SEPTEMBER 10
When Dr Everett Stone falls for one of his marks it spells disaster.
The brief was simple.
The package had arrived with explicit, time-sensitive instructions.
Everett Stone had missed the deadline.
Twice.
The threats and warnings had come. Just as he'd anticipated.
He had three weeks to take out the mark or he’d be the one being fitted for a toe tag.
This particular mark wasn’t what he had expected, at all.
From the moment he set eyes on her he’d learnt the curve of her smile, the way she moved, swiftly, with purpose, and the way she looked at him made him sigh with desire.
There had been several beautiful women he’d felled and had immensely enjoyed doing so in cold blood.
With her, it was different.
He was different.
He’d lost his edge. Gone soft. Dropped the ball.
He didn’t know how to fix it.
Until the perfect solution landed in his lap.
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