"What do you know of your husband’s dealings with me?" he asked as he sat.

I frowned, "Nothing." I noticed everything about him. I couldn’t help it. He was big—over two hundred pounds, but at the same time, graceful. His greenish-grey slacks fit him perfectly. He filled them out as if they were made to be his. His cream-colored dress shirt was open, like he had just taken his tie off and was about to relax for the evening. He was thick and fit for our age. The closer men got to forty, the less likely they were able to tie their own shoes. But not him, he was strong. It made the feelings of fear and panic worse. There would be no escaping him. He could snap my neck in a heartbeat. The flute looked ridiculous in his huge hands.

Every observation I made of him, linked itself to a dirty thought. I’d been reading too many naughty books. But I had to give it to him, he had aged nicely, more than nicely. I couldn’t shake the bratty boy he had been, when I was watching him at twenty-three.

He sighed and watched me checking him out. I blushed as he smiled, "You seem afraid of me, Ms. Evans."

I tried to nod, but it was more like a twitch. I steadied my hands and brought the flute to my lips. The champagne was perfection.

"Is it alright?" he asked.

I nodded, "It is. Thank you." The awkwardness of it all was bizarre. I was living like it didn’t matter my children were being flown into hiding. Guilt trickled down my throat with the next nervous sip.

He licked his lips and smiled softly, "I'm sorry if I seem distracted, you're a very beautiful woman."

I wanted to giggle nervously but I forced a frown, "You murdered my husband." The words came out, before I could stop them. He was making me uncomfortable, and acting like a grieving widow was harder than it looked.

He laughed, "Did I?" He all but confirmed my suspicions with his statement, and his amused sparkly eyes.

I shook my head, "I don’t know. Didn’t you?"

His eyes narrowed as he brought the drink to his lips and sipped. He shook his head and chuckled, like he was laughing at something I didn’t know. Like there were jokes in the air that I couldn't see, well at least he didn’t know I saw them.

My hands were shaking harder. I gripped the flute firm enough that I figured it would shatter. I lifted it and drank the champagne in one long gulp.

His eyes widened.

He stood and walked to the bar in the far comer. He grabbed the bottle from the ice bucket and brought it to me. He took my hand in his and lifted the flute with my hand. The warm strength of his grip, felt like it was burning mine.

"Your hands are cold. You need to calm down. Stress is very hard on women. It ages you." He poured the glass but paused before letting go of my hand. He ran his fingers up my empty ring finger, "Over the marriage so quickly?"

I shook my head, "I get dry skin." It wasn’t a lie but my voice broke slightly under his scrutinizing stare. It felt like a hot lamp.

His eyes flashed, "You know about his infidelity, don't you?" He sat down.

Jesus, did everyone know?

Was I honestly the last person to know?

Taking a breath, I spoke softly, "I know. I found out the other day. A friend was in town and felt like I deserved to know after all these years." I was panicking. If he had been watching me, he would know it was lies.

He filled his own glass and put the bottle back. He sat again, watching me.

I sipped the champagne.

"Do you know anything else?" His eyes were like lie detectors.

I focused on the fact, I was terrified of him and shook my head.

"You seemed edgy." His eyes narrowed.

"I am. You're scaring the shit out of me. I don’t even know if James was ever my husband, for real. He was fucking everything he could get on top of, except me. Which now I'm sort of grateful. I don’t know you and we're having a very private conversation. Not to mention, you killed James and Mel, and sent a lawyer to my house to tell me you've taken everything from me." My voice wavered. The champagne was just doing all the talking.

He put a hand out, "Don’t cry. He isn’t worth a single tear." When he said the word tear, I caught the slight accent he hid. He continued quickly, "James was a bad man. He doesn't deserve a single tear from your beautiful eyes. You deserve someone who would cherish you and respect you, and make you more important than everything in the world." He paused and drank. Like he was stopping himself from the awkward moment. We were both just saying random things.

I pulled at my sweater and looked around, was it getting hotter?

He whispered, "You deserve a love like no other person has ever had."

It was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me. An arms dealer had given me the best compliment, I had ever had. Just great.

"Thank you," I said quietly. I was getting confused as to why I was there. I hoped it was the champagne, tequila, and general lack of food that was making me dizzy, and not the fact he was beautiful and I was desperately emotional.

