My Super Sexy Spy

by Doyle, S.

  Beth Ryan was different. Once I knew who she was, I’d started reading her blog and it…got to me. Like I could feel her loneliness and her isolation even as she was taking me to these places in her mind.

  Then I asked her a question through the comment section on the blog and…something changed. It was like, for the first time in a long time, I was connecting with humanity again.

  With myself again.

  I knew she’d never been out of the country. I knew she worked from her home in Philadelphia. Hell, I knew up until a few weeks ago she had a loser boyfriend named Jared.

  There wasn’t anything about Beth I didn’t know, because The Douchebag was right: Beth was the target.

  She had been ever since her father had escaped U.S. custody with an invention that could change the world. Technology that the U.S. wanted. That Russia wanted. Hell, that every country would want. Hence the plethora of spies descending on Italy the minute Beth’s plane landed in Rome.

  But I got to her first. So, it was my job to protect her.

  “Sorry,” I said with a shrug. “But you’re going to have to put her down and walk away.”

  “You know this is something I cannot do. I have orders from the President of Russia himself to bring Gino back to our country. So that he can help us with…our little problem.”

  I snorted. “It’s not America’s fault Russia keeps blowing up nuclear shit in their own country.”

  “This is not the time for debate. This is the time for answers. From her. About where her father is.”

  “I’m telling you. She doesn’t have a clue.”

  He smirked. “Yes, and you’ve always been so good at telling the truth…Ted.”

  He started walking backward and I lifted my gun in his direction. He shifted Beth so she covered most of his body, as if I wouldn’t take a shot because I was worried about hitting her.

  I wasn’t. I could take out his kneecap no problem. I was just about to do that when, all of a sudden, I saw her move. Her head and arms were draped down his back, her legs down his front. I watched her scissor kick her legs and aim her heavy, red, funky shoes directly into his crotch.

  Then he was screaming and arching his back and I got the impression she might have been biting him in the ass.

  Cute little kitten with some pretty fierce claws. Her attack was enough to drop the Russian to his knees and, once on her feet, she brought her knee up into his chin, laying him out flat.

  “Holy shit, Beth.”

  She turned toward me then, a wild look in her eye. I put my gun slowly back in my ankle holster then lifted my hands in the air.

  “I’m not sure how much you heard, Beth…”

  She turned and started running down the alley in the direction the Russian—I knew for a fact his name was not Ivan—had been taking her.

  “Shit,” I muttered. Instead of being able to reason with her, now I was going to have to chase her ass around Florence.

  And I’d just eaten all that pasta, too.

  One deep breath and I took off after her. Knowing there were others out there who would stop at nothing to capture her.

  7

  Beth

  I stopped to catch my breath. Bent over, halfway down another narrow street, I checked both ends of the alley. No sign of Ted. No sign of Ivan.

  What. The. Fuck?

  I’d come to after being zapped only to find myself draped over Ivan’s shoulder. My first thought was that he was a serial killer and wasn’t it just my luck to find the one fucking serial killer in Italy on my very first trip!

  Then I’d heard Ted. I’d been about to shout out for his help when I heard words like target and father and torture.

  Holy shit. I was a fucking travel blogger. I wasn’t a target.

  And I didn’t have a father. I didn’t even have a father who knew I existed.

  This was obviously some colossal case of mistaken identity.

  And who the fuck was Ted? Not a freaking baseball writer.

  Think. You’re back on the streets. You’re in danger. What do you do?

  That was easy. Stay hidden. If they can’t see you, they can’t grab you. I glanced up and down the alley; it was empty except for a few trash buckets next to a door that probably led to either a restaurant or a shop. If I went inside, maybe I could ask for help.

  But who was that in Italy? The police. Did they help Americans? Who was that chick they arrested for murder because she didn’t cry when she found out about her friend being dead?

  Was I going to be Italy’s next Amanda Knox?

  Could I tell them I was some kind of target of international spies and have them not think I was crazy? Doubtful. I didn’t believe it and I knew it was true.

  What about the U.S. embassy? That had to be in Rome. Could I manage to get to the train station in Florence, then get to Rome?

  I considered the time. I didn’t know how late the trains ran, but it seemed unlikely I’d catch anything tonight. Besides, that was the most obvious place to look for me. The better option would be stealing a car, which, of course, would put me in trouble with the Italian police.

  Shit! I was going to be locked up in an Italian fucking jail and no one was going to hear from me again.

  Would Andrea care enough about a coffee-table book deal to send someone to find me? Would Leigh wonder why my blog suddenly stopped and call the FBI?

  The FBI who already thought I had something to do with my father. This was insanity!

  If I could find a computer, I could send a message to Leigh, but what the heck was she supposed to do from New Mexico?

  The sad part was, in that moment, I wish I had my friend Ted from yesterday back. I could have told him I was the target of international spies and we would have had a good laugh about it.

  That motherfucker. When I’d asked him the first time what he did for work, he freaking told me he was a spy and I’d laughed in his face!

  I walked over to where the trash cans were and sunk down against the wall until my ass hit the cold bricks underneath me. The temperature had dropped a little, but it wasn’t so cold I had to worry about freezing.

