Spying With Sir

by Judy Jarvie

  Dan watches me. “I’m told viewer ratings for your show are up. You don’t have to do Mel’s bidding and suck up. Far from it.”

  “You and Mel—let’s have a showdown when we get back and see who wins?” I tease. “I think it could just be her.”

  We smile as our eyes meet and Dan grins. A swift resurgence of the melting feeling returns. But we’ll get through this job. We’re going to Santorini with a truce agreed, and all I need is to make a bad story brilliant—just as I did before with Seb. Like I’ve done with Slash. When it comes to cover ups I’m a World Class pro. I concentrate on my book—Izzy’s blockbuster. Instantly, we both stare because it’s in my lap and what I thought was a cringe response with the tears was nothing. The blurred cover is suddenly easy to discern. What I thought was a shadow is a nipple and a rubber dildo. Loud and clear.

  I gasp as my toes curl.

  Dan’s staring and I’m watching his shock.

  Why haven’t I noticed before? But it was abstract and now it’s startling. The nipple is erect, shining and moistened. The dildo is a big, black pleasure truncheon with no apology. Or mistaking it.

  “Hard-core reading,” says Dan.

  I can’t reply. I’m mute with mortification. My cheeks sting they’re so hot.

  “I know the author,” I stammer.

  Dan chuckles. A low sexy rumble that’s hard to ignore. The flight attendants step forward for the safety guidelines, but we’re laughing.

  “Should keep you up,” he observes. “Interesting taste in friends.”

  “She’s a teacher.”

  “Bet she is.” It’s just getting worse.

  Dan watches me, then nods as if he’s read my mind, complete with subtitles and a take-home pamphlet. His jaw twitches, but I can’t hold his gaze because I’m too busy flushing like a menopausal women’s club on a hen night in a sauna. But bluster beats defeat.

  Izzy Tennant. Thanks. Just thanks.

  “Ruddy priceless,” I mutter.

  Team awesome.

  * * * *

  We finally arrive in Santorini under a climbing moon that causes magical shards to sparkle on an inky sea. The island’s charms are evident, even by night, and a cab is waiting to take us onwards to a villa that’s been booked, Dan tells me. So much for my usual slumming it in economy-rate hotels.

  This is Greek paradise found—with postcard views. From sea vistas to quaint village-scapes—no sold out commercialism, but a cocooning sanctuary.

  “In daylight Oia will be show-stopping,” I tell Dan, who’s standing nearby, looking broody before a view that should be blowing him away.

  “Should be. Though we’re not here for sightseeing.”

  “A little won’t hurt.”

  “Ready to get in the car?” I sense he’s disinclined to linger. But this is the first breath of fresh sea air I’ve had in a long time, so I’m reluctant to speed away. I motion to the cab and waiting driver.

  “Sorry—is he charging by the minute? Wow. Your PA really is prepared—that’s what I call an executive chauffeur. I’m not used to this treatment,” I observe the driver in shades and a suit. He snaps to attention and helps with the luggage as if we’re visiting dignitaries. Though why Dan is helping store luggage in the boot seems odd. After all, this guy would shine his shoes if asked. Why have a pooch and bark yourself?

  The driver had handed Dan two cases at the airport, come to think of it. Titanium, fit for a movie prop room. Maybe it’s Dan’s bespoke toiletry case? I smile, imagining him with a Harrods high-spec shaving kit preference.

  “Tavi has been assigned as our driver for the trip,” Dan confides. “Time to leave.”

  I nod. Mostly because I don’t know what else I can say. I’ve never had my own driver. In fact, I’ve sometimes taken public transport on jobs. This is a new league of special. He must sense my mixed feelings.

  “Pays to have things covered,” Dan tells me, then cups my elbow when he slides inside the car. The touch sears me. Yowk. Which is mad because he’s just doing what he does best. He’s a hot, wealthy toxic blow to my sanity. With wrecking ball potential.

  And my reactions are most likely because I’ve spent the flight reading a full-on erotica novel that’s singed my privates in its intensity. I’d’ve stopped, but I had no other reading matter, bar the Greek Brides Special. I’m impressed at Izzy’s writing, though. At one point I could feel the sweat run between my breasts—as Dan sat unaware beside me while I worked to resist creaming like a rampant chick starved of personal attention.

