Chapter 4 #2
"Just—" She makes an aborted gesture toward the jacket draped over the chair, not quite meeting my eyes. "Just put on the jacket and let's go before I lose my nerve completely and we end up hiding in this hotel room all weekend."
The jacket somehow makes it worse. The shoulders fit, barely, but when I button it closed the fabric screams in protest. I'm going to destroy this suit before the night ends. Possibly before we reach the cocktail party.
But when I look at Colletta, she's watching me like I'm dangerous.
Good.
That's the image we need to project.
The Welcome Cocktails are held in the vineyard's main pavilion, an open structure with too many sight lines and insufficient cover. String lights create visibility issues. The crowd provides both concealment opportunities and unpredictable movement patterns.
I catalog exits while Colletta grips my arm.
"There's Monica," she hisses, nodding toward a woman in white who's holding court near the bar. "And Derek is... oh god, he's right there. Nine o'clock. Don't look. Don't make eye contact."
I look immediately.
The target is average height, slight build, wearing expensive casual clothes that scream "minimal threat capability." He's standing with a blonde woman, laughing too loudly at something she said. His body language suggests territorial display behavior. Compensating.
Weak. Physically unimpressive. No combat conditioning evident in his posture or movement patterns.
"I said don't look," Colletta groans beside me, her fingers digging into my bicep hard enough that I can actually feel the pressure through the suit fabric.
Her voice has gone high and tight, the way it does when she's about to start laughing at inappropriate moments.
"I specifically said don't look. That was literally the one instruction I gave you. "
"Target assessment complete," I report, keeping my voice low and tactical.
I've already cataloged his weaknesses: soft hands, expensive shoes with no traction, stance that suggests he's never taken a real hit.
"He poses no danger. Minimal physical threat.
Could neutralize him in under three seconds if required. "
"He's not a target, he's my ex-boyfriend, and we're supposed to be playing it cool and casual, not treating this like a military operation."
A waiter approaches with a tray of drinks. I intercept him three feet from Colletta, scanning the glasses for signs of tampering. Clear liquid. Likely vodka-based. No visible particulates.
"Sir?" the waiter says nervously.
I choose two glasses, and handed one to Colletta. "Perimeter secure."
The waiter flees.
"You just terrorized the cocktail service," Colletta mutters, but she takes the drink and downs half of it immediately. "Okay. New plan. We're going to circulate. Smile. Be normal. Can you smile?"
I pull my lips back from my teeth in what I've observed humans do during non-threatening social encounters.
"Not like that," Colletta hisses, her grip tightening on my arm until her nails are probably leaving crescents through the fabric.
Her eyes have gone wide with barely suppressed panic.
"Oh god, not like that. You look like you're about to eat someone.
Like you're genuinely considering which part of them would taste best."
I relax my facial muscles back to a neutral resting position. "Affirmative. Threat display is successful." The reaction from the other wedding guests in our immediate vicinity confirms the effectiveness of the intimidation tactic.
"Kruk—" She's using the tone that suggests I've miscalculated the appropriate response for the situation.
But before she can complete whatever recalibration she's planning to issue, a female voice cuts through the ambient noise of the reception.
"Collie!"
We both turn. The blonde woman is approaching, the target trailing behind her. Up close, his smugness is even more apparent. Groomed facial hair. Expensive watch. The male who thinks possessions equal dominance.
"Madison." Colletta's voice goes tight. "Hi. And Derek."
"We saw you come in and just had to say hello." Madison's smile is sharp. Predatory in a different way than anything I'm trained for. "And this must be the famous neurosurgeon Monica told us about."
"Kruk," I say, positioning myself slightly in front of Colletta. Standard protective positioning. "Colletta's partner."
Derek's gaze travels up my body slowly, lingering on the strained seams of my jacket, the obvious bulk of muscle beneath. His smile doesn't reach his eyes.
"Partner. Right. We met briefly." He extends his hand. "Derek. Old friend of Collie's."
I take his hand and apply precisely enough pressure to communicate capability without causing permanent damage. His expression flickers. He tries to squeeze back. Fails.
When I release him, he flexes his fingers subtly, attempting to restore circulation.
"So, big guy," Derek says, voice carrying an edge now. "What do you actually do for a living? Monica mentioned neurosurgery, but you seem more..." He gestures vaguely at my frame. "Physical."
Colletta makes a small choking sound and presses closer to my side.
The fabric across my shoulders protests the position, but I don't move. She fits there. Small and warm and chaotic, radiating anxiety and strawberry scent and that laugh I know is building behind her clenched teeth.
"I specialize in removing problems," I tell Derek, holding his gaze. "Permanently."