Page 3 of Sly Like a Fox (Romance Expected Dating Service #3)

Fenton

The encrypted hard drive clicks into place with a satisfying sound that means another piece of Garret Anklor’s empire is about to crumble.

I lean back in my ergonomic chair and crack my knuckles, studying the lines of code scrolling across my center monitor.

Three years of planning, eighteen months of active infiltration, and six different false identities have led to this moment.

Almost there.

The financial records I’ve been tracking show a clear pattern of bid rigging, money laundering, and the systematic destruction of small construction companies across the state, including my father’s, Nelson’s Family Construction.

The bastard has been more wary lately, routing transactions through multiple shell companies and offshore accounts, but digital breadcrumbs always lead somewhere.

My secure phone buzzes with an incoming call.

The caller ID shows Romance Expected, which means Red Carrington is about to complicate my evening.

I consider letting it go to voicemail, but Red has been part of establishing my current cover identity by providing me with dates and another point of social proof that I am who I’m pretending to be.

Fenton Nielsen, successful technology consultant, needs to maintain his social connections. “Fenton speaking.”

“Hello, handsome. How’s the tech consulting business treating you?” Her cheerful voice fills my hidden office.

“Can’t complain. What can I do for you, Red?”

I can hear the smile in her voice. “I have fantastic news. I found your perfect match.”

I pause the data analysis running on my secondary monitor.

Perfect match. Right. I’d registered with Romance Expected six months ago as part of building Fenton Nielsen’s backstory.

A successful single man his age would naturally be looking for companionship, and having a dating service and occasional dates in my background adds authenticity to the identity.

“Really? Like the last few.” I sound as skeptical as I feel.

“Every new match is a blank slate,” she says airily.

“Sometimes the stars align. Her name is Jenna Johnson, she’s a fox shifter, and she’s exactly who you’ve been looking for.

” Her enthusiasm practically vibrates through the phone.

“She’s smart, thinks deliberately, isn’t intimidated by success, and appreciates men who use their intelligence. ”

Fox shifter. Interesting. Foxes are known for their cunning and adaptability, which are traits that could be useful or dangerous, depending on which side they’re on. “Tell me more about her.”

“Twenty-eight years old, gorgeous copper hair, and intelligent amber eyes. I can text or email you a photo if you’re interested. She’s had some challenging experiences with traditional dating, so she understands what it’s like when people make assumptions based on species stereotypes.”

The irony isn’t lost on me. I’ve spent the last three years pretending to be someone I’m not, building false identities and manipulating social situations. Meeting someone else who’s been misjudged might actually be refreshing. “What kind of challenging experiences?”

“The usual fox shifter problems. People expect her to be manipulative or they fetishize her species. She’s looking for someone who appreciates her mind as much as her other assets.” Red pauses. “I think you two will have a lot to talk about.”

“When were you thinking?”

“Tomorrow night. I’ve already made reservations at Meridian for seven o’clock. You know the place?”

I do. It’s upscale, sophisticated, and exactly the sort of place where Fenton Nielsen would take a promising date. “Perfect. Should I call her, or—”

“I’ll handle the coordination. She’s already agreed to the time and place, so you just need to show up looking devastatingly handsome and be your charming self.”

Charming self. If only Red knew how much of my Fenton Nielsen personality is constructed performance art compared to Finn Nelson, who I used to be before Anklor caused my family’s downfall. I had to reinvent myself to get revenge, and I have. “I’ll do my best.”

“Wonderful. Oh, and Fenton? Don’t overthink this one. I have a good feeling about her.”

After she hangs up, I stare at the phone for a long moment. A date tomorrow night. The timing is less than ideal since I’m in the final stages of gathering evidence against Anklor, but maintaining my cover requires some semblance of a normal social life.

I turn back to my monitors and pull up the financial data I’ve been tracking. Anklor’s latest scheme involves a series of municipal contracts that he’s rigging through a network of bribes and kickbacks. He used the same playbook to destroy my father’s company, just on a larger scale.

