“Let’s not forget Mary Libby.” Jonathan brought me my glass. “She lost her contract with Lovelace Lingerie for a dimple in her right butt cheek.”
I held back a grin. Jonathan came up with the craziest lines. Who would’ve guessed a big, tough, mean-looking guy would play such a great modeling agent. “Oh, puh-lease. Mary Libby lost the contract because she farted on the runway.”
Jonathan coughed to cover his laugh. It pleased me I’d finally caught him off guard with one of my lines.
“All clear.” TL fastened his buckle back to his belt. “You two are almost too good at that.”
Jonathan and I exchanged smiles. Did he like stepping out of his old self as much as I did?
TL grabbed the duffel bag that contained all our equipment for the mission. He’d had an Ushbanian IPNC contact deliver it to the hotel’s front desk. “Three bedrooms. David and I will bunk in the one next to the door. Jonathan by the balcony. GiGi in the middle.” The guys each grabbed one of my beige leather suitcases, and I retrieved my matching carry-on. Why anyone needed so much luggage stretched beyond my comprehension. Apparently, models did, though.
Odd how I’d lived my whole life out of one knocked-around, dinged, Goodwill hard case.
They deposited my things in the middle bedroom, and it occurred to me that TL had put me in the center on purpose. Probably so they could protect me if anything happened. Another reality check. Bad guys might break in.
I wandered into my private bathroom with its whirlpool tub, white marble sink, blue tiles, and shiny gold fixtures. It was pretty darn fancy for a restroom.
Oooh, expensive body wash and shampoo. Imported from France.
Snatching them off the counter, I unscrewed the caps, inhaled . . . freesia. My favorite. And a loofah to go with it!
“Hey.” David tapped on the open bathroom door. “Want me to help you unpack?”
Quickly, I fumbled everything back, my stomach fluttering with embarrassment. He’d caught me excited over shampoo and a loofah. I could be such a dork. “Um, that’s okay. I can handle it.”
“You sure? I didn’t think you knew how. You’re still living out of that ratty suitcase at the ranch.”
Who was he? The suitcase police? “I got it. I’m fine.” How hard could it be to hang up some clothes and put stuff in drawers? He held up his hands. “All right.”
The doorbell buzzed, and everyone broke into action. David and I sprinted to the living room. He grabbed his camera from his bag and trucked it over to the balcony windows. I snatched a fashion magazine from the coffee table and plopped down on the couch. Jonathan whipped out his cell phone and slipped onto a wrought-iron bar stool. We were all in our preassigned positions, ready for any possibility.
TL peered through the peephole. He turned back to us and blinked his left eye twice. Our signal that one of Romanov Schalmosky’s men stood outside. My heart raced with the knowledge that a real, live bad guy loomed only a few feet away.
TL rubbed his chin, then brushed imaginary lint from his shoulder. Get into character. David lifted his camera and began clicking off pictures. I quickly popped gum in my mouth and proceeded to flip through the magazine, as bored and spoiled as ever. Jonathan struck up a fake conversation on his cell phone. TL slipped on his shades and opened the door.
The bad guy stepped into our suite. I tried to seem indifferent to the intrusion, but jeez, the guy was huge. Like an evil-power-lifter kind of huge.
“Mizz Jade January?”
Cool Count Dracula accent. I blew a bubble and snapped it. “Yeah?”
“Joo are cordially invited to Mizter Schalmosky’s home.” He cut his gaze to David, Jonathan, TL, then back to me. “Alone.”
[9]
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Ow! I scowled down at TL’s hand squeezing my forearm, then over at him. He gave me a barely discernible shake of the head. How had he done that? How’d he know I zoned out?
I glanced at my watch. Exactly thirty-seven minutes and two seconds had passed since we left our hotel room.
The elevator in Romanov’s castle dinged, and his goon motioned us to step out. I clicked my brain cells into focus and promised myself I wouldn’t let my thoughts veer again. I really did need to work on that. Getting sidetracked was one of my biggest weaknesses. Especially at some of the most inopportune moments, like this one. When I was about to meet the ultimate bad guy, Romanov Schalmosky.
