Catch a Mate. Gena Showalter

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      Georgia pondered those words for several minutes, then shrugged. Her body glitter caught the light, making her bare shoulders shimmer. “Maybe believing the lie is the only key to happiness.” Today was the first time she’d ever voiced doubts about their profession.

      Anything to do with Wyatt and his marriage proposal?

      “So where are you going tonight?” Georgia asked before Jillian could question her. “You look like a cheap hooker.”

      “Thank you,” Jillian replied with a genuine smile. She wore a skintight white tank top with a low V-neck for ultra cleavage, a barely-there jean skirt with a frayed hem, a thick silver belt and tall black boots. Her hair was a wild, untamed mass of curls, her makeup heavily applied.

      At the moment, everything about her screamed “saddle up and take me for a ride.” But then, the man she was supposed to “catch” later apparently liked his women dressed that way. The trashier the better, or so his girlfriend, who dressed like a dime-store prostitute herself, had said.

      “I’m going to The Meat Market,” Jillian explained. No lie, that was the name of the nightclub situated in the pulsing heart of downtown Oklahoma City. It was supposedly the place for prowling singles.

      Her target’s live-in girlfriend said her man had been visiting the club for weeks. For “beer.” Jillian believed that one-hundred percent—if beer was the new name for T & A. If the guy was simply throwing back a few cold ones, why couldn’t he take his girlfriend with him? Why did he leave her at home and insist she stay there?

      Anne had suggested the girlfriend follow the guy herself before resorting to bait, but the woman had shut down that idea immediately. Jillian thought she knew why. It was one thing to believe your man was cheating; it was quite another to actually witness it yourself, live and in person. Plus, the girlfriend could be spotted and the guy could alter his behavior accordingly.

      The door to Anne’s office suddenly jerked open, startling her. Surprising Georgia, too, who gasped.

      Jillian jolted upright as Anne stuck out her head. She caught a glimpse of the woman’s graying hair and stern, wrinkled features before Anne called, “Jillian. Get in here ASAP. I’ve got some bad news for you.”

      She disappeared without another word, but left the door open.

      O-kay. Jillian’s heart skipped a beat. She flicked Georgia a nervous glance, and it didn’t help that her friend was wide-eyed and openmouthed. Hands beginning to sweat, she eased to her feet.

      “Bad news,” Georgia said quietly, her attention veering between Jillian and the door. “She’s usually abrupt, but that was…”

      “Maybe my case has been reassigned,” Jillian said, hopeful.

      “Maybe.”

      Georgia didn’t sound convinced and deep down Jillian wasn’t, either. Shit. Shit! More than going over her assignment tonight, Jillian had hoped to talk to Anne about making her a partner, or—what she really wanted—selling her the business outright.

      She’d tried to broach the subject a few times already, but each time Anne had been busy and had shooed her away with a promise of “later.”

      There was no one better equipped or readier to take over than Jillian. She’d been here forever (it sometimes seemed) and had many wonderful ideas, if she did say so herself, about taking CAM to the next level. Like a counseling center for victims of infidelity, support groups and even a Web site dedicated to warning women about particular men. Sort of an Internet Wall of Shame, appropriately dubbed the Swine Whine, with ratings of just how high on the Pigometer certain individuals ranked. Oklahoma’s most unwanted.

      If she had her way, CAM’s clients would get the kind of help her mother hadn’t.

      Now that conversation would have to wait. Again.

      Bad news…she gulped. Something was about to go down, that was for sure, and from the sound of Anne’s voice, Jillian suspected it was herself.

      Two

      I miss my teddy bear. Would you sleep with me?

      JILLIAN STEPPED INTO Anne’s office, her heart thundering. Anne was already settled behind her desk. She was a stern, no-nonsense woman, always abrupt and demanding, but she’d never commanded Jillian’s presence with such force before. Never told her she had “bad news.”

      What was going on? Does she want to get rid of me? Why? What could Jillian possibly have done? She studied her boss. Anne was of indeterminate age and refused to discuss the matter on threat of death. Jillian’s guess? Two thousand, give or take a year. Deep lines bracketed her mouth, eyes and cheeks. Coarse gray hair frizzed—no. Today her hair wasn’t frizzed. Today her hair was slicked back from her face, making her look almost…pretty. Huh. That was a first, too.

      Anne glanced up from the papers on her desk; her hazel eyes, normally devoid of any emotion except annoyance, were now colored with guilt. “Shut the door,” Anne said, returning her attention to the papers.

      Without turning her back on her boss, Jillian pressed the heavy glass door closed. The blinds were drawn, so no one could see inside. She sent her nervous gaze around the spacious room. Large windows consumed the far wall and numerous dying plants were lined up in front of them. An opened bottle of Scotch rested on the wet bar.

      One day, she wanted this office to be her own. Was that even a possibility now?

      Cute Ass sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. His back was to her and he didn’t bother turning to acknowledge her. He remained slumped in the plush blue seat, completely relaxed. A little irreverent.

      “What’s going on?” Jillian asked, proud that she sounded at ease and unconcerned.

      “Sit down.” With a brusque chin tilt, Anne motioned to the other chair—the one beside Cute Ass.

      Did Anne plan to fire her? Was the blond here to protect her in case Jillian went ballistic? Instantly her mind replayed the last few assignments she’d taken. Sure, she had kneed one target in the balls. But he could still father children. Sure, she had caused a barroom brawl. But no one had died.

      She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat and strode to the chair. She eased down, smoothing her jean skirt with shaky hands. “What’s going on?” she asked again.

      “Jillian Greene,” Anne said, “meet Marcus Brody. Marcus, Jillian.”

      You’re breezy. Not a care. “Nice to meet you,” she told him, twisting and holding out a hand.

      His attention never veered in her direction. He kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, merely arching a brow in acknowledgment of her words. O-kay. So he didn’t want to look at, talk to or touch her. Bad news…

      The moisture in her mouth dried. Maybe he wasn’t so cute, after all. Jillian’s hand dropped to her side.

      Anne propped her elbows on the desk and pinned her with a hard stare. “Marcus has joined the agency as bait.”

      “What?” Her jaw dropped open, but she closed it with a snap. Of all the things she’d expected to hear, that didn’t even hit the bottom of СКАЧАТЬ