A Spy Is Born

by Emily Kimelman

  "I'd like to spend more time with you. For us to be..." He turns his eyes to mine, and they are serious—the playful air that floats around him reined in. "Exclusive." Before I can respond, he rushes on. "I don't want to freak you out, or force you into anything. It's just—I've been at this longer than you, and I'm not into meaningless flings."

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Since when?” I ask. He blinks, and I sit forward. “Sorry, but, you were, weren't you? Into flings. I mean…you have a reputation."

  He shrugs again, and I drop my gaze to admire his chest until he speaks. "I was in my twenties, a huge star. So yes, Angela. I fucked around a lot. But, I'm in my thirties now. I want more."

  "More than sex in my kitchen?"

  He shakes his head. "Oh, no. Sex in your kitchen is all I want."

  "Shhh," I hold my finger over my lips. He cocks his head. "Don't let my bed or couch hear you."

  He laughs. "Fine, sex with you anywhere. Anytime. But only you."

  I give a small nod. "I can do that."

  "It doesn't freak you out."

  "I'm not the kind of person who has sex with more than one person at a time anyway, Julian."

  His eyes dart back to his food. He's had sex with other women since Shanghai. That's fine. "I thought, because I asked to hold your hand in public that day, that you..."

  "Yeah, I know." I can't explain why I had to pull away. He didn't even notice the scar on my shoulder, it's so slight now. "I didn't believe it. That you'd really want me." I say it quiet, the lie feeling awkward on my lips.

  He meets my gaze. "You still don't get it, do you?"

  "Get what?"

  "Angela, you're one of the most desirable women on the planet. And you're only going to get bigger, more desirable. Your star is going to eclipse mine when your Star Wars film comes out. Mary will probably have you do a drama after. I won't be surprised if you win an Oscar."

  Oscar. The image of that bloodied statue cracks across my consciousness, and I have to drop my gaze to hide the pained expression. "Thank you," I whisper, knowing I need to respond. I take a deep breath, pushing that image away, back into the world of dreams. And I raise my gaze to Julian.

  He thinks I'm just being shy about the stardom I've gained, about the brightness of my future. He doesn't understand. Is there any way I can make this work without him knowing?

  Chapter Thirteen

  I'm waiting on my balcony in the dull, gray light of dawn, watching for the car to pull up. The air is dusty with smoke from the fires. I scroll through my phone’s news app, Archie warm in my lap.

  The largest fire tornado in California history killed a firefighter last night. I hit play on the video. A whirling inferno blasts across my small screen, sending a shiver over my body.

  The fear that man must have felt as that monster came at him. One hundred and sixty-five miles per hour…temperatures in the center of the vortex reaching 2700 degrees.

  My heart gives a hard thump as I read the next headline. “Russian Interference in the Election confirmed by Intelligence Agencies.” Vladimir’s confidence that Grand would win the election comes back to me with startling clarity. It’s like I’m back in that room, standing next to the bar, the chilled glass of champagne in my hand. “Things will change,” Vladimir said. “Reginald Grand is a good man. He sees the possibilities that bringing our two nations closer together can provide.”

  Is that why Temperance sent me to deal with Vlad?

  What was in the pen?

  I Google Vlad’s name again but find nothing after his collapse at the consulate event. He can’t be dead then… that would be reported, right? I close my eyes and rub them, hiding in the darkness for a moment. The soft purr of an engine pulls my attention to the drive below. A black town car stops in front of the building. "Come on, Archie," I say, standing with him in one arm. "It's show time."

  The driver is uniformed and gives me a professional smile as he opens the door. "Mr. Grand sends his apologies for not being able to meet you himself."

  "No worries," I say, happy not to be stuck in the backseat of a car with the man.

  The drive to his hotel is quick, the early-morning traffic light for LA. By the time I'm heading home it will be a clogged mess. A twinge of annoyance tightens my grip on my phone. Why do I have to waste my time on this? I could be lying in bed finishing the latest Charlaine Harris book.

  I let out a sigh. I should be happy that this is the most annoying thing happening to me today. I could be starving. I could be hunted by freaking Nazis.

