[Spy Girl 01.0 - 02.0] Spy Girl Duet

by Jillian Dodd

  “We need to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “Our mission, duh.”

  “Oh, sorry. Not really awake yet.”

  “This can’t be helped. With the Prince constantly at your side, it doesn’t give us time to talk. Ellis said you requested information on the cousins and their boyfriends. I have that info and have been over it.” He drops a file in my lap. “Read it and destroy it.”

  “You want to give me the condensed version? Is there anything you thought was pertinent?”

  “I think it’s important we both read it. There may be something you catch that I don’t. You read. I’ll order breakfast. What sounds good?”

  “Don’t laugh, but I’m dying for a cheeseburger. And hash browns.”

  “Done,” he says, picking up the phone and ordering us two, along with a couple fully-caffeinated sodas.

  He sits on my bed, messing around on his phone, while I read.

  “I heard you slept with Allie again.”

  “Because she snuck into my bedroom the night they arrived. Last night, I was working on getting close to Clarice.”

  “How did that go?”

  “It didn’t. But I did get the impression that it might, tonight.”

  I keep reading, nothing catching my attention until . . . “Wait, their father was killed six months ago? In a hunting accident that may have been a suicide? Wouldn’t he have been in line for the throne after Lorenzo?”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “Well, here’s an interesting little tidbit to go along with that. The accident happened just a few days before I was pulled out of school and sent to train with the CIA, or whoever it is that I’m working for.”

  “You don’t think we’re working for the CIA?” I ask.

  “I’m starting to wonder if it’s something more. One of those organizations that is more covert.”

  “Like we could be working for the bad guys?”

  “No, but I get the feeling they operate outside of the usual boundaries.”

  “Does the CIA have boundaries?”

  “You tell me. You were trained for this, too,” he says, and I realize he doesn’t know about Black X. And it makes me wonder about them—who they are and what they do. I try to remember where I first heard about them. It comes back clear as day. Sitting in the Dean’s office—talking about my future—he told me about an agency so covert even the President didn’t know of its existence. He told me it was small, elite, and powerful. And that they would understand my need for revenge. It immediately became my goal. My focus. To be good enough for them to want me. Because deep down I knew that the CIA would probably not allow me to go rogue and kill my mother’s assassin.

  “You’re right. It feels a little different—but I think it may be due to the excess.”

  “How is it any different from them buying information in the Middle East after the Gulf Wars? They supposedly had bags full of millions of U.S. dollars. All for info.”

  “Maybe this is the new CIA?”

  “Yeah, maybe. So back to the cousins,” Ari says. “Do you think they could have killed their own father?”

  “Ophelia is bossy, but I think she’s harmless.”

  “I’d say the same thing about Viktor.”

  “He’s part Russian, though. Just like the guy who tried to poison the Prince last night. Do we know anything about him yet?”

  “Mercenary,” Ari says. “Works for the highest bidder. Just like the gunmen.”

  “None of whom have lived to enjoy their money. Do you think that will mean others will be less likely to try?”

  “I expect the ante to be even higher. Although our government has picked up nothing relating to this.”

  “So three dead ends and we’re back to where we started.”

  “Not really. I think we have to focus our efforts on Clarice.”

  “She just seems so sweet. Annoying as hell, but I just don’t picture her killing people. She doesn’t want animals to die.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t feel the same way about people? And you can’t dismiss the fact that she may want to make the Terra Project come to life here in Montrovia.”

  “Which means she’d not only kill her father, her cousin, and her sister, but she’d kill the monarchy, too.”

  He nods.

  “What do we know about the cousins’ life? About their relationship with their father? And where is their mother? Was she not at the Queen’s party?”

  “That’s further into the file,” Ari states. “Their parents were only briefly married. After an ugly divorce, their mother moved them to France. They lived comfortably but were not raised with the same affluence as Lorenzo.”

  “So how do they feel about him?”

  “Maybe that’s something you should ask them. When Clarice turned eighteen, both girls moved into their father’s Montrovian mansion.”

  “What do we know about the boyfriend?”

  “Well, if we’re right about her father’s death being connected, the fact that she met him only a few weeks ago rules him out, right?”

  “I suppose, but I still don’t like him. Something about him makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.”

  “He’s from France—mother is French, father is Albanian. He was arrested for protesting at a global climate conference once, but other than that his record is clean.”

  “Did they know each other before they started dating?”

  “He told me they only recently met.”

  “Here’s a theoretical question. What happens if Clarice were to succeed in becoming Queen? If she tried to change the country dramatically, wouldn’t the military protest? The people protest?”

  “I suspect all would be done for the good of the country and before they knew it things would be very different in Montrovia.”

  “But I thought that Montrovia is geographically important because of all the oil transported on its waters? I thought that was why our government is worried. Even the Saudis are worried based on what Lorenzo said. I mean, that’s the real reason we are here, right? Because our country and our allies don’t want the Strait to fall into the wrong hands.”

  “Think about it. If Clarice succeeds, there will be no military. Based on her comments about green living and fossil fuels, I’m thinking stopping the flow of oil through her country’s waters might be one of the first things she would do.”

