Girl Incredible

by Larsen, Patti

  Girl Incredible

  Kit MacLean: Book One

  Patti Larsen

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2015 by Patti Larsen

  Purely Paranormal Press

  www.purelyparanormalpress.com

  Find out more about Patti Larsen at

  http://www.pattilarsen.com/

  Sign up for new releases

  http://bit.ly/pattilarsenemail

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  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.

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  Cover art (copyright) by Valerie Bellamy at Dog-Ear Book Design. All rights reserved.

  http://www.dog-earbookdesign.com

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  Edited by Annetta Ribken, freelance Goddess. You can find her at http://www.wordwebbing.com/

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  Copy edits by Jessica Bufkin.

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  Chapter One

  My Jimmy Choo’s sparkle their rhinestone flash as I tap-tap-tap my way across the shining marble floor of the opera house, counterpoint to the distant, soaring soprano singing my favorite aria from Carmen, Habanera. My mind sings the tune, full lips heavy with red lipstick twisting momentarily. Whoever the company hired to take on the role butchers her job.

  Hopefully it’s not a sign about my own assignment.

  Fabric clings, the vintage Dior gown I borrowed rounding to my curves. Enough of a distraction and an attention draw to make me invisible. Just another stunning brunette in a slinky red dress here to watch the opera.

  The perfect disguise for what I need to do. I nod ever so slightly at the operative in the waiter’s outfit who offers me a silver tray of champagne flutes. T.B. seems to be the first one I see in every assignment, lingering the background. It’s both comforting and oddly off-putting to know he’s there.

  I sip the drink and continue on. While I might be underage back home in the States, Prague is my kind of city.

  The deep, purple carpet masks the sound of my shoes when I alight the wide, ornate staircase, fingertips brushing lightly over the white marble rail. I’ll leave fingerprints behind, but I can’t resist the feel of silken stone. And it’s not like any agency in the known world has a record of my existence. Or ever will.

  Kitalia. I catch the faint touch of a familiar mind as I round the first landing, heading up toward the private box and my target. I asked you to wait for me.

  I shut out my foreign contact, J.J., grinning ever so slightly. He’s late and I have a job to do. My MI6 contact has left me hanging enough times in the past with his nonchalant British ways. It’s time he discovered he doesn’t run the show when I’m in town.

  I do.

  The slim gun in my purse leaps to mind as a pair of opera goers emerge suddenly from the curtained hideaway of one of the private seating areas. I let them pass, saluting with my glass. The woman ignores me, her German accent harsh against the song still winding out from the theater on the other side of the curtain. But, the tall, handsome man with her gives me the once over, wide lips curving in an inviting smile as he admires my cleavage.

  I smile back. And send a mental reprimand into his head, a faint headache. He’ll never know it came from me. Doing so is against the rules, too. Still, as I swish my way past him, I smile into my drink. Serves him right.

  Box six waits for me, the curtain drawn back, empty. I slip inside, setting the champagne out of reach as my gaze scans the audience. It’s hard not to leap into action, to savor the moment of my arrival. Impatience, I fear, is my only vice, at least when it comes to work. I want to get the job done. But, observation is the most important thing right now. I refuse to allow my decision to act on my own, to leave my MI6 contact behind and move ahead, to lead to a reprimand from my superiors because I didn’t succeed at my mission.

  The crowd below isn’t of interest, the overdressed masses observing the opera in rapt attention none of my concern. I allow a quick mental scan of the entire building, just in case. Come across a few walls of protection, but it takes almost nothing to penetrate the shields of such weak and ineffectual practitioners. There’s a reason I work for the CIA and they, the amateurs, hire out to paranoid drug lords and minor politicians.

  I finally sit back in the velvet-upholstered chair and settle my gaze on the small group seated in the box across from me. Despite the distance, it’s easy to make out her iron-gray hair, curled and coifed elaborately, the sparkle of the diamonds she wears around her neck, the shimmer of silver taffeta. Ms. Ming has a thing for silver, always has. Makes her easy to find in a room. I’m sure she knows it and doesn’t care. All the more reason for me to take my time.

  She’s the only one with significant protections. Those protections are no shield against me. But, worthy of at least a moment’s pause to examine the opposition before slipping under the curtain of her mind’s wards and into her thoughts.

  Or, would have, if J.J. didn’t choose that exact moment to insert himself into the seat beside me, one hand settling over mine. His are much bigger, stronger, lean and tanned on my pale skin. I let him touch me, though few have that privilege.

  His dark eyes flash, a grin on his handsome face. It pulls faint lines at the corners of his mouth, tugging against the cleft in his chin. Perfect hair shines faintly, ponytailed in a tight twist at the nape of his neck.

  Damn, he looks good in a tuxedo. Not that I’d ever tell him so. He’s got a big enough ego as it is.

  “Well, good evening, gorgeous.” He winks, his gaze already flickering across the expanse to my target. “Imagine my surprise when I arrived at the hotel to find you already gone.”

  I snort softly. “Imagine my surprise you were late. Again.”

  He flashes his perfect, white teeth. “Touché. Shall we proceed, or are you waiting for a special invitation?”

