Vendetta Road (Torpedo Ink 3)

There was a beautiful dark-haired woman sitting alone at a small table looking sad. She was drinking what looked to be a cosmopolitan. Perfect. She had a really good body. An amazing body. He liked what she was wearing. It showed just enough, not too much. She wasn’t putting herself on display. She wore gloves, delicate little things, to go with her perfect little black dress. He had to make a move on her before any of the other men eyeing her did.

He ordered two drinks, one for her, one for himself, and walked over with complete confidence. “Would you mind sharing your table? There’s nowhere to sit and I’m afraid I’m not as young as I used to be.”

She glanced up, looking annoyed at first, and then when his words sank in and she checked out his gray hair, she waved him toward the seat. He put the drinks down. “I figured the least I could do was order you a drink.”

“Thank you.”

She sounded shy, and the smile she gave him confirmed she must be.

“What’s your name? I’m Peter, Peter Daniels.”

She hesitated again. “Alice, Alice Burns.” Alena gave him her sweetest smile. Her hair was a dark mane of chestnut and her eyes were that dark chocolate she’d used earlier. It was just easier to leave the contacts in.

“What are you doing here all alone?”

She swallowed and looked down at her hands. “I lost my husband recently—well, it still feels recent but it’s been over a year. He . . . we . . . I own a tech business and we took our first vacation in a very long time. There was an accident and he . . .” She trailed off and then looked at Peter Daniels with her tragic face that could bring a room to tears. “I just lost him. My friends told me to quit moping, that it was time I got out of the house, but I still think it’s too soon.”

“I recently lost my wife as well,” Peter said. “You’re right, friends push and push and they don’t understand.”

Alena reached for her drink, knocked into his and then managed to save them both, a small embarrassed smile lighting up her face. “I was going to suggest we toast to our friends, but I’m a bit of a klutz. It might not be safe.”

He grabbed his glass as she lifted hers. “To our friends who we both let push us around.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Alena agreed, and lifted her drink toward her mouth, her eyes beginning to dance with amusement.

Peter took a healthy drink and looked at her over the rim of his glass. “You didn’t drink.”

“I was just thinking about what I said. About it might not be safe, and how I’m a klutz. There’s a half-dozen ways I could think of that I could die just because I’m drinking this drink.”

Peter took another long drink. The alcohol went down smoothly. He liked the way it made him feel. Warm inside. Cool on the outside. Sexy. His little widow was warming up to him nicely. He began to fantasize about how he would remove her sexy dress.

“How could you do that?” He sipped again.

“Well, suppose we were together and had just made love. Can you imagine that?” She put her drink down and leaned her chin onto the heel of her hand, staring into his eyes.

Peter nearly gulped down the rest of his drink, almost choking. “I’m with you,” he said, because he was. He so was. The little minx was missing sex. He could provide that for her.

“Right? And you decided to go into the kitchen and get us something to snack on, something like caviar and crackers. Meanwhile, I’m drinking my drink, not paying attention, and slip and fall and hit my head.”

His smiled faded. “Who are you?” he demanded. He looked around. Seated across from their table at the bar was a man watching them. He was the scariest man Peter had ever seen. He was dressed in an expensive suit, he was bald, very muscular, and Peter could see tattoos swimming up his neck.

“Another way would be my husband, who I believed loves me, takes my head and slams it against the side of the hot tub and then drowns me. That could happen just as easily.” She leaned even closer. “Or, someone who knows what you did might bring justice for that woman by slipping a very fast-acting poison into your drink. That would work just as well.” Alena picked up her clutch, smiled at him and stood.

Peter stood as well, nearly knocking over the table so that the drinks rattled, and heads turned.

Alena picked up her drink and threw it in his face. “Leave me alone. And stop following me everywhere. I’ve asked you repeatedly to leave me alone.” She marched toward the door, her head high.