Saved by a Dangerous Man by Cleo Peitsche Page A

his place? I assumed she was talking about something other than sex. “Hi.” I shot a questioning look at Corbin.  
    “I have to leave tomorrow,” he said. “Jennifer will keep you updated. She’ll get you what you need, and when you want to go out, she’ll accompany you.”
    “Wait, what?”
    Jennifer smiled warmly. “Mostly you’ll be alone. Unless you want me here.”
    Though still uncomfortable, I nodded. “Thanks.”
    She smiled again. “You did good work in Florida, you know. Very impressive.”
    “Audrey grew up in the family business. Bounty hunter,” Corbin said. “She’s got a rare skill set.”
    My cheeks warmed at his casual compliment.  
    “Now explain to me what I’m looking at.” He held out the tablet. “Who signed off on this?”
    Jennifer glanced at me, and I could tell she wanted to say something that I wasn’t supposed to hear.  
    “I’ll just be…” It didn’t matter where I went. I walked into the bedroom and closed the door.  
    I perched on the edge of the bed. I wasn’t used to being told to sit quietly in hiding while the adults took care of the dirty work. I had hauled in men who were 220 pounds of angry, tattooed muscle. People so high on drugs that they were dangerous to me as well as themselves. Sometimes I’d had Rob’s help, or one of Dad’s part-timers, but I’d often been on my own. I wasn’t afraid to dig around in mailboxes and trash cans looking for clues, and I didn’t avoid the bad parts of town. I’d gone after Corbin Lagos by myself, in a snowstorm. Without a gun. Without backup.
    Corbin thought I’d been reckless. He was right. But it proved that I wasn’t a wimp.
    I stretched and smiled. I wanted what he had: a job where I got to go up against the heavy hitters, a chance to take them down.
    “Even if taking them down involves murder? ” a quiet voice in my head wanted to know.
    Corbin had said I’d never have to do something like that, but I wasn’t naive. If I got into a me-or-the-bad-guy situation, my self-preservation instincts would kick in.
    Self-preservation. Was that what had turned me into a babbling, love-denying coward? Seemed I was a wimp after all.
    Rather than replay that humiliating conversation, I studied the room for the first time. Two dressers, a walk-in closet, king-size bed, dark blue sheets, dark curtains on the windows, neutral but high-quality carpet, matching set of eight black-and-white photos of forests on the walls. It was nice. Much more modern than Corbin’s luxury assassin’s lair, but with a lot more soul than the place he’d considered buying near me.
    Who, I wondered, owned this building? The government? And how did all that work, anyway? How much was technically subcontracted? How did Corbin get paid? What did he write on his tax return?
    I flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Even though I’d been on my back exactly in this place, I hadn’t even registered that there was a ceiling. Corbin had a way of making me blind. That was a good thing, right? It meant that I really liked him.
    But it also meant, well, that I was blind when he was around. That I missed things.  
    It was a new feeling. I was used to guys who were intimidated by what I did for a living. They thought it made me cool, and it definitely kept them respectful.
    And then Corbin came along and turned all that upside down.
    Someone tapped lightly at the door, and then it opened. “I’m taking off,” Jennifer said. “I’ll be back to check on you in the afternoon. My number’s on the whiteboard if you need to get in touch before then.”
    I sat up. I hadn’t seen a whiteboard, hadn’t seen much of anything. “See you tomorrow.”
    Jennifer left without closing the door. A minute later, I thought I heard the front door open and close, but I couldn’t be sure. This had to be the quietest building known to humankind.
    Corbin entered. “Pizza’s here.”
    “I want to take the job,” I said. “I want to work with