  If it weren’t for his delicious British accent and the fact he oozes charm, I’d have smacked him long before now.

  “One note, if you please.” His fingertips slide over my wrist, up my arm as he leans close. The scent of his aftershave makes its subtle way to me, mint and cinnamon and cloves. At least he has the good sense to mask what he’s feeling and thinking from his forward mind. He spares me that much, though there are times I think it would be interesting to peek just a little. “The muckity-mucks would prefer you kept things simple this time. No ‘messing about’ as they put it.” His dark eyes laugh at me. “Just the info and no tampering, my lovely Kitalia Ore.”

  I shrug inside my dress. Instantly, his eyes flash to my breasts and I know my gesture did its job. Distraction achieved.

  “We’ll see.” He’s right about one thing. I have a job to do. And this game, while delightfully delicious and familiar, isn’t getting that job done.

  I return my attention to my target as J.J. sits back, hand releasing its grip on me. I miss his touch but shake off the craving. Silly girl. He might be falling in love with me—ideal, really, if I was going to continue to manipulate him to get what I needed on foreign missions—but the feeling could never be mutual.

  Ms. Ming’s mind is a cesspool. That much is apparent the moment I part the
soft curtain of protections and step inside. The mental me sheaths herself in leather and steel against the wash of hateful memories slamming into me one after another. The human mind is a funny place, less in the moment and more about the past. Guilt, regret, bitterness, anger, all tied up into replays of the past most don’t even know they are reliving. I brush by a giant vision of an old, Asian man dying horribly, blood gushing in frothing bubbles from his nose while she stands over him, laughing, in the dress of a feral geisha, and head for the center of her mind.

  A little girl crouches in a corner, refusing to look at me as I pass, the grungy room giving me the taste of old grease and spices in the back of my throat. So realistic. I have to be careful not to get caught up in the memories. When I look down, she’s at my side following me. Ms. Ming? Perhaps. Or a safety precaution meant to spy on me.

  The psychic who protects her might be more clever than I thought…

  I ignore the girl. If she’s a representation of Ms. Ming, she won’t interfere with me. But, if she’s a spy bot placed there to track me, any attempt to destroy her will trigger the creator’s protections. I reach for her hand, grasp it, and carry on. It will tie her to my power and keep her under wraps until I decide either way.

  Her power winds around mine, soft and subtle. If she is a bot, she’s been crafted by a master. I let her settle, ignoring her attempts to see deeper inside and continue on.

  The information I’m looking for isn’t buried deep. Another oddity of the human mind—that which you try to hide is the very thing that clings to the surface, lingering despite all attempts to guard it. That’s why good protection is a must and why someone like me is your worst enemy when you have secrets to keep.

  The location of the enemy base sits in a clear image at the top of a mountain of mess. Someone with less skill and power would have to climb to find it, maybe. But, all I have to do is look up.

  I know this place. It’s back home in the US, in fact, in D.C.. Private residence, owned by a supposed crime kingpin. I haven’t been inside before, but Ms. Ming has. I follow her memories, past the laser fence, the armed guards and dogs, the psychic wards no match for me. I enter the control room where a man in dark clothing sits, shadowed and invisible from my ability to see, surrounded by computers and banks of monitors.

  Damn it. She’s never seen his face.

  This was a total waste of time.

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  Chapter Two

  I begin to slip free, to tell J.J. we’ve failed, when the girl’s hand tightens on mine. I look down into the glitter of her sparkling eyes while her thoughts dig inside me, the flare of power in their dark depths, and make up my mind.

  “Bot,” I say.

  “Welcome,” she answers in a man’s voice.

  I dive before she can attack further, knowing before she moves I’ve miscalculated. This bot is far stronger than I expected, though as I turn and leap into a memory of Ms. Ming sipping wine while bathing in a pool of some milky substance, I feel my own power only sharpen and deepen. Try as he might, the creator of the bot is no match for me.

  No one is.

  I’m out of her mind with the bot throwing a surge at me, chasing me free. Something shudders inside, a hint of fear I haven’t allowed control in a very long time. And then, I’m snapping into my own body again. Thank goodness, too. My poor brain will never recover from the sight of Ms. Ming naked. I blink, already turning to J.J., who doesn’t need to be warned. He’s tugging on my hand, has me on my feet. I look across the way to the other box, see Ms. Ming rise, her bodyguards heading out the curtained exit.

  “I take it things didn’t go as planned?” He grins at me. Like all of this is highly amusing.

  I suppose it is, in a way. I’ve never had more fun, as terrible as that might sound. “No joy,” I say, following him to the exit, calculating how long it will take to exit below and trying to weigh the possibility of innocent casualties from a gunfight if it comes to that. Of course, we’re far from intermission, so at least the theatergoers below won’t be at risk.

  J.J. doesn’t give me the chance to go down, pulling me up, winding toward the back of the theater. I scan the building for the touch of the bodyguards, feel them closing in, and then, with a hint of shock, encounter the mind of the one who almost caught me in Ms. Ming’s head.