  Our conversation is interrupted by our breakfast being brought to my room. Ellis follows the server in and hands me the local morning newspaper.

  “I’m on the front page?” I ask in shock.

  “You’re on page six, as well. There are numerous photos on the Internet of you and Prince Lorenzo together. You’re famous, my dear,” Ellis states.

  After the server gets our breakfast set up and leaves, I hand Ellis the file Ari gave me and ask him to destroy it. Along with the newspaper.

  If this keeps up, I may have no choice but to become a princess.

  I decide to spend the rest of the morning shopping, specifically for something spectacular to wear tonight. Yes, the Kates sent some beautiful dresses and basics, but I’m looking for something sinfully short, sexy, and sparkly.

  I find it at the second store I visit. The staff is extremely helpful, possibly due to the fact that I was on the front page this morning.

  But as I move from store to store, I realize that I’m being followed by a man wearing a ball cap. I use a few simple evasion tactics without being obvious, not to lose him, but just to verify that he is, in fact, following me. I try one more technique. One a little more advanced, but the man is not tricked. When I come out of the alley, I stop to look in a store window, a crude but effective touch of tradecraft, which allows me to see that he’s still behind me.

  And I know instantly that this man is not paparazzi looking for a picture. So why is he following me? Does he think I’m going to meet the Prince? Or is he interested in me?

  I p
op into a store to see if he will follow me and make myself look at a few evening bags. I’m trying to decide if I should buy a pricey clutch for tonight when he enters the store, walks straight up to me, and says, “You should have that.”

  The fact that he’s this close has me on edge. I back up a little so I have more space to maneuver should he pull out a weapon.

  “You think?” I ask, playing dumb, putting the skinny chain on my shoulder and studying myself in the mirror, while discreetly tapping my heel to expose the blade. “I can’t decide if I should get it.”

  “I think you should.” He takes off his ball cap and holds out his hand. “I’m William Gallagher.”

  Holy smokes!

  It can’t be.

  I don’t know what this man’s real name is—no one does—but I certainly know his code name, Intrepid. He’s a British spy. A freaking legend. I should know. I studied his body of work for my senior dissertation. We were given old case studies and classified files to work with. I saw a few grainy photos of him and was smitten. The combination of his expertise and his classic good looks made him my ultimate spy crush. Meeting him is like a fantasy, and I’m dying to ask him if the accounts I read are true. Like did he really jump out of a van traveling fifty miles per hour and onto the car of a rogue agent—who was going to sell a flash drive with a list of all the undercover British Intelligence agents on it—and then shot him through the roof? And what about the time he supposedly hung from the base of a helicopter while it was flying and managed to board it, take control, and defuse the bomb they were about to drop onto Buckingham Palace? I also want to ask if he really retired. It seems odd that he did, since he’s only in his thirties.

  Did I mention he’s extremely handsome? If they were to cast my perfect spy in a movie, it would be this guy. I can picture him buying a dress for a beautiful girl and then taking her to the casino and always having time for sex, even though he’s in the middle of a mission. It’s probably the reason why he is an expert at recruiting people to help his cause. I know the key to his success is charm combined with deadliness. Compassionate eyes that hide a cold killer. A body made for long hours of sinful sex, and a face that belongs on a statue.

  I’m so enthralled by his presence, I can’t do anything other than smile at him. It’s not like I can go all fan girl and tell him I admire his work. Particularly, the job he did in Northern Ireland, where he alone killed seventeen men who were working in a farmhouse creating a car bomb that they planned to detonate at the Summer Olympics.

  “Do you have a name?” he finally asks, making me feel like a moron.

  “Oh, yeah. I’m, uh, Huntley. Huntley Bond. I mean, Huntley Von Allister.”

  “I saw you with Prince Lorenzo last night at the fashion show. And with the Vice President’s son at the Smithsonian Gala. You run with a pretty influential crowd.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been hanging out at the same places as I have, yet we’ve never met.”

  “Are you and Daniel close?”

  “We met when we were seated at the same table at the gala, and he introduced me to the Prince a few days ago.”

  “I heard about your father, Ares, may he rest in peace. Funny, I didn’t know he had children.”

  “Neither did I until I was contacted by an attorney. To say I was shocked, is an understatement.” I study the clutch in my hand. “And even though I can easily afford this now and am absolutely in love with it, I’m having a hard time spending the money. I have a party to go to tonight, and it would look adorable with my dress, but it’s not very practical.”

  “Can a four thousand euro evening bag ever be considered practical?” he jokes.

  I scrunch up my nose. “You’re right. I shouldn’t get it.”

  “The party you are going to tonight. Would that be the one on the team owner’s yacht?”

  I almost answer yes. But then stop.

  He supposedly retired. What if he’s not working for the British anymore? What if he’s become a hit man, working only for the highest bidder? And what if he’s here to assassinate the Prince?

  It would really, really suck if I had to kill this man. I briefly wonder if I could sleep with him first.

  “I’m not sure where we’re going. I was just told to dress hot.”