  I had no place to go, no one I trusted to ask for help. I obviously couldn’t go back to my hotel or try to make my way to the train station. I didn’t want to steal a car, so that left me with only one choice.

  Staying still in this alley until the sun came up tomorrow, and I could think a little more clearly. My body ached all over. From the stun gun, from the all-out sprinting I’d done for what felt like miles.

  Ted had been fast, but he hadn’t accounted for how good I was at losing people who were chasing me. A skill I’d picked up when trying to evade the police.

  I pulled my knees in close to my chest and wrapped my arms around them to form a tight ball. Anyone glancing down the alley wouldn’t see me. Anyone walking down the alley would have to look hard to realize I was an actual human and not just another bag of trash sitting next to the other cans.

  I dropped my head down on my knees and thought about trying to get some sleep. But there was no way that was going to happen. Because all of it kept playing over and over in my head.

  Ivan with the stun gun. Torture. Father. Ted.

  Target.

  * * *

  Liam

  She was good. Maybe too good? She had me convinced she was nothing more than a slightly agoraphobic travel blogger with an amazing talent for describing things she’d never seen.

  But that was not the full story. Because she’d managed to knock the Russian unconscious and she’d lost me like a seasoned professional. I started second-guessing myself about who she really was.

  The streets were nearly empty at this hour of night. It had to be after midnight. She’d left her purse at the restaurant where we’d eaten, so I knew she didn’t have money or her cell phone.

  No chance to slip into some hotel and get a room. No way to get an Uber or a cab. Or, for that matter, a train, if she was thinking of getting out of Florence, wh
ich was her most likely move.

  So, if I were a slightly agoraphobic travel blogger and I’d just found out I was the target of spies who all thought I could lead them to a father I didn’t know, what would I do?

  I’d panic. She wasn’t doing that. She was evading me.

  Yes, I might have suspected Beth was playing a game with me and the Russian if I hadn’t learned what I had tonight. Something none of my research on her had revealed, which meant, in all that time, she’d never once been picked up by the cops.

  No, Beth wasn’t panicking because she’d been here before. On the streets, with no friends, no resources. Counting on her wits alone to keep her alive.

  It wouldn’t be as scary to her. In fact, it would feel familiar.

  The thought of it pissed me off. That her mother had chosen drugs over her daughter. That her father, who was a big fucking deal in the world of nuclear science, who definitely knew he had a daughter, had left her unprotected for all that time.

  She’d had no one who gave a fuck then. And she didn’t have anyone who gave a fuck now. When she was in serious trouble. Even from her own country. Because no one back at Langley was going to believe that her father did what he did and she didn’t know about it.

  Except me. Because I liked her.

  I stopped at the end of an alley and pulled out my phone. I pulled up the tracker app and saw I was close. I’d put trackers in all her shoes before I’d left her room last night.

  Purses and phones could be discarded but shoes were harder to lose.

  We were only about two miles away from the piazza where we’d eaten, but it wasn’t like that mattered. With these narrow, winding streets, it was so easy to get lost even if you were only a couple feet away.

  A quick glance down the alley and it appeared to be empty except for a few trash cans.

  That’s when I saw it. Just the smallest hint of red shoe peeking out from behind the garbage. Okay, so she was good, but she wasn’t that good. There was some comfort in that. A reminder that she was vulnerable and that I could protect her.

  I’d spent so long using my skills to hurt, to kill, to extract information from people who didn’t want to give it to me, I’d never had a cause to use them to protect a woman I was actually into.

  Kind of made me feel good. Kind of made me feel like swinging my dick a little.

  Quietly, I walked down the alley, careful not to make a noise. I didn’t bother with the gun. Not that I didn’t think the Russian was probably up and looking by now as well, but I didn’t want to startle her if I could avoid it.

  And where was Marta? The woman from last night with the fabulous rack and the red dress. I assumed she had to be Douchebag’s partner. She’d tried to lure me away from Beth with the temptation of sex. Not that I was interested, although she did have some nice tits.

  It had been simple enough to use a pinch maneuver on her neck, knocking her unconscious and leaving her passed out on her bed in her room. She, too, was recovered by now and somewhere in Florence looking, just like I was.

  For the target. For Beth.

  I stopped in front of the trash cans and could see the shoes were attached to feet. Unless she was the Wicked Witch of the West and could melt out of those shoes, I had her.

  Quietly moving closer, I could see her head was down on her knees. Her shoulders moving up and down in slow rhythm. She’d managed to fall asleep? It pissed me off all over again that she had enough familiarity with living on the streets that that could actually happen.

  I crouched down in front of her slowly. I knew if I touched her, she would attack, and since she had a propensity to go for the balls, I figured I would keep a little distance.

  “Beth,” I said softly. “Beth, wake up.”

  Instantly her head snapped up and, like I’d suspected, she went on the attack. She pounced on me, and given that I was resting my weight on the balls of my feet, she was able to send me sprawling backward.