  He’s here, watching, waiting. Not attacking. Leaving her vulnerable. He must know she doesn’t have the information I seek. But, that means he knows more than she does. Should I risk it? His mind is a temptation like I’ve never felt before, luring me to take a dip, a peek…

  I slam physically into J.J.’s back, shaking myself free of the lure of that other mind. My British counterpart staggers, the door before us slams open. Two familiar forms wait for us with grins on their faces.

  “About time you two showed up.” Agents C1 and C2 appear poised and perfect as always, their twin faces flawless, tall, powerful bodies—C1 in a tux like J.J.’s, C2 dressed in a long, plunging gown of pale amber—built more for athletics than secret service work. I groan and roll my eyes, pushing past J.J. and the pair of CIA operative siblings and into the back stairwell.

  “I didn’t need backup.” Instantly, I regret speaking as we run together up the steps toward the roof. I can only assume they have a plan of escape. Mine is gone out the window with their appearance.

  “You’re welcome.” C2 bumps me with her hip as we reach the top of the steps. A door below crashes open, the sound reverberating while we leap out onto the rooftop of the opera house. A helicopter hovers, blades throwing wind and debris about, making me squint.

  C1 spins, bows, blond hair sweeping over his brow. “Your chariot awaits.”

  I’d call him an idiot except I adore him, naturally. And I’m too busy dodging gunfire as we run for the churning vortex of the sleek, black helio waiting for us. I turn to see one of the bodyguards with his gun leveled at J.J. and my mind reacts. Mentally, I dive inside the bulky man’s consciousness with a sword of thought slicing through his brain and cutting off his ability to wipe his own butt let alone pull a trigger. He goes down in a heap while J.J. grins at me again.

  “Saving my life must mean you love me,” he yells over the patter of bullets and the whup-whup-whup of the helicopter blades.

  He wishes.

  C1 and C2 are both seated, leaning out the opening with cool precision, firing at our pursuers, all a day at the beach for those two. I leap onto the platform and spin to salute Ms. Ming as J.J. hauls himself inside, the helicopter already rising at a rapid pace. In a flash of inspiration, I insert myself into her mind and plant a seed. Just to be nice from time to time.

  The only disturbing moment is when the consciousness of the man protecting her touches mine.

  Until we meet again.

  He’d better hope he has his best game on.

  The helicopter drops us at our jet, powered up and waiting to wing us back to the States. J.J. pulls me toward him when I try to exit the helio and follow my fellow CIA operatives, tugging me into his lap. I’m acutely aware of his gun. At least, I think that’s his gun pressing into my hip.

  Nice to be appreciated.

  “Stay in Europe for a bit.” He strokes my cheek, his rough with shadow. “I could show you the sights, take a few days off together.” He presses his lips to the tip of my nose before I can stop him. “You won’t regret it.”

  I pat his face and stand. “Keep dreaming, MI6,” I say, following with a wink and a smile so he stays tight on my leash. I let my hips sway a little extra in my Dior gown, knowing he’s watching, feeling his eyes on me.

  Let him watch. I have him right where I want him. When I need him. For work.

  Just work. I swear.

  C1 and C2 laugh at me, but don’t comment. I settle into the leather seat of the private jet after a quick trip to the small bedroom in the back, engines humming beneath us, comfortable again in my jeans and black leather jacket. I hand the bag with the dress over to C2 who shrugs.

  “Keep
it,” she says. “You might need it again.”

  “J.J. certainly seemed to like it.” C1 makes a kissy face. So childish.

  “The mission failed.” I hate losing. Makes me broody. I stare out the window at the dark Atlantic below. “But, at least we know where the mastermind lives. His headquarters. I’ll have to keep digging to find out his identity.”

  “Leave that up to the powers that be.” C1 settles back into his chair. “We’ve done our part, some of us more than others.”

  “I thought you two were reassigned.” It comes out grumpy and sour, not my intention at all. I know none of us have choices when it comes to our work. But, they’ve been my partners since I can remember, and I don’t take losing them lightly.

  C2 reaches forward and pats my knee, long, blonde hair undone from her updo, sweeping over her softly tanned cheek. “We have been,” she says. “But we were in the area and couldn’t resist one last mission.”

  No way will I ever tell them how much that means to me.

  The Atlantic coast of the US looms quickly, the supersonic engines carrying us to our destination in a matter of minutes. I can’t imagine ever traveling the pedestrian, normal way ever again. Within a half hour, the limo is dropping me off a block from my safe house while C1 and C2 wave from the back seat.

  “Be careful out there.” C1 sounds concerned, not his jovial, good-natured self, a frown pinching his smooth brow. He’s handsome, I’ll give him that, but reminds me too much of a Hollywood star with those perfect teeth and flawless blue eyes. “You won’t have us to protect you anymore.”

  “I’ll be fine.” What’s with the uncharacteristic sudden darkness?

  C2 looks sad, her matching face a feminine version of his, cleft chin and arching eyebrows almost surreal in their beauty. “It’s just… we’ve had your back for so long. Ever since the—”

  I cut her off with a sharp chop of my hand. That mission is long in the past and is going to stay there. I was young, a green rookie who didn’t know how to handle herself. A lot of time and a lot of missions have gone under the bridge since then.