Vanishing Point

Maya’s POV 

The first lie I ever told him was my name. 

“Elena,” I say, when he slides into the chair in front of me. The lie rolls off my tongue softly like smoke, and for a moment, while the street lamps of Barcelona light up the cobblestone path beside the restaurant, it feels like mine. Maya Serrano died three countries ago, somewhere between a burned passport and the hollowed echo of a gunshot I’ll never forget. 

I’m Elena now, sitting with one of the most dangerous men in the world, as someone with priceless intel. I spent months perfecting my identity—and then weeks setting up this meeting with him. 

It has to go smoothly. 

A small smile curls the corner of his lips. Luicien Moretti. “Elena,” he repeats slowly, like tasting something forbidden. Like sin, wrapped up in the evening’s seductive breeze and the mouth-watering menu seated between us. “Pretty. Dangerous.” 

I smile coyly, even though the instinct to run coils tight in my stomach like a snake. “You think I’m dangerous?” 

His eyes dip to the rim of his whiskey glass, then lift—dark, unreadable, and so still it feels like standing at the edge of a cliff. 

Although it’s felt this way since I watched him walk up to me, one hand tucked into his pocket, and his gaze stripping me of my courage. 

“I know you are.”

My brows arch in surprise, and I reach for my purse, subtly, trying not to panic. My fingers close in on something cold and brutal—my escape plan if his words turn out not to be a bluff. 

But he laughs, throwing his head backwards. The sound catches me off-guard—rich and low, like silk draped over my skin and honey poured down my throat. I swallow thickly, forcing myself to stay on guard. 

“A gun?” He drawls. “Please. You think that would do anything? You should know, Miss Serrano, that a man like me would not meet with you, knowing your true identity, without a plan. I’m not stupid,” his mouth flattens and his voice roughens, as if I insulted him by trying to defend myself. “

If he knows who I am, who I work for, what is he doing here, then? 

I look over my shoulder, a quick glance at two tables behind us, and he clicks his tongue. When I turn, he leans back with a lazy, nonchalant shrug.  “I have eyes on him too, Miss Serrano. If you alert him in any way, my man will put a bullet through his head. It’ll be clean and quick, with no trace.” 

My breath catches in my lungs as fear spreads through my chest, turning my blood to ice. “W-,” I stutter, still clutching the metal in my purse, “What do you want?” 

“You.” 

I blink twice, caught off guard by his response. “What?” 

A half-shoulder shrug. He reaches for his glass again and takes a slow sip, leaving me in a puddle of confusion while my brain scrambles for a means of escape. Then he places his drink on the table gently, his eyes narrowing. “You. Elena. Maya Serrano. I want you.” 

If he weren’t on the Most Wanted List for over twenty law enforcement agencies in over ten countries, I would’ve asked him to consider a job as a stand-up comedian. 

But I’m seated across from a man who could end my life without breaking a sweat, so I have to assume he means every word. 

“Me? Why would you want me?”

“Why not?” He replies, nonplussed. “You’re a gorgeous woman…smarter than most of the people I know. I’ve read your file and I’m sure you’ll be an asset to my team.” 

The scoff slips past my lips before I can think of the consequences. “Your team?” I roll my eyes. “You think I want to join a criminal organization and live my life constantly looking over my shoulder, trying to stay one step ahead of the cops?” 

His grin is slow, easy, and dangerous. “So you admit we’re always one step ahead of your kind. That’s refreshingly honest.”

“That’s not what I meant,” I snap, groaning as I rub a hand over my face. Five minutes in his presence and he’s already under my skin, peeling back nerves like it’s a game.

“Look,” I say more firmly now, jerking my thumb behind me, toward the door where my handler waits. “I’m supposed to check in with him at a very specific time. When I don’t, he’ll know something’s off. And if you touch him—”

I lean forward, lowering my voice, “—it won’t take long before every agency with a badge and a vendetta is on your doorstep. You’ll be surrounded before you even realize you’ve made a mistake.”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. He just smiles wider. “Let’s find out, then.”