He shook his head, "No, it was the truth. You're a special woman. You deserve a special man."

His words were making me uncomfortable. I glanced over at the bottle we were drinking from, to see how much was missing, and realized there was an empty bottle next to it. He got drunk before meeting me and was hitting on me.

That was special. I would bet he was even using his best lines on me.

I wondered if all the spies had experiences like that, or if I was just that lucky? The word spy made my palms sweat.

"Getting back to the reasons you are anxious. I haven’t taken anything from you, Ms. Evans." He sipped the flute.

I cocked an eyebrow, "Call me Evie please, and yes, you have. You have everything of mine frozen."

He pointed at me with the hand holding the drink, "Ah, but that’s not the same thing, is it? You have something of mine and I'm going to have everything of yours, until I get it back." The way he said everything, and lifted one corner of his mouth, made me cringe inwardly.

My chest rose and fell faster, as I processed all his words and the comfort with which he spoke them. Could he force me to give him everything? Coop had told me to say yes to it all. Surely, he didn’t mean everything.

He put a hand out and waved me off, "We can negotiate what everything is later. For now, I want to give you what I like to refer to as my test run."

I swallowed the champagne in my mouth. It felt as if it curdled in my throat.

He grinned leaning forward and slid a white envelope across the table to me, "I will let you peruse this, whilst I attend to something in the other room." He said whilst like a foreigner and left the room.

I gulped back my drink and placed the flute down. The white envelope felt weird when I picked it up, like Mission Impossible combined with True Lies. I watched too much TV, while glorifying my ‘good old days’ in CI.

I opened it and looked inside—a room key for the Bellagio and a picture of a man with a chubby face and huge lips. He was in his sixties maybe and greasy looking. He was wearing a white suit in the picture.

"Ew," I whispered and examined the white suit. Beyond Don Johnson, no one ever rocked that bad boy.

There was nothing else in the envelope. I tapped my fingers against it and processed the whole thing.

It could be a hit…please God, no.

It could be a trace, please God, yes.

It could be stealing something, please God, let it be the trace.

I frowned and looked back at the room, he had walked into. I stood up, placing the envelope down and walked to the other room where the lights were off and the curtains drawn.

"Mr. Servario?" I spoke softly. My mommy/spy/widow senses told me to run. When I turned to, it was too late. He had been behind the door and closed it as I turned around.

In the dim lights coming from the alarm clock, I could see the serious look on his face.

"I understand you were once in Intelligence," he spoke softly, taking a step towards me.

I swallowed and took one back, "I barely finished training," I lied.

He smiled, "Let’s not lie to each other, Ms. Evans."

My fingers balled into fists as I whispered, "I told you, call me Evie," and took another step back.

He reached for my hand, "I think you were good at your job. You were good at it, and your quitting to be a mother was a tragedy."

Ouch. Maybe, he too would throw up the maternity leave quotation marks and my week would be complete.

My legs backed into something. I hadn’t looked around the room. I didn’t know where I was—rookie mistake.

He stepped too close to me, pressing our chests together, and towered over me. "I need you to do something for me, Evie," he whispered my name. It sounded deliciously frightening on his lips. He bent this face close to mine. So close, I could smell the champagne coming off his breath, as he whispered again, "I need you to kill the man in that picture."

My stomach dropped.

I shook my head, "I've never had to kill anyone. That wasn't my job."

He was so close, we were nearly kissing. He ran his finger down my cheek and whispered again, "But you will kill him." He didn’t have to threaten me, that was implied.

I parted my lips to speak again, but he delicately brushed his thumb across my lower lip. "It's non-negotiable. It's that or we have no deal." He closed the tiny distance between our faces and replaced his thumb with his mouth. He sucked my bottom lip gently, before kissing me once. My breath left my mouth in spurts, as he pulled away.

I closed my eyes and let the millions of emotions flood me, until air rushed between us and he stepped back. "The flight to Las Vegas leaves in two hours." He turned and left the room. "You will be outfitted on the plane."

I followed him back into the light, completely stunned by the fact he had made me want the kiss. I was losing my mind. I needed to switch back to red wine, no wonder the women I knew all drank it. Champagne and tequila were making me a giant ho.

He walked to the front door and opened it but stood in the way, with his back to me. "If you pass this, I will give you back your life."