High-Heeler Wonder (Killer Style 1)

Henry squeezed his partner’s thigh. “Yes, that’s exactly what we did.”

“How long?”

“Almost a month.”

Sylvie pinched the bridge of her nose and practiced her yoga breathing. “And why let it out of the bag now?”

“The threats are escalating. Getting nastier. Tony was at the wedding because of the last threat that mentioned Anya’s big day,” Henry said.

And there went any calmness brought on by the yoga breathing. Sylvie turned to face the bodyguard she didn’t need. “So you hacked my e-mail. Have you been spying on me in person, too?”

Tony nodded but kept his mouth shut. A point in his favor. Hot and smart. More’s the pity after today she’d never see him again.

“So you went against my wishes to hire him.” She set the plate of cookies down on the coffee table with a clank. “You hacked into my e-mail and violated my privacy. All for my own good, I’m sure.” Grabbing her purse off the couch, she swallowed the lump of frustration in her throat. “Do you know what Daniel said to me while he was pounding on the hotel room door? That he knew I loved him, and he hadn’t wanted to break my heart. In his own twisted way, he had been looking out for me, too.”

“Sylvie, I’m sorry.” Anton’s voice cracked. “We should have told you sooner.”

“No, you should have abided by my wishes.” Sylvie stood up, her chest tight. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Tony. All this troll is doing is being an asshole, and unfortunately there’s no law against that.”

He shrugged, but there was an obstinate glint in his dark brown eyes. “At least take my card.”

The glossy black card was embossed with a falcon’s profile. The phone number and e-mail were printed in white. She made sure not to touch his fingers as she slid the card free of his grasp and pocketed it.

“Thank you.”

She turned to her fathers. No matter how annoyed she was, she knew it wouldn’t last. They had always been overprotective. She couldn’t expect them to change now, and, to be honest, part of her would miss it if they did. “As for you two, no more hacking or paying someone else to hack into my e-mail, or anything else. Trust me, if this guy goes off the rails, I’ll call Tony and hire him myself. Scout’s honor.”

Anton opened his mouth, but she narrowed her eyes at him and he shut it.

“You’re always my little stubborn bulldog, aren’t you, Sylvie?” Henry shook his head. “Accepting help doesn’t make you weak.”

A lesson he’d taught her when she and Anya had moved into the brownstone. She’d waited for two months after the adoption papers were signed before she’d unpacked her suitcase. After years of shuffling in and out of foster homes, she’d been too scared to trust th

eir good luck.

“Don’t worry so much, or your blood pressure will go out of whack again.” She kissed her fathers on the cheeks and made her way out of the coffee shop, forcing herself not to take one last look at the hotness that was Tony Falcon. A girl had to have her pride, after all, and the guy had hacked her e-mail. Even so, she put a little extra umph in her strut.

The morning sun nearly blinded her as she walked out onto Orchard Street. She squinted against the light and turned south for the short walk to her apartment. Double-checking the walk signal, she stepped off the curb, and—

An engine gunned. A streak of silver flashed across her peripheral vision. Tires squealed. She whipped her head around to see a dark shadow behind the wheel of the speeding car.

Just as it came straight for her.

Chapter Three

“Over the years I have learned that what is important in a dress is the woman who is wearing it.”

—Yves Saint Laurent

Tony watched in horror as Sylvie froze in the middle of stepping off the curb. “No!” he wanted to shout as the clueless crowd entered the crosswalk behind her, too busy yapping on their phones to realize what was about to unfold.

Tony had left the coffee shop, following her and her deliciously tight pants down the block, her stride sure and steady despite her sexy, mile-high shoes. She may have thought their conversation over, but he and the lady had unfinished business.

He hadn’t even had a chance to catch up with her before being proved right.

The constant revving of a silver Mercedes’s engine had spooked him, taking him back a year to another busy intersection—raising the hair on the back of his neck and launching him into a dead run. His right knee had screamed in protest as he sprinted, but he’d ignored the ice pick chipping away at the joint that had been rehabbed for half a year and still felt like shit most days.

All that mattered was getting it right this time.