  “I also heard you’re throwing a party in your lovely villa.”

  “You’ve heard an awful lot. Been reading the tabloids?”

  He smiles at me and shakes his head. “I’m friends with Wesley. He mentioned both you and your upcoming party. I was sort of hoping he would get me an invitation.”

  “He hasn’t even asked.”

  “I guess he’s not a very good friend.”

  “Apparently not. Nice to meet you, William. I have to go,” I say, then hightail myself back home.

  I’m just pulling into the villa gates when I get a call from the Prince.

  “What are you doing right this second?”

  “Just getting home. What are you doing right this second?”

  “Thinking about you in a bikini.”

  “For our bath time?”

  “It’s a lovely day. What would you think about spending the afternoon on my yacht watching the charity races? You can have your household staff deliver the bath bombs to the palace.”

  “I’m pretty sure if I send any kind of bomb to the palace, I will get arrested. Maybe we should call them fizzies.”

  “Very well, then. Bath fizzies—although I’m partial to the name bath bombs. Way more intrigue. Have them delivered along with whatever you need to get ready for this evening to my residence.”

  “I have hair and makeup appointments.”

  “Send them to the palace.”

  “Um, okay. It’s a date.”

  “Perfect. Can you be ready in five minutes? I am quite possibly on the way to your villa as we speak.”

  I shout orders to Ellis as I run to my room. I quickly change into a bikini then prepare to pack a tote with essentials. Then I realize I have no idea what to pack.

  “Ari!” I yell out in a panic.

  He comes rushing into my room, gun first, eyes sweeping the area.

  “What are you doing?”

  “The way you screamed, I thought you were in danger.”

  “Danger of looking stupid on the Royal Yacht. What the heck does one wear on a yacht? Do you have any idea? The Kates didn’t brief us on that.” He sighs for a long moment. “Sorry, I scared you. Oh, shit. I almost forgot. You’ll never, ever believe who I met at the store today. Who I’m pretty sure was following me, and who I’m pretty sure wants to come to our party before the race.”

  “Who?”

  “William Gallagher.”

  “Should I know that name?”

  I crinkle my brow. “It’s probably not his real name, but I do know that he’s one of the most revered British intelligence agents in, like maybe, all of history. His code name is Intrepid.”

  “Never heard of him. Why would he want to come to our party? Why would he follow you?”

  “I’m not sure. Supposedly, he retired. But that’s weird because he’s not that old. So I’m torn between he’s become a paid assassin and wants to kill the Prince, or he’s working for his government and wants to save him.”

  “Interesting. You don’t think he knows that we work for the government, do you?”

  “He did mention he never knew Ares had children. He seemed skeptical. But then he was sort of flirting with me. He said he knows Wesley.”

  “While you go to the harbor, I’ll have Housekeeping do some digging. I think they are busy planning our party, but this is important.”

  “Let me know what you find out. Send me a heart if he’s a good guy and a broken heart if he’s bad. And pray for a heart, because I will be crushed if I have to kill him.”

  Ari chuckles but then looks at me seriously. “Do you think you are good enough to kill a legend?”

  “Retired legend,” I clarify. “And the answer to that question is a
bsolutely.” I hear a car rumble into the drive. “Lorenzo is here. Shit.”

  Ari speaks to his phone, asking it what to wear on a yacht in Montrovia. Numerous example photos pop up. “Designer heels and sunglasses with a teeny bikini.” He scrolls through more photos while I pull on a pair of white shorts and a navy sweater over my swimsuit.

  “Perfect,” Ari says.

  “What are you doing today?”

  He doesn’t reply, so I grab my bag and go to greet Lorenzo.

  Ari follows me and says to him, “Huntley said you’ll be on your yacht this afternoon. Does that mean the two of you aren’t going to your cousins’ spur of the moment beach party?”

  Lorenzo lowers his voice. “They wanted to have it on my boat and are a little miffed that I said no.”

  “Why did you say no?” I ask.

  “Because I wanted to spend time alone with you.”

  I smile because Lorenzo is so sweet. Ari smiles because he knows this is good for our mission.

  Lorenzo drives us to the harbor, a blacked-out SUV following us closely. The race traffic is bad as many streets are closed, but Lorenzo pulls through a parking garage and emerges at the marina. He parks, and we are escorted to his boat.

  After taking off my shoes, I get a tour of his amazing yacht. It sports a navy steel hull with a white superstructure on top and is curvy like a racecar. The interior is made up of rich woods accented in stainless steel with lots of leather upholstery. It’s a combination of sleek, rich, contemporary warmth. It has six staterooms for guests as well as a massive owner’s suite and room for a large crew. It also features five levels of sundecks, a pool, nightclub, and numerous entertaining salons.

  “It’s one of the prettiest boats in the harbor,” I tell him as we go to the top deck to view the charity races.

  “Thank you. My father would love to hear you say that.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “He worked with Viktor’s father’s yacht company over the last two years having it built for my twenty-third birthday.”

  “When was that?”

  “In March, but it only finally arrived last week. You are my first guest.”