  Closing my eyes, I practice some gratitude. I'm successful, healthy, have a new amazing man in my life, and a great new role. Temperance's face flashes across my mind's eye. Do I give thanks for him?

  Opening my eyes, I decide not to think about it. I can be grateful for so much without even bringing him up-—or the shadowy world he coerced me into joining.

  We pull into the hotel drive, and a liveried doorman opens my door. I give him an appreciative nod and see a flicker of recognition in his eyes. I've got on sunglasses, a casual white T-shirt, and a pair of designer jeans that hug every curve. "Lift and separate. That's what jeans should do." Mary's advice echoes in my head as I feel the doorman's eyes on my ass.

  Archie peeks his head out of the top of his bag when we enter the lobby. A woman in low heels and a knee-length skirt suit bustles over to me. "Ms. Daniels," she says, her voice all wispy with excitement. Her lipstick is the wrong color for her skin tone and the suit far too conservative and heavy for LA. She must work for Grand. "I'm Tabitha Sanders, Mr. Grand’s advisor.”

  I give her a warm smile and slip my sunglasses off to let her see the glint of friendship I'm putting into my gaze. We are both women in this world. You can trust me. “Hi Tabitha." I widen my smile.

  "Mr. Grand is very excited to meet you."

  I don't respond. Nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all…right?

  "Please, follow me. We've arranged a private room at the restaurant."

  I follow her across the lobby and up a large staircase to the second floor. The restaurant doesn’t open until seven, but she leads me past the hostess desk, through the dining room, to a private door. She knocks before entering, and we step into a room with a table for twelve but only set for two.

  Ah, an intimate gathering. A freaking breakfast date.

  “Excuse me,” a man to my left says, startling me. Jeez, was he hiding behind the freaking door? “I need to search you.”

  “This is Agent Patrick Maloney. He’s Secret Service,” Tabitha explains, her voice holding reverence.

  Agent Maloney is tall and broad, wearing a dark suit. His brown hair is dusted with gray and shorn close to his head. Brown eyes with deep pouches under them assess me.

  He motions for me to hand over my bags. Archie yawns as the big man places his bag on an empty seat while putting the purse on the table. “Please stretch out your arms and separate your feet?”

  I clear my throat and consider protesting, but there is no glint in his eye, only pure professionalism. He bends down, starting at my ankles and patting his way up, hands skimming the tight jeans. As if I could hide anything in these bad boys. At my waistline, he uses the back of his hands to circle me, bringing them down over my butt cheeks before moving onto my arms.

  His hands cup my shoulders and then slide down my sides, across my belly and up, not touching my breasts but also making sure I’m not squirreling anything between them. But with the right bra I could hide something from this search.

  Maloney steps back and says something into his sleeve that I can’t quite make out before reaching for my handbag. He searches through it with the air of a man who’s searched a lot of purses and finds each one as boring as the last—it’s not the same dreariness I’m used to from TSA agents, but he’s not on edge, not expecting my lipstick to contain a weapon, even though he opens it to check.

  Maloney hands me my purse and then eyes Archie for a moment, who wags his tail and lolls his tongue
. Clearly a threat to national security. “Does he bite?” the agent asks.

  “No,” I say with a warm smile. “He’s just a puppy.”

  “Please remove him from the bag.”

  I pull Archie out, his little body curling as I bring him to my chest. The agent opens the bag, looking inside at the gnawed-on bone and flannel blanket before turning his attention back to Archie. Wait, is he going to pat him down? The thought raises a giggle but I suppress it, giving the agent an amused smile which he pretends not to see. The color edging his collar lets me know the man is not totally immune to my charms.

  Maloney runs a finger along Archie’s collar, who bends his head and tries to turn it into a petting session. The agent ignores the adorableness, and after confirming that my dog is not a threat to Grand, gives me a sharp nod of approval and dismissal before exiting.

  As if on cue, a door in the back of the room swings open and a waiter enters, offering me a big smile. Blond-streaked hair, perfect teeth, fabulous body—an actor or model for sure. "Good morning," he says. "Welcome to the Gentry."