  Dan stares at me now. How does he manage to make my thoughts feel inspected and found lacking? As if he is head boy and I’m errant rebel pupil?

  “We do need to go,” he says again. Why the rush and fuss?

  “You probably come to places like this all the time,” I say, as the driver takes us in our cream leather-lined limousine along a dusty dark road off the main Santorini drag. “Being the corporate tiger. Jet set life. Villas and yachts all over the world? You probably always stay in the exclusive joints?”

  “One desk is pretty much like another. I don’t get out as much as you think.”

  “Shame we’re not staying in Oia,” I tell him. “It’s so pretty. I’d hoped to explore and buy some souvenirs.”

  “I don’t think you’ll have any complaints when you see where we’re staying,” he answers. Call me psychic, but I detect a frisson of unease. Call it the tic in his left jaw and the corded muscles in his neck. Then he sees me watching, and it’s gone like a magician’s illusion.

  “We’re going to get fantastic footage,” he says, but I confirm in his tone that he is far from relaxed.

  “You okay?” What’s up with him?

  “Fine.” But I know he’s not. He’s watch-checking. He points into the distance. “That’s where we’re staying, Villa Missori.”

  I whistle between my teeth. Wowzer. Visible as a white dot on the landscape, but I’m in no doubt that when we get there it’ll be a Greek castle with all the modern shinies thrown in.

  “That’s what I call assignment pay-off,” Dan tells me next to my ear. His gravel tones are a sensual caress. Unfortunately my womb is listening and kinda partial, and a bit hungry for tuck-in time. “Like it any better now?”

  Don’t speak to me that way when my pussy is craning and listening.

  I can smell him. Citrus, musk, spice. I recognize cedar notes, and it makes my nipples peak. I’m turned on from just a whisper, a sniff and a touch—how easy am I?

  I blame Izzy’s book—on return she’s so gonna pay.

  I pull myself together. Yeah, right. Get a grip. I move out of his allure zone. Our ultra-swank accommodation looms ahead. It hangs starkly upon a clifftop to hijack the best views on the island and show off its majestic charms. The road is clear and the scenery is less like the Oia I know from tourist photos, but even better for the stark solitude.

  “So far out?”

  “This is no ordinary assignment,” Dan answers.

  “Meaning?”

  “You’ll be fully briefed in due course.”

  “Dan?”

  His gray eyes meet mine. My mind is too caught up in helter-skelter thoughts about what he’s not saying to fully focus on the questions I should be asking.

  “Are you telling me that I don’t know the full story here?”

  Dan’s lips become a thin line. “Things will be clearer shortly. As for this place, it belongs to a friend of my father’s. The best sea views. We’ll have our own car and driver. Excellent security, which is paramount in this situation.”

  “So no wandering the alleyways of Santorini in downtime…” I remark. “I think you need to start telling me what this is all about. Is this because of the Katsaros interview? Are we in danger? Tell me properly what’s going on.”

  He doesn’t answer. I can see in his taut expression he doesn’t intend to. Instead he stares at the house, concentrating on that as he ably ignores me. “Tavi is at your disposal if you wish to explore.
Yes—we are taking precautions because of the nature of this interview. You gotta remember this is no ordinary assignment. All will become clear in due course.”

  But then this must be how tycoon heir billionaires do their thing. Inside, I’m longing to explore the biggest villa I’ll ever have the privilege to visit in my life. But right now I want to know the full script on exactly what he’s talking about. I’m already mentally planning a Jacuzzi selfie for posterity.

  But first I want my answers.

  With perfect timing we drive right up to our palatial villa—a Greek modern architect’s mansion that could throw a party for a hundred without breaking sweat.

  “You can hardly complain about this,” Dan says.

  “Let’s wait and see what’s ahead first, shall we?” I answer.

  I take the hand he offers to help me from the back of the car as the driver goes ahead to open up. This must be what executive drivers do for jet setters. He’s using a security keypad rather than a plain old set of keys. But I’m hardly out of the car when a shot rings out and we both instinctively crouch.

  The shot is so loud I flinch—every cell pretzels inside me with the shock of a real-life gunshot fired so close to my flesh and bone.

  “Fuck!”

  “Tavi!” Dan shouts.

