Speaker 1: Calarogu Shark Media, Hello and welcome to Romance Weekly. This
episode is titled Perfect Match, Part four Valentine's Dawn.
Speaker 2: Perfection is a lie. That's the secret of matchmaking. No
one wants perfect. They want the right kind of broken,
the kind that fits their own jagged edges. Stop profiling me.
James murmurs against my neck as he zips up my gown,
red silk backless, dangerous, perfect for a Valentine's massacre. Can't
help it. I lean back against his chest, watching us
in my penthouse mirror. Professional hazard, like stealing diamonds, his
hands linger on my hips, or saving federal agents, like
falling for the man hunting you. I turn in his arms.
His tux is immaculate, concealing both weapon and wire, ready
to put on a show for our audience. His mouth
finds that spot below my ear that makes me shiver,
or for the killers both. I check my lipstick, the
same shade from London. Elena has the guest list, three
potential victims, all matched for Valentine's dates, and one matchmaker.
His hands tighten possessively. They're coming for you tonight. Let them.
I press closer, feeling the gun under his jacket. That's
the plan. Remember his kiss is answer enough, deep and
demanding and full of everything. We're not saying. We might
not survive this night, but at least we'll go down burning, Sophie,
his voice rough against my skin. If this goes wrong,
it won't. I silence him with another kiss. Trust me,
that's what you said in London. I smile against his mouth,
and look how well that turned out. The Carlyle's ballroom
is a Valentine cliche, all red roses and champagne fountains
and crystal hearts, catching candlelight, the perfect setting for romance
or murder. Three targets. James murmurs as we descend the
grand staircase, his hand possessive on my back. Amanda Pierce
at your four o'clock blue daw matched with the hedge
fund manager. I smile for the cameras, Thomas Reid by
the bar, Great Tom Ford and the last Helen Maxwell.
Well not here yet. I turn into his arms as
the music starts, But.
Speaker 1: Her date is.
Speaker 2: His hands settle on my waist as we begin to dance.
To anyone watching, we're the perfect couple. The matchmaker and
her match lost in each other, if they only knew
someone's watching, he says, against my ear, second floor balcony.
I know. I press closer, letting him feel the knife
strapped to my thigh. She's been there since we arrived,
she Sarah Collins. I feel him tense against me, your partner,
my rescue, the one who started all this. His hands
tighten on my silk covered skin. Impossible. Sarah's in Geneva. No,
I meet his eyes. Sarah's right here, and she's not
just watching us, She's hunting us. The music shifts to
something darker, slower, more intimate, like the truth. I'm about
to tell him? What aren't you telling me? James's thumb
traces circles on my lower back as we turn across
the dance floor. About Paris, About Sarah. She wasn't just
investigating the trafficking ring. I let my cheek rest against
his lips at his ear, she was running it. His
step falters, almost imperceptible. You're sure, very. My fingers curl
into his lapel. Why do you think she needed to disappear?
The evidence she collected wasn't to expose the operation. It
was insurance protection from who? From you? I pull back
enough to meet his eyes. She knew you were getting close,
knew you'd figure it out eventually, so she arranged her
own disappearance, used me to deliver false evidence, to distract
you with with diamonds and seduction. His laugh is dark
against my skin, with a beautiful thief who'd lead me
on a chase across Europe. Exactly. I arch into his
touch as his hand slides lower. Only something went wrong,
what I fell for the wrong agent. My lips brush
his jaw, and now she's here to correct that mistake.
The music stops above us. A figure in black moves
away from the balcony Sophie. His voice carries warning, the
targets are moving right on schedule. I step back, straightening
his tie, ready to catch a killer, Ready to finish
what we started in London. My smile is sharp in
the candle light. That depends, did you bring handcuffs? His
eyes darken with promise and danger. Backstaircase. Two minutes, make
it three. I brushed past him, letting our bodies slide together.
I need to powder my nose, code for I need
to check the tracker I placed on Amanda Pierce's bracelet
when we air kissed. Hello, the lady's room is all
marble and gilt mirrors. I check my lipstick, adjust my dress,
play the part of a woman touched by romance rather
than adrenaline until Sarah steps out of the last stall.
Hello Sophie. She looks exactly the same as Paris elegant,
lethal per effect? Or should I say goodbye? Sarah? I
don't reach for my weapon, not yet, love the dress Valentino,
still noticing the details, She moves closer, her heels, clicking
on marble, still playing games. Tell me? Does James know
what really happened in Paris? What you really stole? He
knows enough? Does he? Her smile is razor sharp? Does
he know you were supposed to kill me that night?
That instead we made a deal, a deal you broke.
I turned to face her fully when you started killing
my clients. Had to get your attention somehow, She produces
a small gun from her clutch. Had to remind you
what happens to people who betray me like you betrayed James.
James was a means to an end. The un doesn't waiver,
just like you were, Just like he still is. Is
that why you've been watching us. I take a step closer, jealous.
