#and put a mouse trap (non-lethal) there when I was done

[the-mountain-flower]

TFW you're in the bathroom and you see a mouse attempt to climb the wall, and only see it just as it falls down

[galway-girlatwork]

Fandom: The Mentalist-AU

Rating: Mature-Angst. Smut. Enemies to lovers. One sentence mentions prostitution.    

Central Characters: Marcus Pike and Original Female Character

Central Relationship: Marcus and Daciana/Kira

Word Count: 2,080

AO3

Please do not copy my work. If you liked it, please re-blog and tag me. Please do not steal the mood board, it was a gift. I do not give permission to copy, translate, or post my work to any other platform.

Music inspiration: Le Castle Vania-Shots Fired

Inspired by the beautiful mood board created and gifted by the amazingly talented Freya Thank You Board post. @almostfoxglove Freya I utterly adore you.

SUMMARY:

The relationship between Agent Marcus Pike and Daciana, is a game of cat and mouse, taking Marcus around the world—London, Tokyo, Rio, and now Paris. Daciana taunts him, leaving clues that lead him to her hideouts just a little too late, fueling his growing obsession.

Their relationship is more than just professional; there’s an undeniable chemistry between them, a tension that neither can ignore. Marcus, frustrated by his inability to catch her, is simultaneously drawn to her presence.

Marcus knows that catching Daciana may come at a cost—one that goes far beyond the law.

Shadow and Flame

Marcus Pike had spent his life chasing shadows, but none more elusive than Daciana. The assassin was a ghost, slipping through his fingers every time he thought he was close. For two years, their game of cat and mouse had taken him to every corner of the globe. London, Tokyo, Rio—each location held a piece of her, a trace of her existence, but never enough. She always stayed just out of reach, taunting him with her brilliant mind and unnerving calm. This time he was in Paris, a lead from Interpol, which required more red tape than any government agency back home. He had her this time, almost a little cocky in his thought process. Hotel St. Germain was non-descript, set back from all the tourist traps of Paris, and he knew that is why she choose it. Once room 1002 was cleared, they let him enter, gun drawn, finger nowhere near the trigger because something in the back of his head told him that she wasn’t here even before anyone uttered a word. He should have been surprised but he wasn’t. Daciana was always two, three, four steps ahead. Sitting at the small writing desk, he ran a finger over lacquered wood. He could almost imagine here sitting here, having coffee and breakfast, waiting for a call that would take her to another city.  He was frustrated and pissed. The intel was good but just a little too late, his fascination and obsession with her growing. Pulling the phone from his pants pocket, he called the number the informant had given them, expecting a recording that the mailbox had not been set up, jaw dropping when she actually picked up.   

“Agent Pike, running late today?” She was more than just an assassin. She was a product of her father, mother long since dead, left to be raised to become lethal simply because he had no son to carry on the “family legacy,” or Brigăzi as her father once put it. Her skills were used for cleanup and something told her, she should have done away with the informant in France but she was needed home. A liability that would never happen again, unless it was Agent Pike. There was something about the games she played with him that gave her a high like nothing else had. It was the thrill of deliberately leaving clues for him, breadcrumbs that kept him busy but never allowing him to close the gap, not until she wanted to. Each clue felt like a personal challenge, an invitation to try harder, to get closer. “To say I am disappointed would be an understatement. I am guessing at this time you are in room 1002, wondering where I am now.”

In a way, he admired her, her skills and her ability to outthink him, mostly but admiration only went so far. He couldn’t forget who she was or what she did. “Daciana, are you forgetting Brazil? Wasn’t late then, was I?”

“No. I will give you credit for that one. Perhaps a half point since you only missed me by ten minutes, an oversight on my part. But today…You’re late by two days. Tisk tisk, losing your touch?”

He told himself that this was just another assignment, but deep down, he couldn’t deny that there was more to it. He wanted to understand her, to know her, and that desire was as intoxicating as it was dangerous. “You know eventually the cat and mouse game has to end. Why not come back to Paris, I believe a French prison is more suited to your personality, don’t you agree?”

Her voice dropped an octave, throaty, sounding almost sultry, like silk against bare skin. “Marcus, your lack of faith in me is disturbing.” Did she just borrow a line from Star Wars? Oh yes, she did, knowing it was one of his favorite movies. She knew everything about him, because what he didn’t know was that as obsessive as he was about her, she was about him. “Don’t you think it’s time to head back to D.C?”

“You know I am not going back until I find you.”

“Marcus, you know that you will not find me unless I choose it. As much as you would like to think is all about you, it is about me as well. It is about us. The little game we play. Are you growing board of mouse and cat? Which one are you exactly Marcus?”

It was the way she said his name, the way she said the word us. Warm, syrupy sweet, almost as if she was purring on the other end of the line. Closing his eyes, he let it sink into his subconscious, where he could play the conversation over and over. “Daciana, I am not in the mood for the games. I do not have the energy for you right now.”

“Oh Marcus, you wound me. That little blade sinking between my ribs, it’s filling me up with more than just blood. I think I may actually shed a tear so I will respectfully disconnect the call. J'ai hâte de parler à nouveau avec vous. Au revoir Marcus."

