Chapter 12

12

Special Agent Fallon Baxter

T he singles mingle event kicks off with the ring of a bell, echoing over the chatter like a starting gun at a race.

The Oasis in Denver is filled with prospects for the opposite sex tonight, and with the energy in this room, there's no doubt a love connection will be made. Whether or not it lasts more than one night is to be seen.

We spot Owen and watch as he slips into the fray with his charm dialed all the way up, flashing a grin at every potential suitor. Nikki, ever the fearless agent, is already planted at his table with a wicked glint in her eye.

I lean over to Jack. "Looks like she's diving right into enemy territory."

Jack smirks, watching as a blonde with a too-tight dress licks her lips at him despite my proximity.

"Nikki does have a knack for getting close to the action." He frowns as he says it. "Let's hope it's just her interrogation techniques that are hands-on tonight."

The organizers set a timer for three minutes per interaction, a digital clock that slowly ticks down the moments as I find myself shuffled in front of a series of hopefuls.

Each so-called date starts with an all too happy grin (on their part) and a clumsy introduction (that would be mine).

The air is thick with desperation and cheap cologne.

Across from me, I catch a glimpse of Jack as a woman in a sequined top gushes about her yoga routine. I confess, I'm listening in.

The timer goes off and my next date sits down—a man in a suit and a sales pitch instead of a personality.

Before I can answer another question from his rapid-fire interrogation, the bell rings again, mercifully on my part. I scan the room for Nikki and she's with our suspect once again, laughing at something Owen has said. I shake my head slightly. That settles it, she is determined to sleep with every man that crops up on our suspect list.

The evening blurs into a cycle of faces and names, the bell marking the end of each encounter like the world's most relentless snooze button. As the rotations continue, I find myself back at Jack's side, both of us a little worse for wear.

He leans in, bedroom eyeing me, most likely because he can't seem to find the off switch.

"How's your heart?" he asks, lackluster. "Still intact after all that?"

"Still beating. And trying to drum its way out of my chest in search of the exit," I quip, watching as Owen wraps up his session with Nikki yet again and moves on to a bubbly brunette. "But I'm more interested in what Nikki's drumming up."

Jack chuckles. "Let's hope it's more than just his favorite drink recipes. Though, from the looks of it, she might just charm the truth out of him one way or another. You know what they say—if dinner doesn't work, there's always breakfast."

"Nobody says that."

The bell goes off again and lucky me is next at bat with our potential perpetrator.

"Wish me luck," I say as we both rise from our seats.

"Remember the rules. Legs closed, mind opened, heart on the line."

I shake my head at him in horror as Owen and I find ourselves at the same table.

"Finally," he says, looking at me mesmerized. "The one I've waited for all night."

The bell goes off, the clock is ticking, and my number one suspect is eyeing me like I've just morphed into a juicy steak.

Owen leans in and lands his hands on the table just shy of my fingers. "I'm glad you came. The second I saw you walk through the door, I couldn't wait to have a chance to speak with you. So tell me, are you looking for a love connection tonight, or maybe something a little more exciting?"

"Maybe I'm just looking for a few interesting stories." I play along, tilting my head, trying my best to give him a smile that suggests there could be more. "People are full of them, aren't they?" And I have a feeling he's full of something, too. "What about you, Owen? What's your story? Don't leave out a single detail."

Especially not the homicidal ones.

His chest thumps with a silent laugh. "My story could fill a book, maybe several. Born and raised here in Colorado, made a name for myself in the beverage industry. You might have heard of High Spirits? That's my baby—craft THC-infused drinks for those looking to unwind without the hangover."

He drones on and on, and his hand gestures grow more animated by the minute. It's clear he's passionate about his work, but there's a rehearsed quality to his spiel. Most likely because he's just recited these very words to about thirty different women.

"And outside of work?" I probe, leaning forward as if I were captivated. He wishes. "What does Owen do to unwind, especially if he's already selling relaxation in a bottle?"

He laughs again, this time a bit more genuinely. "Well, I'm a bit of an adrenaline junkie. Skydiving, rock climbing—you name it, I've probably jumped off it or climbed it." His eyes sink to my neckline as if that roll call included women as well, and I have no doubt it does.

Three rounds go off, and we're still talking—or rather, he's still attempting to charm me and I'm still attempting to pin a felony on him. I can tell he's used to being the center of attention, and I'm definitely planning on using this to my advantage.

The final bell goes off and an instant chatter explodes in the room at a far higher decibel level than it was before. Bodies begin to stir around us, but we don't move a muscle.

"You're easy to talk to, Fallon." Owen reaches over and picks up my hand. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in continuing this conversation over dinner? Somewhere far less occupied?" He lands a kiss on the back of my hand, his eyes staying trained on mine. "We can go back to my place. Or if you're in a hurry, I know of an office upstairs." He eyes my mouth, and within seconds his face is coming in hot.

But before he can hit paydirt, or I can reach for my Glock, a badge is thrown in his face.

" FBI ," Jack growls at the man. "Get on your feet. You're coming with me."