Dad would have been sixty-three next month.

Instead, he’s been dead for four years, killed by the stress of watching everything he built get systematically dismantled by a man with more money than morals.

Mom followed eighteen months later, her heart giving out from grief and the financial strain of Dad’s medical bills.

My hands clench involuntarily. I need to focus. Emotions lead to mistakes, and I can’t afford mistakes this close to the end.

The Anklor investigation consumes the rest of my evening.

By the time I shut down my systems and activate the security protocols, it’s past midnight.

The hidden panels slide back into place, transforming my high-tech command center into an ordinary home office.

From the outside, it looks like any other wealthy professional’s workspace with expensive furniture, a few motivational books, and a single desktop computer for checking email and managing investments.

An inheritance from my grandmother funds this lifestyle along with cautious wealth management. I excel at that, and it’s a lot easier to pursue vengeance…uh, justice…with vast resources available.

The reflection in my bathroom mirror shows a man who’s been living a lie for so long he sometimes forgets what the truth looks like.

Tomorrow I’ll be Fenton Nielsen, successful consultant, charming dinner companion, and potential romantic interest for a fox shifter named Jenna Johnson.

Tonight, I’m just a man whose real name died with his parents and whose only purpose is bringing down the monster who destroyed his family.

The next morning I’ve got an encrypted message from my contact at the municipal planning office.

Anklor’s construction bid for the new civic center has been approved, despite being thirty percent higher than the nearest competitor.

It’s more evidence for the file but also a reminder that every day this takes is another day he gets richer off other people’s misery.

I shower, dress in a casual-but-expensive outfit that broadcasts success without trying too hard, and head to my cover job.

Nielsen Consulting actually exists. I handle legitimate technology contracts for three small businesses, but it’s more window dressing than actual career.

The real work happens in my hidden office after hours.

“Morning, Mr. Nielsen.” Vera, the receptionist at the building where I rent office space, waves as I pass her desk. “You have a call holding on line one.”

I thank her and check my messages. I have two client requests, a follow-up from a networking event, and a reminder about my dental appointment next week. These mundane details of Fenton Nielsen’s life keep the identity convincing.

The day passes in a blur of legitimate work and prudently maintained routine. I return client calls, review a proposal for upgrading someone’s database system, and have lunch with a business contact who’s been useful for establishing my reputation in the local business community.

I don’t let myself think about tonight’s date until five o’clock.

I mentally review what I know. Jenna Johnson.

Fox shifter. Strategic thinking. Challenging dating experiences.

I’ve memorized the limited information Red provided, but going in partially blind is probably for the best. Too much preparation might make me seem scripted, and fox shifters are notoriously good at detecting deception.

The irony of worrying about seeming fake while living an entirely false identity would be funny if it weren’t my reality.

I drive home through evening traffic, using the time to shift mental gears from work mode to date mode.

Fenton Nielsen is confident but not arrogant, successful but not flashy, and intelligent but not condescending.

He’s interested in finding a genuine connection with someone who can match his intellectual energy.

None of that is technically untrue. It’s just incomplete.

My apartment reflects constructed taste with modern furniture, expensive but understated art, and a kitchen for someone who enjoys cooking, though I don’t have much time for it.

Everything is clean, organized, and utterly impersonal.

I’ve been living here for eighteen months, and it still feels like a hotel room.

I change into a charcoal suit with a dark blue shirt and no tie. I’m sophisticated but approachable. The outfit works equally well for a business dinner or a romantic evening. My reflection looks like a man any reasonable woman would want to date.

Unless she knew who I really am.

The drive to Meridian takes twenty minutes through downtown traffic.

I arrive ten minutes early and request a table with good sight lines since exits matter more than ambiance.

The restaurant is exactly what I expected with its elegant lighting, soft jazz, and atmosphere that encourages intimate conversation.