Her laugh is cold. Please. I orchestrated every moment, the
camera in your office, the bugs, the evidence trail, every touch,
every kiss, every passionate encounter, all designed to bring you
both here tonight for what For the final match? She
gestures with the gun. Now move, We have an appointment
on the roof. The roof. I let her guide me
toward the service elevator. Not very original, Sarah, but effective.
She presses the button with a gloved hand. Perfect view
of the ballroom, perfect vantage point to watch three of
your clients die while James tries to save them and me.
You the elevator doors slide open, You get to watch,
then join them inside. She keeps the gun pressed to
my ribs, close enough that I can smell her perfume.
Still Clive Christian number one. Some habits never change. He'll
figure it out, I say, as we ascend. He's not
the same agent you knew. No, her smile is knowing.
Thanks to you, he's compromised, emotional, vulnerable. Thanks to me,
he's awake. I meet her eyes in the mirrored wall,
to all of it, the trafficking, the murders, Your perfect
little operation perfect until you the gun digs deeper until
you actually fell for him. Rookie mistake, Sophie, My only mistake,
I shift slightly, letting my dress ride up. Was not
killing you in Paris. Oh, the elevator stops. Your mistake
was thinking I came alone. The doors open to reveal
four men with guns and behind them, illuminated by the
city lights. Elena, my blood runs cold. Sorry, Sophie, my friend,
my partner steps forward. But Sarah's operation pays better than matchmaking.
You are the leak. Everything clicks, the office cameras, the
security breaches, and the perfect inside sauce. Sarah pushes me
onto the roof. Now, let's call your boyfriend. Tell him
where to find us. I reach for my phone, but
I'm smiling. What's funny, Sarah demands. You really should have
searched me better. I nod toward the ballroom below. He's
already here. The first shot takes out Elena's right hand man.
The second catches one of Sarah's guards in the throat.
The third the third misses as Sarah yanks me in
front of her, using me as a shield. Always the hero,
she calls out to the shadows where James is positioned,
still trying to save everyone, not everyone. His voice carries
across the roof, just her. Sweet Sarah's gun presses against
my temple. Tell him what you really are, Sophie. Tell
him about the USB drive you took in Paris, the
one with all my client lists, all my contacts, the
one I gave to Interpol. I feel her grip Titan,
or the fake one I left in Geneva, the real one.
Her mouth is at my ear now, the one you're
using to run your own operation. James steps into the light,
his gun trained on Sarah. That's not why she took it, no,
Sarah laughs. Then why because I drive my elbow back
into her solar plexus. It had your kill list on it,
including his name. Everything happens at once. Sarah staggers, I
drop and roll. James fires, but Elena is faster. Her
bullet catches James in the shoulder, spinning him around. Sarah recovers,
aiming at me.
Speaker 1: Enough.
Speaker 2: She's breathing hard, fury distorting her perfect features. I gave
you everything trained. You taught you how to read people,
how to match them, how to use them. You taught
me how to kill. I rise slowly, keeping her attention
how to make it look perfect? And now her finger
tightens on the trigger. Now I'll show you what I learned.
The knife from my thigh holster flies true, catching her
in the throat. At the same moment, James's second shot
takes Elna between the eyes. Perfect match. James reaches me first,
his good arm pulling me close. You okay me. I
press my hand to his wound. You're the one bleeding
all over our many worth it. His mouth finds mine,
desperate and deep around us. His backup team secures the
roof Sarah's body. Elna's betrayal the clients, I ask against
his lips. Safe. We got to them before Sarah's people
could move. His hand cups my face. It's over, is it?
I pull back enough to meet his eyes. There'll be questions, investigations.
Your superiors will want to know about London, about Paris,
about us. Let them ask. He kisses me again softer.
Now I've got some questions of my own, like what
like why you really saved me in Paris? His thumb
traces my bottom lip, Why you left the evidence in London?
Speaker 1: Why you.
Speaker 2: Why I fell in love with the man hunting me.
The words hang between us, more dangerous than any bullet.
His eyes darken as he processes what I've said, Sophie,
don't I press my fingers to his lips. Not yet.
First hospital, then debriefing, then then I smile against his mouth.
Then I'll show you what else I learned in Paris.
Promise cross my heart. I let my hand slide down
his chest, and if you're very good, I might even
let you use those handcuffs. His laugh rumbles through both
our bodies. Happy Valentine's Day, Matchmaker Below us, the gala continues.
Sirens wail in the distance, Dawn approaches, painting Manhattan in
shades of possibility. James, Hmmm, next time you hunt me,
I kiss him, tasting blood and victory and future. Try
to keep up.
Speaker 3: Romance Weekly is a production of Calaroga Shark Media executive
producers Mark Francis and John McDermott. Portions of this podcast
may have been created with the assistance of AI
Speaker 2: Calaroga Shark Media