It was easy enough to find 201-A. It was the first office right off the stairs, and when David knocked on the door, a pretty, petite brunette opened it, smiling at us. There were deep dimples on either side of her shining white teeth, and despite the imminent danger we might be in, I couldn’t help wondering where she’d gotten her lipstick. That was a seriously gorgeous—ugh, no. Focus.

“Hi, there!” she said brightly. “David?”

It was hard to imagine anyone looking less like an assassin, especially since she was decked out in a pink and green Lilly Pulitzer dress.

David startled slightly, and I wondered if he was thinking the same thing. “Yeah,” he finally said. Then, clearing his throat, he tried again. “I mean, yes, I’m David Stark.”

The brunette reached out and shook his hand. “I’m Blythe,” the woman—girl, really—said, pumping David’s hand enthusiastically.

Then her eyes slid over to me. “Oh!” she said. “You brought a friend!” The dimples deepened, and she leaned forward with a conspiratorial wink. “Or is this your girlfriend?”

Rude, I thought, but then I realized we hadn’t exactly come up with an excuse as to why I was here with David.

David slung an arm across my shoulders, and I automatically slid my arm around his waist. Seeing as how we were standing a few feet apart, I’m not sure if any two people have ever held each other more awkwardly.

“Yup,” I said. “Girlfriend.”

“So my girlfriend,” David agreed, and I would’ve dug my fingers into his ribs if I’d been capable of it.

But if Blythe noticed our extreme awkwardness, she didn’t acknowledge it. “Well, y’all come on in!” she said.

Once her back was turned, David glanced over at me. I knew what he was thinking. How could a girl who appeared to speak only in exclamation points possibly be a hired killer?

“I have to say, David, we have heard so many great things about you,” Blythe said, going over to her desk. As she riffled through it, she added, “Oh, and could y’all shut the door, please?”

David turned to do that while Blythe kept talking. “You do not even know the trouble we’ve had trying to get in touch with you.”

His hand still on the doorknob, David turned back to Blythe. “Yeah, you guys have sent a bunch of e-mails.”

Blythe gave a light, trilling laugh. “Oh, trust me, it’s been a lot more extensive than some e-mails.” Suddenly her face brightened as she found whatever it was she’d been looking for.

“Oh, here we go!” she said chirpily. She was holding a letter opener, one that looked far longer and far sharper than necessary for opening mail.