Spying With Sir

by Judy Jarvie

  “She hates me. The only thing she’ll prep me for is my funeral—probably by peeling off my skin while on a spit.”

  My own jaw ticks. “She’s a skilled, trained professional with a remit to ensure you are up to speed with basic self-defense knowledge.”

  She looks as reassured as a guinea pig watching a cobra slide into the next seat at the dinner table. My heart hammers like it does on a job suddenly gone south. Because I’m distracted by mental images of Kate. I should know better. Ignore my gut tightening every time she evades my eye contact with disgust.

  The only ninja here is that inked woman—a black, intricate, temptation of a tattoo. Yet now she plays collected, taking notes in shorthand and keeping contact cursory. While I’m barely holding on to a few fried brain cells.

  “Questions?”

  She doesn’t answer. Just shakes her head.

  “Can I get you anything further—anything you need?”

  Again. Blanked with a bored stare and a shut down.

  My thoughts race. I’ve gotta get my ass together before I screw another mission. I can’t get turned on by a woman I can’t have, especially now. My brain skids out at the corner of fuck-fried crazy, knowing I’ve messed up on all levels.

  * * * *

  “Yo, Draven! Deaf ears!”

  “Sir would fit better. You angling for a warning, or just fucking with death?”

  It’s Havana. For someone with the hots for me, she has a funny way of nailing my attention. She’s head to toe in black, wearing a turtleneck and jeans so tight she must have used a spray paint or a shoe horn. She’d drive most men to horny distraction, I figure. She’s more of colleague sister than sex-bomb to me. Given her greeting, her seductive lines need work. I hold off telling her. I’ve made enough mistakes today.

  “So, Hav. What ya after?” It’s hot in here and she’s offering me a chilled bottle of fruit water. I glug it down. “Thanks.”

  “Listen, I’m sorry ‘bout last night. I got things wrong.” Apology. From Hav. Did not see this coming.

  “Forget it. We’re good.”

  She nods and narrows kohl-rimmed eyes that don’t stay on mine. It’s the only eye make-up she wears, but she more than makes up for it with the depth of application and Egyptian mystery. “Wanna say I won’t get in your way. It’s obvious you dig her. Kate seems an okay type for a civilian.”

  “Huh?” Exsqueeze me?

  “You and whatsherface reporter.”

  I let a pause hang. Incredulous that Havana would ever talk of personal stuff. Especially to me. Appalled that I’m being called out at work about Kate.

  She continues, “She likes you—looks mutual to me. Go for it. Rocco agrees. We’ve talked and decided what you two do, s’up ta you. We’re backin’ off.”

  “You’re giving me dating advice? You and Rocco—did I miss the flying pigs outside? Has some alien landed and taken over your crazy mind?”

  “Shut it, Bullet.” She pushes me and near lands me into the wall. I suspect I’ll be bruised, woman doesn’t know her strength. Or her station. “I’m serious. You need a girl to soften your edges.” She needs a course in staff relations and manual handling.

  “Thanks. But there’s nuthin’ doin’—I’m all work, no play.” I get back to working on cleaning my SIG. “You will look after her with the self-defense stuff. No catty female stuff. She’s fit but she’d not used to our kinda shit.”

  “Course. She’ll be cool. She’s no wuss—for a civilian. I’m not gonna bawl her out. Or kick her ass in private as pay-back. Though come to think of it…” She grins to show she’s kidding.

  “Covering bases. Thank God she won’t have a gun. She needs to stay safe though.”

  “She’s cool underneath the fake ‘tude. Bet she could take a decent shot if she had to. She’s pretty smart.” Hav grins, then it fades. “I’m stressed, hell, we all are about the mission. But if you like her, that’s cool. I got your back.”

  Shit. I’ve never had talks like this with the team. I’m railing at myself for blowing things with being too obvious.

  “You’re saying I’ve blown it. If you’re readin’ me. I’ve messed.”

  “What you gonna do? Act like you hate her and kidnap her for a kiss session? You’re a livin’ breathing male with needs.”

  I shake my head. This convo is giving me ick in the first degree. “Shouldn’t be doing this.”

  “Ever heard of the great sex stress reliever? Have to say I’m angling for some myself.” Shit unlimited. I really do not want to be giving this airtime. I almost daren’t look up at her, but when I do she’s smiling. Havana Martinez—smiling like a goon. I’m getting her drift there’s been developments.

  “You tellin’ me you’re hot for Roc? Is this it?”

  “Kinda like your blessing.”

  At least she’s over her hots for me. Which is a relief. “Consider it blessed. I’m stoked you worked it out at long last. I’m cool with it as long as we back the hell up on talking about it ever again.”

  “Okay. Just wanted to be clear.” A smirk twitches behind her poker-faced stern suit.

  “And since we’re being so clear,” I add. “The Kate things stays on the ice—mission first. But ‘bout Rocco—he likes you bad. Give the guy a break—don’t screw him around, Hav. I know you—you get all cool and shady when somebody comes on strong. Tell me the sitch? Say you aren’t fakin’ this?”

  She swipes me just as hard as the first time. I swear. A bruise bonanza on the way. Embalming with arnica in my future.

  “Quit the punches there. What’s to hide?”

  Her gaze doesn’t meet mine. “Yeah. So I like him. We kissed. So what. It was awesome. There’ll be more happening on that soon too.”

  I’m grinning. I never grin when Hav’s around. This is a first. Wow. Epiphany Central. Havana is so not the epiphany type. She looks at me with slanted eyes, but there’s a spark, as if she’s just woken up to a very stark fact. About him or her, I’m not sure which. Like hearing planet Earth is round or somethin’. Or the moon isn’t made of spiced deli cheese. “Rockman doesn’t have a heart. But he does have other parts that are taking my interest.”