  I glance across to see Tavi lying flat across the threshold of our villa, slumped, oozing dark blood. The villa door is ajar. Who knows where the shot came from, though it sounds as if the rocks to the left of the villa grounds would be first bet. It’s too dark to properly tell.

  But I’m not thinking. My heart’s hammering. I’m on auto-react. Getting into as crouched a ball as I can and trying to get out of the damn way.

  “Holy shit.”

  “Down. Stay down,” Dan orders, and I can’t even see his face. I’m so contorted as Dan drags me behind the car at speed. Lord knows how he does it, except I’m glad of it when I hear and feel bullets hit the road where we were moments before. More shots. Big, live, rattling fired metal that can maim and kill. Somebody is out to do just that. To us.

  But my brain is too occupied with fixating on the fact that our driver has just been shot. I’ve gone into a spasm of shaking and I feel as if I’ve fallen into some crazy, macabre Shitty Wonderland dream. But it’s real—my knees and hands are scratched to hell. One ankle aches but compared to losing your blood? Your life in a single, stalled moment of time?

  “What the hell just happened? Aren’t you going to go see if he’s okay?”

  “He’s not okay. Things just hit a new league of serious,” Dan answers. He’s close. His face is ashen and sculpted with the gravity of the situation.

  “What does that mean?” I lie there, shaking and watching Dan take a gun from his jacket. A gun! Big, scary. I’m so shocked I can’t compute.

  “What the hell, Dan?”

  “Don’t waste your energy talking.” His tone is low. More shots are fired, and these ones hit the car, making me clench up in a tight ball of fear. The sound is unbearable. Stark. Ominous. As serious as it gets.

  “Stay here. Keep your head down. Don’t move.” Dan pulls back the top of his serious and scary-looking gun, slotting ammo, I guess. He places his finger over the trigger, ready for God only knows what.

  “You’ve done this before,” I whisper.

  “Shit, babe. Wish it weren’t true. But trust that I’m also damn good with it. Knew we should’ve told you sooner,” he whispers on a rough breath. “Knew it every step of the fucking way,” he says, looking as grim as I feel. “Do not move an inch. I’ll be back for you—trust me.” He opens the car door and motions for me to crawl inside. “Get in. Stay down. I’m coming back. On no account leave here.”

  We’re in Santorini under a full moon. But it’s not paradise—it’s a living nightmare. And I’m here alone without a roadmap or any answers. Having Dan with me suddenly counts most.

  This Santorini assignment has just dealt a full-on kick in concrete boots.

  Chapter Four

  Dan

  My gun’s in my hand, and it’s a shitfest. Leaving Kate, I edge around the car. I fire twice at the rocks to the east of the villa during a pause in gun fire, but it’s too dark for good sights. My shots hit boulders, but more thunder back.

  Fuckers. Doesn’t help the car’s in a lamp-lit drive. It’s one sniper, maybe two. But it’s having Kate in the mix that’s frying my brain, though I blank it. Taking out assholes with guns is one thing—a civilian woman cargo on my conscience, is a new league of crap.

  I ease out again and aim a pristine shot that’s full on the mark. The shot fires. Bang. No answer.

  My jaw grinds. “C’mon you bastards, what’re you made of? Too easy.”

  No answer but my staccato heartbeat.

  Tavi lies flat out and hasn’t moved. Not a flicker, and he took four shots in the chest so worst-case scenarios are sprinting through my mind.

  I’m dialing Max at HQ Control seconds later. It rings as a volley of bullets hit. One flying right past my ear.

  “Draven? What?” Max. Riled but not rattled.

  “Party’s started. Tavi shot. Get your asses here pronto, pal. Get word to Rich.”

  “Tavi dead?”

  “Enforcements ASAP. Send Havana for Tavi—must be dead. Saw the shots.”

  I pocket the phone, scuttle round the car to the front for a fresh sight. I’m stoked to see the sniper’s buddy clear as I’m gonna get in this light. I aim with calm, detached precision—big flesh-seeking boom.

  The body slumps, though I’d aimed for torso.

  I’m hoping hard Max gets the cavalry pronto—and, as I think it, I retrieve the phone.

  “It’s Redman.” Shit got real? Now our Troika base big boss himself is on the line.

  I fill him in as briefly as I can. “One down. One or more to go.”