The game took an unexpected turn in Greece. He had been tracking her movements through Europe for weeks now, and the trail led him to Mykonos. What the fuck was she doing here and how was it he got a lead? He knew she had always been careful, meticulous, but this time, there was something different. A mistake? Perhaps. Or maybe it was another one of her games. Either way, he knew he had to follow up. It was there that he met her—not Daciana, not the assassin, but Kira.

She had grown bored, if that was such a thing in her life. The emergency at home was nothing more than her father having a tantrum over something she could have taken care of without having to go all the way back to Romania. Damaged product, she explained, was nothing that couldn’t be replaced, flesh nothing but a commodity. Shaking her head as she laid out on the lounge chair, the heat of the sun warming bare skin. Greece was beautiful, not her favorite place in the world, but it came a close second to Bora Bora and Turks and Caicos. She loved heat, sun and water. She should be scared shitless, leaving clues for him, extradition was not a joke but she was such a curious creature, wanting to know more than what reports could tell a person. If anyone did become interested in the woman by the pool, the only name they would come up with was Kira, an Italian on holiday. That was how she introduced her self to him at the bar. He looked frustrated, defeated and for a split second she felt sorry for him. The offer of buying him another drink wasn’t met with resistance, as long as she joined him. When the music started, it almost took an act of god to get him off his chair. Arms loosely hung from his shoulders as hips swayed with each beat, the pulsating of the bass caused pelvic muscles to clench. Taking his hands, she placed them on her hips before giving him her back, pressing her ass against him, she could feel his erection. He wanted her. Just as much as she wanted him.

Kira was warm, funny, and easy to talk to, with a smile that lit up the room. He felt himself relax around her in a way he hadn’t in years. He wasn’t one to normally talk to strangers, but there was something in the way she moved, how she didn’t make the entire conversation about her, in fact it was the opposite, letting him talk about everything but his job, only telling her he was from the East coast. When she convinced him to dance with her, he blamed the Ouzo, body pressed against his, he forgot about the hunt, forgot about everything but the woman in his arms.

Within a tangled mess of sheets, she did make him forget everything but his need to consume her. It was what he was doing. Consuming her from the outside in as his tongue slid over her clit, fingers sliding in and out of her wetness. Tiny mewling’s and whimpers escaped labored lungs, hips meeting the stroke of those digits before she came up on an elbow, hand grabbing the back of his head as she violently came against his mouth. Collapsing on the bed as he kissed her pelvic bone, body stretched out, thighs still jerking with the aftershocks, muscled arms spread her legs and in one motion, he was buried deep inside, strokes slow, hard, steady, dragging out the pleasure until she thought she’d go mad.

Lips wrapped around a hard nipple, teeth dragging across the sensitive tip before tongue caressed it, watching her face, bottom lip clamped between teeth as he raised his head, nose nuzzling the spot below her earlobe, inhaling her scent. “Again. Come for me again,” was whispered in against her temple, a hand going under an ass cheek, pulling her closer, thrusts a little harder now, feeling the familiar tightening. Fuck he thought, he didn’t want it to end but the way she felt, wrapped around him, walls clenching as she came for a second time, felt like silk wrapped around steel. He was so fucking close and when he asked where, teeth nipped at his chin before letting him know inside. That one word trigged his own orgasm, head thrown back as hips jerked against flesh, finally stilling, head dropping to her shoulder. “Stay the night with me.”

To say the sex with Marcus was amazing would have been an understatement but as the sun began peaking through gauzy blue curtains, she knew it was time to leave him. Slowly rising from the bed, muscles sore from the hours they made love, protested the movement, wanting to lounge just a little longer but she knew she couldn’t. Actions were quiet, quick, heels in hand so as to not wake him. Standing at the edge of the bed, she stared at him and on impulse she pulled her phone from the clutch and took his picture. Laying on his back, head to one side, the beginnings of a beard, no evidence of stress, wondering if he would think of her when he woke up. Emotions began taking up residence in the vacant space of her chest cavity and she knew she’d gotten too close. Turning on her heel, she slipped out of the room.

When he woke up later that morning, she was gone. No note, no explanation, just an empty bed and the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air. His heart sank as reality crashed back in. The woman had used him, something he’d never had happen, and left. Grabbing his phone, he called down to the front desk, asking if they had seen her, the answer of course being no. Fuck. Getting up, he showered, replaying the night in his head, the countless shots, the sex and wondered how he could find her. She was just like Daciana, evaporating into thin air.

Two days later he was heading back to Lyons, the lead for Daciana going cold within those forty-eight hours. Sitting at the desk he was given, was an envelope, his name scrawled across the front, the note inside, written in a language that wasn’t familiar to him except for the name at the bottom.

“Marcus. Noaptea trecută a fost uimitoare, dar urmărirea continuă. Poate într-o zi ne vom întâlni din nou.

Daciana”

“Fuck,” was yelled out in frustration after he got it translated. Kira had never existed. It had always been Daciana. She had played him, used him, and now she was gone, disappearing into the wind as she always did. The chase resumed, but Marcus knew the truth now—he would never catch her. Not because he wasn’t skilled enough, but because Daciana was never meant to be caught. She was a force of nature, always one step ahead, always just out of reach. And as much as he hated it, a part of him didn’t want the chase to end. For Marcus she was more than a target. She was his obsession, his challenge, his impossible dream. So, he would continue the chase, knowing that it would never truly end.