Thank God TL had insisted on coming. Thank God Romanov’s goon let him. As my bodyguard, it actually made a lot of sense for TL to escort me. David and Jonathan, however, stayed at the hotel. Having our team split up made me edgy. Maybe that’s why my mind had wandered to code. TL had trained me for just this sort of thing, but reality sure differed from simulation. A lot. We strode down a long tiled-floor hallway lined with gleaming wood walls. I concentrated on holding my head high and shoulders back like the modeling instructor had taught me. At the very end of the hallway stood a door. It slowly opened as we approached.
I fought the urge to scope out the cameras. How else would they have known to open the door? Unless they’d installed potentio detectors in the floor or maybe laser sensors in the walls. Neat. My pulse raced with geeky tech excitement. I started to reach for my notepad and pencil at the exact same second I remembered I wasn’t GiGi. I was Jade January, model. And models didn’t carry notepads and pencils.
Another one of Romanov’s goons, as huge as the first one, appeared in the open doorway holding a machine gun. My eyes and mouth popped open in sync. TL stepped in front, shielding me, and I grabbed onto the back of his suit jacket and scooted in close. Exactly what GiGi or Jade January would’ve done.
Goon number one, standing behind us, spoke to Goon number two with the machine gun. Their Ushbanian sounded deep and guttural, like they had a bad cold. Whatever Goon number one said made Goon number two move aside.
“Joo may enter,” said Goon number one. “Mizter Schalmosky iz waiting.”
TL slid his hand around and dislodged my fingers from his jacket. Reluctantly I released him, but wanted more than anything to stay pressed up securely against him.
As we entered a tiny waiting room, another door automatically opened, and a woman appeared. She was small, business-sophisticated, with Hawaiian features and shiny dark hair slicked back into a low bun.
“Good afternoon, Miss January.” The beautiful woman extended her hand, and I shook it. “My name is Nalani Kai. I’m Mr. Schalmosky’s personal assistant. Please don’t be frightened by the formalities.” She indicated Goon number one and Goon number two with a nod.
I couldn’t help but smile at her. Her friendly demeanor eased my nerves. “Thank you for inviting me.”
She nodded again graciously, and focused beyond my shoulder to where TL stood. Although her expression didn’t change, I got the distinct impression she thought my bodyguard had it going on. Hey, he’s a hottie, I wanted to tell her, go for it. They seemed about the same age. Why not?
Oh, yeah, she worked for the bad guys. Bummer. Maybe she didn’t know they were bad. She seemed too nice to be working for the other side.
Nalani led us down another gleaming wood hallway and around a corner. She motioned us to proceed through an archway into an office as big as our living room back at the ranch. Straight ahead at a desk sat a gray-haired man dressed in a dark suit.
Behind him a bank of windows looked out over an indoor garden. Beyond that, snow drifted against the greenhouse walls. A stone fireplace to the right warmed the room to the point of too hot.
The gray-haired man peered up from his paperwork as we entered. Yellow tinted his skin. Beside him sat an oxygen tank. A tube ran from it into his nose.
He nodded at Nalani. “Zank you. Zat’ll be all.” Cool Count Dracula accent, like his goons. “Joo, sir”—he nodded to TL—“may stand against zee back wall.”
As TL moved to the rear of the
room, I wondered how he liked being given an order when he was always the one in command. The gray-haired man came around the front of the desk, rolling his oxygen tank with him. It clicked, sending out an audible burst of oxygen.
He stood eye level with me as he extended his hand. “Velcome to my home. I am Romanov Schalmosky.” His spooky, pitch-black eyes sent a chill dancing down my spine.
I accepted his hand. Omigod, I’m shaking hands with THE bad guy. “Thank you for inviting me, Mr. Schalmosky. I’m Jade January. So nice to meet you.”
“Please, call me Romanov.”
“Thank you, Romanov. Feel free to call me Jade.”
He shook his head. “I vill call you Mizz January.”
Okay. “As you wish.”
He indicated the two brown leather chairs in front of his desk. I sat in one and he took the other. He held out his hand, and I stared at it a second . . . oh!
