.”
She fiddled with the gauge and then turned to regard him. She seemed to like what she saw. “You work out?”
“I do. You?”
“Every day. You’re British?”
“Long time ago. You?”
“Florida. You an actor now or something?”
Lawlor cocked his head.
“Your ‘happy agent’?”
“Oh, he’s more like a broker. I do security work. He sets me up with the gigs.”
“Sounds dangerous,” she said, crossing the room to a small leather club chair and setting her purse on an end table. “Stressful.”
“Sometimes,” he admitted. “Can I get you a drink? Vodka?”
She smiled as she patted the chair. “This is about your stress, not mine, baby. Be a doll, now, sit right here and let me take care of every little thing.”
Lawlor looked at her, thought, Gotta be four weeks at least.
He went and took the seat. She tugged off a lace-and-leather glove with her teeth, got out her cell phone, and tapped at it until Ariana Grande started to sing “Love Me Harder.”
She set the phone down on the side table, slipped the glove back on, and danced with the music, gliding her hips from side to side, gripping the lapels of the fur coat, and teasing him with more glimpses of what he’d already seen. She straddled his legs and ground ever so softly against him while leaning in for a kiss.
Under her weight, Lawlor felt his pistol press into his back, and he shifted slightly before letting her lips meet his. When she drew back, the assassin was already aroused. She ran her leather-clad fingers down his chest, stopped above his waist, then stood again, her humid eyes on him as the