A hint of laughter crept into his eyes as he smiled. "Not unless you need me to be."
That odd fluttering returned but I squashed it. Noel Warrick was close enough to grab if we were efficient. It had always been a two person job. I could make it work, if I wanted it to be quick. But there were other ways to do it, too.
I just needed... "I need you."
"Then I'm all yours."
That was exactly what I wanted to hear.
* * *
"Next timeyou say you need me, can it be with far less clothing?" He tugged at his bow-tie and I smacked his fingers gently before fixing it. The man cut a devastating picture in black tie and formal evening suit. Honestly, it was hard for a man to look bad in one, but the cut of this one was so exquisite it hid the mountain of muscle he'd been putting on and gave him this urbane, almost mysterious air. It fit right in with my plans, too.
"I promise," I murmured as I smoothed my gloved hands over his shoulders. His eyes had grown wide when I came out of my room in the midnight blue, backless dress that draped every curve. It took a lot of fabric tape to achieve the casual look. The shoes added an extra four inches to my height, still, Rick towered over me. We definitely made a striking pair and I'd time our arrival at the splashy charity event with a local celebrity's.
He'd been all over social media with his latest scandal and faux pas. Something about nudity and pissing in public. I didn't care beyond the cover his arrival would provide us. Right on cue, Rick offered me his arm and I tucked my gloved hand into the crook of his elbow. We moved purposefully, as cameras flashed and went off everywhere.
But no one looked at us. In fact, most of them leaned to shoot past us or waved us out of the way. We ascended the steps to the community center entrance. It was a brand 'new' facility. The whole red-carpet affair was a grand dog and pony show designed to line their pockets with more cash and elevate their personal profiles.
It was events like this that had made Noel so untouchable.
Not anymore.
Not tonight.
Rick barely glanced at the man greeting us as he handed him our invitation, and he didn't wait for him to wave us through as he guided me through the metal detectors. Neither registered either of us as a threat. It really was easy to fool technology.
You only had to be smarter than it.
Inside, the hum of multiple conversations enveloped us. Music played from a live band, most likely in what would normally be the gym, but they'd gone all out to make it look like a five star affair, down to the expensive cloth napkins and table coverings. Waiters weaved their way through the crowd, offering glasses of champagne and canapés. The food alone probably cost more than the renovation on the building.
Or what they would see going forward. Still, I nodded to one of the waiters and he slowed to bring us glasses, that Rick claimed before he passed one to me. We tapped our glasses together, then took sips. At least we mimed them.
On the job, don't drink. That was one of the oldest and most steadfast rules. But in this atmosphere, we needed to mingle. I really didn't want him touching too much but for now, I would handle glass disposal and wipe his fingerprints off with my gloves.
Rick proved to be the perfect companion as we weaved through the crowd. We drifted into and out of groups or clusters. More than once, he'd held his hand out to someone and gripped it—shaking it like they were old friends and always offering them a warm note.
Most of these people were total strangers, but politeness demanded they reciprocate and their own horror at not recalling kept them from looking at him too closely. The music changed and my target entered the gym from the other side. Glasses and cutlery made noises. The conversation swelled and the volume grew, as drinks began to flow more liberally. It wouldn't be long.
"Dance with me?" I said and savored the look of pleasure stealing through Rick's eyes. I took his glass from him, surreptitiously wiping it before setting both on a table to be forgotten. Hand in hand, we moved out to the dance floor and Rick pulled me against him. The warmth of his hand against my bare back sent a delightful cascade of shivers through me, that had absolutely nothing to do with the job.
"I don't dance very well," he said in a soft voice, though the way he held me close and moved in a box four step said otherwise. "Hopefully, this is all right."
"This is lovely," I complimented him and had to bite back the urge to tilt my face up to meet him for a kiss.
"I'm glad." Then we continued in the slow box step as the music lulled the crowd. The lights dimmed and then there was a call to take seats. Noel Warrick was up on the raised platform where she, and a few other "worthy" notables, would eat.
She was in the middle of shaking someone's hand when she turned her head to cough delicately. Then a little harder. She was miming an apology as she backed away from the table and picked up a glass of water. The cough grew a bit harder and suddenly the music stopped and the sound cut across the ballroom.
The woman with her too white hair and perfectly botoxed features struggled to breathe. At the sudden burst of chaos noise as she collapsed, Rick pulled me closer to him.
"EpiPen—" A man on the platform yelled. "Does anyone have an EpiPen?"
"Oh, I do," a woman behind us called and I held my hand out to her. We were closer and she passed it to me. The crowd both pressed in closer—because rubberneckers really did hate to miss a scene—even if it would be more helpful if they'd "clear" the way. I traded the hands holding the EpiPen and passed it to another person who was closer. They in turn passed it to another, until finally it reached the stage.
Noel Warrick gasped for air, the choking wheeze carrying even over the sound of horror. The man with her took the pen and jabbed it into her leg. At first, nothing happened and then her face went red as she fought for even the barest amount of wheeze.
It was too quick.