  "Good morning..." I leave the sentence hanging, asking for his name.

  "I'm Steven," he says with a small bow.

  "Morning, Steven. I’m Angela.”

  He blushes slightly. “Yes, I know who you are. May I offer you coffee?"

  "Please, with half and half, if you have it."

  "Of course." He leaves quickly, and Tabitha points to the table. It's got one setting at the head and one to its left. I take the seat at the head, and her face pales. Thought so.

  A guy who thinks he's going to be president also thinks he gets the head of the table. But he made me show up; I’m not going to make this easy for him.

  The door opens, and Reginald Grand himself enters in a swirl of cologne. Only about 5’ 8” with the jowls of a mastiff, and his bald palette glowing under the overhead lights, the nominee is smaller than I thought. Spotting me, he breaks into a grin, revealing capped, overly white teeth. I stand and he comes at me for a hug. Seriously. He embraces me, and Archie squirms under the pressure. A wet smack of lips against my cheek leaves a trail of saliva. "Such a pleasure,” he says, stepping back and running his eyes down to my tits.

  Is he kidding? Could the guy be more of a freaking cliché.

  "Tabitha, coffee and—" He turns to her, keeping a hand on my arm. "Get me some of that coffee cake they had yesterday." He turns back to me. "It's fabulous, you'll love it."

  He squeezes my arm, and I move away, settling back into my chosen seat. Do I look like I eat coffee cake?

  His lips press together at my retreat, but he doesn't say anything, dropping into the seat next to me. "You look great. You’re a really gorgeous girl…great style too."

  I give a small nod, the compliment somehow sounding like an insult. I'm also a talented actor and secret agent, but yeah, I am hot as hell. Thanks.

  Steven comes in and pours us both coffee. "Thanks," I say, catching his eye. His brows are lowered. Not a fan of Mr. Grand. Could it be his running mate's stance on gays? That they are an affront to God and should all go through conversion therapy?

  "Mr. Grand,” I say. "You requested this meeting. I don't want to be rude, but I do have another appointment at eight. I hope we can get down to brass tacks."

  He laughs and picks up his coffee cup as Steven leaves the room. Tabitha still stands in the corner. Grand looks over his shoulder and nods, dismissing her.

  Once we are alone, he sits even further back in his chair, spreading his legs out…taking up as much room as possible. Part of me wants to scrunch down and make more space for him. But I force myself to maintain eye contact and to keep my body language neutral.

  "What you did with Vladimir Petrov…very impressive."

  I drop eye contact and bring a hand to my chest. “That was horrible——the seizure was so sudden and powerful,” I say. “I have no idea what happened afterwards and have not been able to find out.” I bring my eyes back to his. “Is he okay?”

  Grand licks his lips, leaving a shiny trail that turns my stomach. “Don't worry, I know. I've got clearance,” he says, ignoring my question.

  "I'm sorry, but I don’t know what you're talking about."

  He leans forward, his face suddenly way too close, and I can't help but lean away. "I want you to do someone for me."

  “Do someone for you?” My voice is low, and I inject a note of confusion into it. What could I possibly do for you?

  "I've got a lot of enemies. People who don’t want me in the Oval Office.” I can’t imagine why. “And I need your help with that."

  My brows go up. Is he serious? Holding his gaze, I realize that yes, he is serious. "I have no idea what you're talking about,” I say again.

  The door opens before he can answer, and Steven places a piece of cake at Grand’s elbow. The man who hopes to be the leader of the free world doesn’t glance at him.

  “Thank you,” I say as Steven sets a matching plate next to me.

  Grand picks up the piece of the cake and shoves a bite into his mouth, moaning with pleasure as Steven makes his exit. "Have some," he says, pushing the plate in front of me.

  "No, thank you.” I pause to wrest control of myself. This conversation has gone from nuts to coffee cake crazy. "I came here as a courtesy, and now I'm leaving." I stand up. He moves quickly blocking my exit.

  I pause. "Please get out of my way." I say it low and quiet, meeting his gaze.

  His eyes are a pale yellow, green…reptilian. His skin shiny with sweat making his grey pallor moist. “Look, sweetheart—"

  "I'm not your sweetheart." I grit through my clenched jaw.