  Rich orders, “Get out now. To the cave base—stay there. Two miles, coastal trail. I’ll text directions. Your job is keeping her safe.”

  A fresh volley spurts jagged stone chunks from a nearby planter. My head is white heat with a wet forehead, but I fire back shot for shot. No time for Band-Aids. Cuz this so ain’t gonna stop me.

  I stand and launch three quick-fire bullets in a row at sniper one. These ones are for Tavi. But three shots spit dust in a line inches from my leg that yells time to fly. I hunker and creep round the car. There’s another intensive firing assault as I throw the door open and myself inside. Tavi’s keys dangle in the ignition and cause me to me swallow. He’s saved our balls.

  “Tavi. Gonna nail the bastards in your name.”

  I pull my body to drive position, turn the ignition, find gear and slam my foot on the gas.

  “Outta here. Hold tight, honey. Hold damn well tight.”

  A bullet might shatter the windscreen anytime and black my tomorrows, but I zoom away, trusting in karma—door semi-open, first gear screaming banshee’s revenge.

  “Keep low. Don’t get up yet,” I command.

  But Kate hasn’t surfaced or replied. She doesn’t know we’re headed for an underground cave base, over savage ground, in the dead of night. With no equipment and depleted ammo.

  We’re out. Shaken, and going by the muffled wails of the crying woman on the floor of the car, scared to fuck and back.

  “Gunna be okay, Kate. Gunna be fine.”

  But I sense this assignment may never be okay for her again.

  * * * *

  I take the car into the dense woodland as far as possible. I know these caves, have been there by boat. But on foot with a civilian, in pitch blackness, will be tougher. I spot a clearing ahead, the trail path bathed in moonlight like a promise. I’m thanking the Almighty for that blessing as I get out and round the car to find Kate shaking on its floor.

  “We’ve left those guys behind now, honey. C’mon.” I touch her back, prepared to hug and soothe if she’ll let me. But she shakes me off as if she’s feral and stick-poked.

  She’s working an intense mix of a
nger and tears like the Trevi fountain with a toxic leak. The sight spears my gut because she won’t look at me. Likely blames me as the worst bastard she’s ever had the bad luck to breathe near. She’s probably right. It’s thanks to me she’s just woken up in shooter-shitola.

  “Damn, Kate. We really gotta get outta here, for both our sakes. Those guys are gonna come after us if my team don’t stop them in time—so we gotta move fast.”

  Kate finally meets my gaze, then squeals. “My God. You’re bleeding. Your head!”

  I can’t be hurt because it doesn’t compute. I’d barely registered the sweat I’ve been wiping from my eyes wasn’t sweat at all but blood. I fear it’ll send her into freak zone and I’m charged with keeping her tight and safe.

  I touch the spot gently. “It’s a scratch.”

  But she shoves my handkerchief at me—the one she used on the plane. “It’s bad. You’ll need it attended to.”

  “Don’t sweat it—we have a medic at base. As long as it doesn’t spoil my good looks, hey. You okay now, bud?”

  “Base? What base?” She doesn’t keep eye contact. “How can you joke at a time like this? We? Base? We’ve left our driver lying dead! When were you planning to tell me you carry a gun, buddy?” she adds dryly, but her eyes are saucer bowls of doom that don’t blink. “Tell me what is bloody going on, Dan.”

  “We’ll talk this through like rational adults when I get you to safety. That’s the priority before debrief.”

  “You have some effing nerve.” Her face says ‘yeah not likely’. “Unless I get answers, I go nowhere.”

  I palm my hair. “I’m no dynasty heir, Kate—turned my back on Dad’s boardroom years ago. Cop dreams branded my heart from boyhood and I took ‘em all the way through NYPD to the FBI. But you weren’t supposed to know any of this ‘til you were briefed in Oia. By the top guys in my team—Interpol’s finest. I’m temporarily assigned to Interpol. This is a mission, not a story.”

  “And when the hell does asking my permission to participate come into it?”

  She gapes at me. Her eyes are wild with fire but she stares silently. Then she goes to land me a smack in the chops, but I catch her hand. “Can we save this delight for later and go now? You have to just trust me here—you will get answers—just not this minute. I need to get you somewhere safe, as tasked. Trust me—this is a top-secret, high-priority mission, and I’m charged with keeping you alive.”