Page 1 of Untouchable

VOLUME ONE

O villain, villain, smiling, damnèd villain!

My tables—meet it is I set it down

That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain.

At least I am sure it may be so in Denmark.

Hamlet, 1.6.106-108

1

Kelly Watson heardher phone buzz with a new text as she was pulling into the parking lot of a park.

It was almost eleven on Saturday morning, and Jesse’s flight back from Paris to DC would have just landed. Kelly had met Jesse in a bar last weekend, and they’d gone to his place afterward. The sex had been pretty good—standard-issue, nothing special—and she’d been hoping that the business trip he was leaving for the following morning meant she wouldn’t hear from him again.

She hadn’t given him her number, but she’d told him she painted pet portraits—which was obviously a mistake. There were a lot of pet portrait artists in the DC area, but she’d be findable through a basic search.

Maybe the text was from someone else. Maybe the client she was meeting at this park was running late.

After shifting her car into park, she reached for her phone and glanced at the screen.

Hey, I’m back in town. Want to get together again? Got any time this weekend?

Jesse.

Damn it. He must have texted her as soon as his plane had touched down.

A familiar tension roiled in her gut as she stared at the words. She hated when guys did this.

She never pretended that her one-night stands were anything but casual, so there was no reason for anyone to make them serious. She didn’t do relationships, and doggie-style on the bed while he tried to talk dirty certainly wasn’t going to change her mind.

She sat for a minute, wondering if she should just ignore him. He hadn’t been mean or inappropriate with her, however, and she didn’t like to be rude to a decent guy.Thanks. I had a good time too, but it was just the one time. Take care of yourself.

She reread it, making sure there were no undercurrents of encouragement in the brief lines. Then hit Send and dropped the phone into the front pocket of her bag.

Getting out of the car, she glanced down at herself to make sure she was presentable. She had on one of her work outfits—a long, flowing, casual skirt, a tank top, and a thin sweater. She’d set up her business when she was twenty-one, so she’d been doing this for seven years. In that time, she’d learned that clients expected a certain look from pet artists, and the slightly bohemian style—as long as it wasn’t too over-the-top—satisfied their expectations nicely.

Pet portraits were becoming a big business, which meant everyone was jumping on the bandwagon. She did anything she could to give herself an advantage, including her choice of outfit. She’d done all right for herself, considering. The first few years had been slow, but she’d used her adoptive parents’ wealthy contacts in the area and had slowly built up a substantial customer base of rich people who would spend more for quality. She’d made a living out of it for the past four years, but if theWatsons hadn’t left her a sizable inheritance, she never would have been able to afford her lifestyle.

She swung her leather satchel over her shoulder and headed toward the entrance to the park. She was supposed to meet her client at eleven, so she was exactly on time.

There was no sign of a man and a German shepherd hanging around the entrance, which was where she assumed they would meet up, so she waited for a few minutes, watching the approaching cars.

It was the weekend and a warm, sunny day in April. The park was crowded. She’d never been here before because she lived on the opposite end of town. There was a wide stretch of grassy lawns and several different trails that led into the wooded area.

Her breath hitched at the sight of the woods. If this client wanted her to walk those trails with him, she would have to tell him no. She’d make up something about how she needed open areas like the lawns to get a good picture of the dog.

She hadn’t gone beyond the edges of any woods since her father had been murdered seventeen years ago.

At the flash of memory, she pushed the thought away with a practiced mental strategy, breathing out, clearing her mind, and looking at the family of four approaching with their golden retriever.

The dog had a good build, so she studied it, mentally sketching out a portrait of it in her mind.

After a few minutes, the threat of the memory had cleared.

At fifteen after eleven, she wondered if her client was waiting elsewhere in the park since there was still no sign of him at the entrance. She walked down the main path and searched the wide lawn for a man with a German shepherd.