  He grins. Every woman is his sweetheart. "I want you to do this for me."

  "And I want you to get out of my way so I can leave."

  His smile widens. "That Temperance is a genius. You know there are a lot of you. Hollywood types working for us."

  "Us? Last time I checked, the election wasn’t decided.”

  His face goes a little blotchy at that, adding spots of color to his livid skin. "You are going to help me." A spark comes into his eyes, one that I recognize—an anger fueled by righteous rage. He thinks everyone should do exactly what he wants, and when they don't, it pisses him off. Men. "I'll send you a note with a name,” he says.

  This is dangerous. I go to sidestep him, and he blocks me, grabbing my arm. I twist out of his grip, holding back a punch to his stomach.

  Stepping to the side, I go to move around him, but Grand reaches out and grabs me again, tighter this time.

  "Let go," I hiss. You’re not the only snake in this room.

  "You'll get the note," he says, spittle stinking of coffee and bad teeth spraying my cheek.

  "I don't work for you."

  "I'll expose you," he threatens, a smile pulling at his wet lips. We are almost the same height, he’s only got about an inch on me, but the grip on my arm is iron tight. He leans closer as if to kiss me, and I rear back, twisting free from his hold and moving quickly to the other side of the table, my heart hammering.

  He is very dangerous.

  Grand does not follow me. He's between me and the door I came in. Will he let me through? Should I just lie, tell him I’ll do as he asks?

  I relax my shoulders, allowing them to slump into a position of defeat. He smiles, predatory and victorious. A stupid, arrogant man. Why do so many of them have so much power?

  "Fine," I say, straightening up. "I'll look at your note." A flicker crosses his gaze. Mistrust. I'm agreeing too easy. "You've left me no choice," I point out. The mistrust eases, and the thrill of victory sparks again.

  "Come here," he says, waving for me to move closer to him.

  He's not done with me yet. "I'm leaving," I say, sidling toward the door that the waiter passed through. I might end up in the kitchen, but that's better than going through Grand.

  Color infuses his cheeks again as he recognizes my intention. "Come here." He says it more forcefully, his voice deep
and rough.

  I'm at the door now, Archie's bag gripped hard against me. He squirms his head out and looks at Grand with sleepy eyes.

  "If you walk out that door, I'll expose you," he says. "Get over here."

  My lips purse. He's a loose cannon. Or a liar. Probably both. “Expose me," I taunt, stepping back into the swinging door. It opens, and he starts toward me.

  I turn, pushing into the hallway, the door swinging shut behind me. I break into a run, my sneakers quiet on the linoleum. He bursts through the door behind me, his dress shoes clacking.

  Risking a glance over my shoulder, I see him slow to a stop, his breath huffing. I keep running. He doesn't yell any final threats. But I feel his eyes on me, boring into my back, hot as a laser, as I reach the end of a T and take a left.

  I slam into Steven, who falls back with a yelp of surprise. “Sorry,” I say, reaching out a hand to steady him.

  He rubs at his chest where I barreled into him. “You okay?” he asks, concern wiping away the shock and pain.

  “Yes. How do I get back to the lobby from here?” His eyes raise to stare down the hall behind me. “Not through the restaurant,” I clarify. “I need another way out.”

  He nods, his jaw tightening. He can guess what happened in there.

  “This way,” he says, leading me down the hall. We pass a Secret Service agent on our way, who nods to us, his expression blank. See no evil, hear no evil...

  Once I’m safe in a Lyft on my way home, I text the emergency number I have for Temperance. “Need to see you now.”

  He texts back. “I’ll meet you at your apartment in twenty.”

  I'm shaking as I pour myself a cup of tea, the steam rising up and heating my face. Glancing at my bar cart, I consider adding a splash of brandy or whiskey but the clock on my phone reminds me that it's not even 9 a.m. Way too early to start drinking, no matter what the day’s been like so far.

  A knock at the front door jerks my attention. I grab my gun off the counter by the cup of tea and move into my living room, Archie on my heel, his small nose tapping my ankle.