Ick. I have to hold hands with him?
Trying my best to act flattered that he wanted to hold hands with me, I reached out. He placed my palm on his knee and with a pat, settled his cool, dry hand on top. I fought the urge to glare at TL.
“Mizz January, I like to meet vith all my models before their debut at my school. I enjoy a superior reputation for producing zee best of zee best. You vill maintain zee upmost ladylike demeanor. If any of my associates tell me differently, you vill be returned to zee States without any questions asked. Do vee understand each other?”
I swallowed the enormous nervous lump in my throat.
“Yes, sir.”
“It iz your place to look pretty and be a lady. If you have a tendency to snoop, correct zee imperfection now. If I catch you somevhere you are not supposed to be, you vill suffer zee consequences.”
Consequences? What consequences?
He patted my hand. “Zere. Enough said. You vill be famous. I guarantee it. All my models are.”
I didn’t want to be famous. I wanted to get the H-E-double-L out of here. This guy scared the crap out of me.
“Get some rest. Take zee day off. Tomorrow night I am hozting a party for all my models. I know your agent and photographer traveled vith you. They are more than velcome to attend.” He lifted my hand from his knee and pressed wet lips to the back of it.
Yuk.
“And you, my love, vill be my date.”
What?!
David approached TL and me as we entered our hotel suite. “We downloaded new intel from Chapling,” David said as we closed the door. “The statue and microsnipet may be at Romanov’s home.”
Numbly, I shuffled to my room.
“What’s wrong with her?” I heard David ask. “What happened?”
I sank down on my bed, staring at the red carpet. Machine guns. Big, scary goons. A creepy old guy with a not-so-cool Count Dracula accent and spooky, pitch-black eyes. Consequences if I snooped. And you, my love, vill be my date.
With a nauseated stomach, I closed my eyes and lay back. What had I been thinking, accepting this mission? I was in way over my head. Calm, cool, and collected were not in my vocabulary. I was scared out of my genius mind. Seriously, TL had to find someone else. He had to. I couldn’t do this.
As I rolled over and curled up on the bed, TL’s words echoed through my head. From the start, you proved to be adept at your cover. You went about your day-to-day activities smoothly, naturally, and without second thoughts. It’s almost as if you’ve been here for months instead of a few weeks. I’m impressed with how seamlessly you merged into this world.
I wouldn’t be sending you if I didn’t have complete confidence in your ability. Always remember that.
Whether I wanted it or not, our nation’s security depended on this mission. TL had put all his faith in me. David needed my skills to find his dad.
“Hey.”
I opened my eyes. David stood alongside the bed, staring down at me.
“TL told me what happened. You’re going to be fine, GiGi. None of us will let anything happen to you. I promise. I know seeing all this stuff in real life is scary as hell. Especially for someone like you. I grew up in this world. You’ve been a part of it for only a couple of months. No one I know has ever been thrown into a mission in such a short time. We all recognize that. But let me tell you something. The IPNC would never have sent you, no matter the time crunch of the mission, if they weren’t completely confident you would do it. Okay? You can do this. I know you can.”
If Mr. Share weren’t involved, would David still be saying all this? Immediately I pushed the negative question from my mind. Of course, he would still be saying it. Last thing I needed was to question my own teammates.
“Thanks.” I sat up. Okay. I could do this. I could.
David smiled. “You’re welcome. We have nothing to do but wait for this party. Romanov has left strict orders that none of the models leave the hotel until tomorrow night.”
“Must be nice to order people around like that.”
David chuckled. “Yeah, really. If you feel like cards, come on out.”
I took a long bath instead and then tried to get some sleep. The next day, I gave myself a manicure and pedicure. I practiced my modeling walk. I practiced putting on makeup. I keyed code. I watched a little TV. I tried to sleep, but didn’t. When room service arrived, I ate a little bit. I went back over everything in my mind. I’d never been so wound up in my life. I just wanted everything to be over with.
All three guys tried talking to me. I couldn’t focus on a conversation. I managed to sleep some. And finally, finally, it was time to get ready for the party.
