The GHB works fast on her small frame, especially with the remnants of wine from the restaurant still in her system.
She blinks slowly, as if her eyelids have suddenly gained weight. “Do you…” She pauses, frowning slightly as she struggles to maintain her train of thought. “Do you want to come? To the craft store? You could carry the heavy stuff again.”
I don’t answer, instead waiting as she drinks more beer and sets the can down with exaggerated care. Her mind may not understand what’s happening, but her body’s certainly aware of its lack of coordination.
“You’re so…” She blinks again. “So quiet. Always watching. Like you’re…looking for something.”
Even as the drug clouds her mind, she’s perceptive. Thankfully, she’ll be unconscious within minutes, and then I’ll no longer need to sit beneath her observation.
“I feel weird.” She rubs at her eyes. “Really…really tired all of a sudden.”
“Should I go? Do you need to go to bed?” My questions come out compassionate, caring.
“No, I’m fine. You know what’s funny?” Her almost unintelligible words bleed together. “I never…did a one-night stand before. Never thought I’d be the kind of person…who…” She trails off, unable to complete the thought.
She’s never had a one-night stand. The confession doesn’t surprise me, though I almost regret being her first.
Almost.
Her head droops forward before jerking back up as she fights a losing battle. “S’weird. Can’t feel my…face.”
I sit in silence, waiting for the drug to suck her under completely. Her lashes flutter in a struggle against the inevitable and finally close. Her body slumps in the chair, her head falling forward.
She’s out cold.
Mission back on. Feelings locked down.
I have control again.
I wipe my face, stand, and gaze down at her unconscious form. With all that bright energy dimmed, she’s somehow smaller. The sight should satisfy me. Instead, I can’t ignore the hollowness in my chest.
I have at least two hours before she starts to come around. Probably far more, given her petite size. Plenty of time to hunt through her tiny house, uncover the diamonds, and disappear from her life. She’ll wake up confused, maybe frightened, with only fragmentary memories of what happened between us. And she’ll never see me again.
I flex my fingers, which are still faintly sticky from her pleasure.
This is how it must be. How it always is. No loose ends. No complications.
No attachments.
Chapter 9
Kolya
I lift Chloe from the chair, her body limp and warm against mine.
She weighs nothing. A bundle of soft limbs and fading pheromones. Her head lolls on my chest as I carry her to the sofa and set her down with more care than the mission requires.
For a heartbeat, I watch her sleep, her pink lips parted, her chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of drug-induced slumber. Gentle. Innocent.
Vulnerable.
Then I shut down my wandering thoughts and lock them away. I’m not here to monitor a kindergarten teacher’s rest. I’m here to find twenty million in diamonds and get the hell out.
Time to get busy.
I perform a methodical grid search in this one-bedroom box, starting with the living room. I work with quick efficiency, opening drawers in the beaten-up entertainment console, sliding my fingers along the bottoms and backs in my quest for tape, false bottoms, or anything else out of place. Nothing. Just remote controls and a tangled mass of charging cables.
The bookshelf yields nothing but paperbacks with broken spines. Mostly romance novels, mysteries, and the occasionalself-help book with titles likeFinding Your LightandThe Joy of Small Pleasures. Mindless, vomit-inducing optimism.