“What?” Does he have a death wish? He must have, but I’m not willing to put the life of someone else in danger because a madman is willing to play tango with the police. 

“Fine,” I huff, throwing my hands up in exasperation.  “You win.”

He tilts his head with maddening patience. “What do I win? Have I successfully converted one of the CIA’s best assets to my payroll?”

This time, the snort is well-intended. “Never. I’ll give you something else. Whatever you ask—even,” I grit my teeth, “if it means letting you go scot free.” 

Silence stretches between us, punctuated by the sound of low chatter from the other tables and the click of soles on the street. 

“What do you say?” I press, sharper now, urgency creeping in. “Take the deal.”

He taps his chin with deliberate slowness, eyes flicking over my face with the kind of unsettling focus that makes my skin tighten. When they land on my mouth, they linger—too long.

I try not to shift, not to squirm under the heat of it. But it’s impossible—especially when his gaze drops to my chest and lingers there, darkening with something that looks a hell of a lot like interest. Or hunger.

Like he’s just noticed something worth devouring.

My breath catches. Heat flares low in my belly, wild and untamed, spiraling down like a spark caught in dry leaves. A soft, traitorous pulse begins between my thighs.

No. Not now. Not with him. 

I cross my arms to mask the way my body’s betraying me, but his eyes flick up—unapologetically slow, dragging over every inch of me with wicked precision. He knows. The bastard knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Tempting,” he murmurs finally. “Very… tempting.”

“But,” he shrugs, breaking the tension, “I think I can find my way out of here just fine. However, I’ll take something else in return. I want you to meet me at my villa later tonight. I’ll text you the time and address.”

“I—” What???

“You’re a woman of your word, Miss Serrano.” He cuts me off before I can finish. “At least that’s what I glimpsed from watching you these past few months. So I expect you to show up.”

As he stands up and I make to follow him, a shot rings out behind me. I spin immediately, fearing the worst for my handler, only to see him hurrying towards me. “Are you hurt?” Kendall asks frantically, grabbing my arm.

I shake my head. “No, no, I’m fine. I thought—” I thought Lucien went back on his word and killed him, like he said he could. He didn’t. 

“Good,” Kendall nods in relief, exhaling sharply. Then, he freezes. His eyes sweep the area, and his entire expression twists in shock. “Where is Lucien Moretti?” he demands, pointing to the now-empty chair across from me. “He was just there—right there—a minute ago.”

“Fuck!”

His hand rakes through his hair, fingers tangling in frustration. “He must’ve planted the distraction… damn it. He used it to slip out.” He’s already reaching for his phone, barking commands under his breath.

I just sit there, staring, momentarily glued to the chair and caught somewhere between exasperation…and reluctant admiration. He said he could escape just fine. I was the one who doubted him.

“There’s a police barricade ten miles around this place,” Kendall snaps. “He couldn’t have gone far. Stay here,” he adds, gripping my shoulder briefly. “Watch the restaurant in case he circles back. I’ll sweep the perimeter.”

Then he’s gone, disappearing around the bend in a rush of authority and panic. I drop back into the chair with a sigh, dragging a hand down my face. Of course Lucien escaped. He wouldn’t be on a Most Wanted list otherwise. 

I should’ve kept my guard up, not turned into a puddle of lust and desire when he looked at me that way. 

“It doesn’t matter,” I murmur. We were well-prepared for him this time, so I doubt he’s going anywhere other than prison. With a confident smile, I lean back, waiting for the update from Kendall, when something catches my eye. 

A folded slip of paper right beneath the chair he’d been sitting in. Frowning, I lean forward and pluck it off the floor, unfolding it with cautious fingers.

One line. A time. A location. An address.

The same message he said he’d text me before he vanished into thin air. My pulse jumps, hot and sharp when it hits me. The police aren't going to find Lucien Moretti, no matter how hard they try. The paper in my hand is the only means of getting him into custody—which is why I should turn it over to them or set up a sting operation. 

And yet, somehow, I have a sinking feeling I won’t.