  I countered immediately by rolling her onto her back and pressing all my weight against her. My thighs pinned hers, my hips pinned hers, my chest pinned hers. Her hot little body was crushed under me, and even though we were laid out on some dirty brick alley, I was still getting turned on.

  In the meantime, she kept lifting her head, as if trying to take a bite out of me. At one point her teeth scraped my chin.

  “Kitten, watch it with those teeth.”

  She grunted and tried to wiggle out from underneath me. She wasn’t going to escape, but she was going to get my big-ass, American dick hard.

  Too late.

  I knew the second she felt it, because she looked up at me like she was surprised.

  “Seriously? You’re a spy and a rapist?”

  “I’m not a rapist,” I said, disgusted.

  It was just that she did it for me. Her look, the nose ring. Her soft breasts with her big nipples that I’d spent a day looking at in her sundress while we walked the streets of Venice. The whole time pretending not to be interested in what they might taste like.

  Little succulent cherries, I was guessing.

  “But you are a spy,” she spat. “Is Ted even your real name?”

  “Uh…no, not actually.”

  “The fuck!” she shouted as if lying to her about my name was my most egregious sin. “Get off me!”

  “Look, Beth, we can do this one of two ways. The easy way, I let you up, we go someplace where it’s safe, and I tell you everything that’s happening.”

  “What’s the hard way?”

  I winced. “I do my Spock move on you, knock you out. Then I carry you someplace where it’s safe and when you wake up, I tell you everything that’s happening. Only in that scenario, you’re tied to a chair. So not exactly comfortable. For you.”

  She wiggled some more, and I had to hold back a groan. Then she stopped as soon as she realized the effect it was having on me.

  “You’re not even into me,” she said. “Flat chest. Remember?”

  “Yeah…I might have also lied about that.”

  She stopped moving and looked at me then.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  Better. She was thinking now instead of just reacting. I pushed myself up and off her and, once I was on my feet, I reached a hand down for her. To my relief, she took it.

  “All you need to remember is that I’m the good guy.”

  “Fuck that,” she spat.

  Yeah, maybe it was better if she didn’t trust me. After all, I wasn’t entirely certain my bosses weren’t going to order me to torture her for answers.

  8

  Beth

  I wasn’t relieved to see him. I wasn’t. And I did fight hard to get away. I did. It was only once I knew he was that much stronger than I was, I capitulated. It had nothing to do with the fact that when I realized he’d found me, I had this brief sense of security. Like I was some kind of balloon floating around aimlessly, and suddenly, someone was holding my string again so I was tethered to the earth.

  He wasn’t wearing his glasses anymore or his baseball hat.

  Without the camouflage, he had this sharp jaw line and his cheeks were more pronounced. With the heavy glasses he looked like a dork; without them you could see more of his face…he looked kind of hot.

  Not that it mattered! Because he was a tool bag who had lied to me and pretended like we were friends when he had a totally different agenda. Apparently, I was some kind of target.

  You’re not going to know what’s happening unless you listen to him.

  The reality was Ivan had followed me to Florence. He’d stunned me. Ted-not-Ted had pulled out a gun.

  Shit was said I couldn’t un-hear and some of that shit had to do with a father who apparently knew of my existence. And was obviously in enough trouble that the freaking FBI was also looking for him. None of what was happening were things I could walk away from. Which meant I had to deal with my new reality.

  I followed him down the alley, out into another piazza, where we kept to
the perimeter of the square so we weren’t so exposed. A few more turns, a few more streets and he found a small run-down hotel. He opened the door and pushed me inside.

  I waited in the tiny lobby as he negotiated with the clerk who seemed annoyed to have to actually deal with a guest at this late hour. This didn’t look like a hotel where tourists stayed. It looked more like a place where the rooms were rentable by the hour. Like the place where my mom and I’d stayed when we got kicked out of our apartment because all her rent money had been going to pay for her drugs.

  He turned and waved me over to him. I had my arms wrapped around my waist as the cold from the late evening started to seep through the dress I’d worn. A dress, I realized, I’d worn for him.

  Another black, sexy, short dress. Apparently, even though he’d told me he wasn’t into me, I was still trying to get him to notice me. And even though he’d told me he wasn’t into me, when we’d been rolling around in the street, he’d gotten a major boner.

  Maybe he just liked subjugating women. Maybe he had some kink thing when it came to helpless victims under his control.

  Or maybe he hadn’t been lying when he said he’d been lying about not being into me…

  Okay, now I was just confusing myself. I really wished I could message Leigh.

  I followed him down a narrow hallway, second guessing myself the whole way. What was I doing here with him? What if he wasn’t the good guy? Sure, he was American, but did that mean I was just supposed to trust a liar because we shared the same flag?

  He stopped in front of a door and used an actual key to open the lock. I thought about last night and his stumbling drunk routine.

  “Were you even drunk last night?”

  “No,” he admitted. “I was saving you from The Douchebag.”

  “So Ivan had no intention of fucking me. He was going to torture me for answers instead.”

  Ted-not-Ted lifted his eyebrows. “Oh, don’t be so naïve. He would have fucked you first, then tortured you later. Dmitri is not what you would call a good guy.”