I dug in my purse for a lollipop and the “cheat sheet.” Here, Audrey had said, handing me the paper. This will help you know what to wear when.
I had never used a cheat sheet before in my life. How ridiculous was it that I needed one for clothing?
After slipping the banana lollipop in my mouth, I scanned the typed paper. Two columns. The left column listed all the possible functions, situations, or outings I would encounter as a model. The right column detailed which outfit and accessories I should wear.
Party at Romanov’s home I found on the left, looked across to the right . . . One-piece silver jumpsuit.
I groaned. I hated the silver jumpsuit. I felt like Wonder Woman in it.
Forty-five minutes later I emerged from my room all super-hero, complete with silver stilettos and dangling diamond earrings. Too bad the front of the jumpsuit V-necked down between my boobs. It was like zero degrees outside. What I really needed to be wearing was a turtleneck and a pair of flannel-lined pants. “I’m ready.”
TL, Jonathan, and David all glanced up from the living room, where they sat discussing a map. No one uttered a word. They just stared at me.
Automatically, my brain clicked through a checklist, making sure I hadn’t forgotten something.
Hair not in ponytail. Check.
Makeup. Check.
Earrings. Check.
Underwear. Check.
Jumpsuit zipped. Che—
Jonathan let out a low, slow whistle. “Zowee, girl. If I were twenty years younger, you’d have to beat me off with a stick.”
“Oh.” My face heated with his compliment. I immediately looked at David, but he diverted his gaze.
TL rose from the couch. “I need to throw on a tie. Give her the devices.”
He headed to his room and disappeared inside.
Jonathan followed. “TL, one last thing . . .” he was saying as he left David and me alone.
David grabbed two black boxes from the end table, one square and one rectangular, and crossed the room to me. “You’ll wear two pieces of equipment tonight. A tracking device and the microsnipet detector.”
David flipped the top on the square box. Inside lay a tiny brown flake. He pressed his index finger to it. “It’s a freckle. As long as this stays on your body, I’ll—I mean, we’ll know where you are.”
He took a step closer, and his cologne zinged my synapses. In my stilettos, w
e stood eye to eye. He searched my face, neck, and chest. “So . . . so where do you want it?”
Was it possible I affected him more than he let on? My heart danced a happy pitter-patter.
“It should be your neck or chest. Unlike cotton fabrics, some, like this with metallic threads, tend to interrupt the signal, and you were in a cotton turtleneck yesterday. Romanov has seen your face. He’ll know if there’s something different. So neck or chest?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. His nearness made me mute. I shook my head.
“Saliva adheres it.” He touched his tongue to it and then pressed the brown flake to my collarbone. As he held it there, his dark gaze traveled slowly up my neck and face and locked onto my eyes. We stared at each other with only inches of space between us. I became hyperaware of his moist finger, his breath skittering across my cheek, and my heart pounding so hard it reached my ears.
“Ready.” TL emerged from his room, followed by Jonathan. “Got the finger pads?”
“Uh…” David took a quick step back, and I grabbed onto a bar stool to steady myself. “Yeah. Right here.”
He opened the rectangular box. Side by side lay the four transparent pads that I had assisted Chapling in developing. One for each of us, specially designed for our middle fingers. Thin, silicone-based, invisible once in place. Activated by magnetics. They were programmed to send a quick, hot jolt if one of us touched the statue containing the microsnipet.
David passed the box around. I pressed my middle finger to the remaining pad, and it suctioned on like it had a life of its own.
TL checked his watch. “Let’s go.”
Our black limo drove through town out into the country. For miles around nothing existed but fields and woods, everything white from a fresh winter snow. We pulled up to Romanov’s castle exactly twenty-seven minutes and thirteen seconds later. I knew this because timekeeping was part of David’s job, and he’d just told us.
We cleared the guards and entered the iron gates. Where it had been empty yesterday, shiny cars now lined the cobblestone driveway. Even in the nighttime, the vibrant colors stood out. Red Rolls-Royce. White Ferrari. Yellow Porsche. Orange Mercedes. And the variety went on and on.
Model Spy Page 10
