Femme Fetale

Seventeen

"And sent!" Parker says, pushing himself away from the desk, causing the chair to roll a good couple feet away. He looks up at me with the rimmed glasses sitting on his nose and smiles widely. "He'll never be able to trace where the email came from, of course, but the images were received." I nod. I close my eyes, trying to forget the pictures Parker had shown me only this morning.

"Good. So far everything's going smoothly. I'm sure once Zane sees these pictures, he'll come running right into my eagerly awaiting arms," I tell him monotonously, shoving my hands my jean pockets. Parker's eyes scrutinize me for a moment, and he places his head in his hands.

"Are you jealous, sweet cheeks," Parker teases, eyes lighting up. I turn my heated gaze on him, making sure to keep my expression neutral.

"Of what, exactly?" I snap, biting the inside of my cheek.

"Just, those images were pretty graphic and all. Did they make that murderous side of you just itch to get your hands on poor little Veronica," He asks, chuckling darkly. I snort.

"What you do in your private life in none of my concern. We kissed. A couple times. Doesn't mean we're suddenly together," I tell him, waving him off. Deep, deep down in my heart, where no light reached and everything went to be forgotten, I knew it was the exact opposite of what I wanted. My pride got in the way, but I did want Parker. Even if I had no idea in what way I wanted him. But how could I ever come close to trusting the guy? He's a cold blooded killer. Not saying that I'm any different, but still.

Parker stays quiet, those green eyes watching me as I walk out of the office and down the stairs to the living area where blueprints littered the coffee table. I plopped down on one of the couches, unrolling one of the blueprints and sighing.

It took Parker five days to get into Veronica's pants. Five days. She had been a tough nut to crack, really. But not as tough as the Priest I'd had to steal that 18th century Qianlong vase from. Now that had been one hell of a hard nut to crack. The vase fetched a pretty penny on the black market, though, so the three months spent up in the mountain ranges of Switzerland had been worth it. Back then it had been a much, much simpler time. Sure, Nickolas had just recently left me, but I was so buried in my work it just didn't cross my mind as often. And the death of my family hadn't been looming over me like it is now, the anniversary drawing ever so near. I take a deep breath and come away form Memory Lane, focusing on the blueprints of Mr. Casteel's townhouse.

"Staring at those isn't going to make you anymore prepared, you know," Parker says, leaning against the railing of the large staircase. After repeatedly asking him how he'd somehow managed to scrape together a place to stay and why he hadn't just done it from the beginning, I'd stopped when I realized there was something much deeper that wouldn't let him answer. His eyes gave it away. Creepy how I'd come to know him so well in the span of only a couple months. "You've memorised the place like the back of your hand."

I bite my lip as I trace my finger through the maze of corridors and rooms. The living area, the kitchen, the family room, the laundry room. I had them memorized from paper, but I had no idea what furniture went where. That's the only flaw.

I had no intention of just blindly trusting Nickolas or whatever-his-name-is's intel. I would take a peek for myself, clear out any spaces he might have missed. Though highly unlikely he missed any. If his mission with me has any merit, he truly is an impeccable spy. I continue to stare at the paper.

"Am I bad at my job," I ask, furrowing my brow. I hear Parker walk over to me, the couch sinking beneath his weight as he settles down next to me.

"What makes you think that?" His voice is even, smooth. Serious.

"Nickolas-"

"We all have our blind-spots, bambola, yours just happens to be your heart," He tells me, touching my shoulder. A friendly gesture really. I wasn't sure how close I can let him, considering my history with men - well, one man - I'd previously dated. Hell maybe I wouldn't survive this time. Literally. I snort.