Poison Kisses: Part 2 by Lisa Renee Jones

Author:Lisa Renee Jones [Jones, Lisa Renee]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2018-02-13T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Five

Amanda and I close the space between myself and Bear, our pace even, unrushed. We stop a foot from him. Bear gives me a nod and then focuses on Amanda. “Dr. A. Isn’t that what they call you?” he asks, still leaning on the car, which I’m certain is because he’s six-foot-five and, for the moment, doesn’t wish to intimidate Amanda. As if he could.

“That was in my tamer years,” Amanda replies, setting Julie down, and proving my assessment as accurate with her quick-witted reply. “Before I became the killer the agency wanted me to be,” she adds. “Now, I’m called the Poison Princess.”

“I’ve heard not to touch you,” Bear replies. “That it could be lethal.”

“She doesn’t have to touch you to kill you,” I offer, setting the bags down. “I’ve watched men across the room drop.”

“A good friend to make and a bad—”

“—enemy to have,” I supply, a saying that actually originated with me when I was on a mission with Bear years ago.

Bear eyes me. “And yet you always survive her.”

“Yes,” I say. “I do, which is why you called me to get her, and we both know it.”

Julie meows, and Bear’s eyes rocket to the carrier. “Is that a cat?”

“Since dogs don’t meow,” Amanda says, “I think that makes you good at stating the obvious.”

“Why do you have a cat?” he asks, looking between us. “Does Franklin like cats?”

“She’s an attack cat,” Amanda says. “Lethal. I’ve trained her to rip her claws right across the line of the neck.”

I manage a straight face with effort, which isn’t a problem I often entertain. Bear studies her a moment, and laughs. “Attack cat,” he says, stroking his goatee. “That’s funny. I actually love cats. I grew up with a cat as a best friend. Sheila, I called her. Best woman I’ve ever known.” He pushes off the car, towering over Amanda now by a foot, but his energy is relaxed. “Can I say hello to her?”

“No,” Amanda says firmly. “She doesn’t like you.”

He arches a brow. “She hasn’t met me.”

“But I have.”

He levels a stare on Amanda, clearly focused on her in this meeting, not me, and while I could intervene, I do not. Amanda is also focused. She’s re-establishing herself again with the agency, and I let her do her thing. “I didn’t have anything to do with your kill order or that of your parents.”

“That’s a lie,” she says. “The standing order is to kill me before I can be captured and forced to help Franklin. That’s a kill order.”

“She’s correct on that count,” I interject.

He glances at me and then Amanda again, as he says, “That wouldn’t be necessary if the agent is loyal to their country, because a good agent would kill themselves before helping a man like Franklin.”

“A good agent,” she says, “would make the most of being captured, and ensure she, or he, not only left with the secrets needed to save innocent lives, but that the people involved were captured or killed.

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