  “Don’t hurt him. His heart is tender for a tough guy.”

  She does that ‘whoa brother’ expression again. “Seriously, man.”

  “Plain as the nose on my face. It goes deep for him with you.”

  “You have a damn ugly nose. But your teeth are even, and the white smile makes up for it.” She grins yet again. As if she’s just been given a book of free grin vouchers.

  “Can’t be too perfect. Or they’d want me for movies. You have a guy with a big, ugly crush on you. Do something with that. Damn straight.”

  “We’ll see. We’re good now?”

  “We’re good. Don’t tell Rocco I said…he’ll hit me. I gotta protect these teeth.”

  “Need to go—cleaning duty at Katsaros’ place shortly. Better go find my mops and crappy clothes so I’m dressed like shit again.”

  “Take care, Hav.” We exchange fist bumps and Havana stomps away. Some days she looks like a badass model from a Paris runway—others she’s the meanest assassin ninja harpy that preys on the criminal kind. If she takes my advice, Rocco’s life may never be the same.

  I carry on gun cleaning, realizing I’ve just had Hav’s blessing. Not that I needed it. WTF? What is this, Agent Dates Dot Com?

  But Kate’s vulnerable. She’s in my charge. I stopped the escalation on the bed. Maybe I am desperate to push deep inside her wet heat… Move beyond molten kisses, to tail chemistry strong enough to detonate a lab. God knows it’s enough to make my nuts ache. Which they are again now. Shit.

  In a warped fantasy zone that appreciates a hot body and a dazzling smile, she rings bells. But my nuts can stay tight and flirt, and fuck ops can’t be pursued, whatever Hav and Roc suggest.

  I holster my weapon. Heading off to find Kate now, thankful that soon Hav will have her in hand. I’ll be in control and ou
t of her line of fire.

  * * * *

  Kate

  Ivan escorts me to the refectory for tea when Dan is summoned by his boss. In contrast to Dan’s grim reaper macho air, Ivan takes the escort thing to the next level. Hanging on my every word and being so attentive it’s like having a Siamese twin butler who wants to win badges in excellence. But the touching my arm thing really munches on my irritable nibbles.

  “Tea or coffee—we have a wide selection.”

  “Tea. Thanks.”

  “We have breakfast, Earl Grey, Herbal, Green.” Ivan blinks at me, smiling beguilingly. “Or a great array of coffees worthy of any Italian barista’s coffee bar menu.”

  “No coffee, thanks. An Earl Grey would be amazing. No milk.”

  Ivan smiles and stalls. “Biscuits, cakes or scones.” He nods toward plates under domed glass display lids and doesn’t budge.

  “Seriously? Is this a five star hotel or a Santorini agent lair? This is a bit extreme.”

  Ivan gets way too close to my face. I can smell his scent, feel his breath too close. Ick.

  “Can it not be both? We aim to please. Warbie stocks us with all our favorite items. Whatever you fancy can be arranged.”

  I jump back. I’m getting tired now. He’s being overbearing. “No, I don’t need anything to eat.”

  Warbie comes to stand over me. Then flits Ivan away with a shooing hand. Perhaps he’s seen my discomfort? Now his apron has poodles. His expression is hang dog. Kinda ironic.

  “What’s up, Katiepie? You seem tired and irritable, cherub, if you don’t mind me observing.”

  “Thanks for that… Nothing like an encouraging chat passing on that I look shit to cheer me up. Didn’t sleep much, if you must know, so it’s allowed.”

  Warbie makes an ‘oh I get it’ face. “Let me make you a juice? I call my combo an Energy Zinger and it’ll put the ping in your pep in no time. I’ll add ginger, and tonight, I’ll make you a sleep brew too. You’ll be right as rain soon.”

  “Okay. The juice would be good. No to drugging sleep tea. I’ll pass on the Earl Grey now, too.”

  Ivan’s definitely miffed at Warbie muscling in, and he surprises us both by stamping back to the sink and throwing the cup noisily inside with a clatter. Somebody’s having a cranky-wank.

  “No offence,” I add. “Just juice and tea don’t mix.”

  “Sure you don’t want a biscuit, we have many varieties? May I not fetch you a blanket or a heat pad for your eyes? Perhaps some chocolates or a fruit platter?”

  Jeez. Ease up there, Norway Boy. “I’m fine. Thanks. Enough already. Go scale a building or work on your Spiderman stunts.”

  I get up, seeing a pile of magazines and newspapers on a nearby table. They’re probably days old but anything from the outside world is seriously tempting. I notice Ivan moves with me. Is he going to be a shadow for the rest of life as I know it?

  He doesn’t choose a newspaper, but when I go back to sit down he does too. Then he sits down opposite me and stares.

  “What? Stop this, will you?”

  He shrugs. “Nothing. Just doing my job. Keeping you cared for.”

  But I wasn’t born yesterday. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing at all.” He blinks at me and I stare, using my evil eye stare that always works in interviews to get to the root of a news story. Ivan sheepishly averts his gaze. “Orders from Sir. I’m not to let you stray too far… Surveillance at all times.”

  I throw my hands up, finally pissed right off. “I’m in subterranean prison. Where the hell am I going to sneak? The toilet? Heaven forbid!”

  “Orders are orders.”

  Now I’m hurt too. Both at Ivan and at Dan. Sir is going to get a very large piece of my mind, and a good deal of shouting to contend with before I’m done.

  Ivan knows he’s vexed me and he puts a hand out to touch my arm.

  “I’m sorry. Let’s not fight. Come on, Katie, you’re tired and stressed, and you’ve been hunched-up. Let me iron out your tired neck muscles.”

  Ivan’s on me in a blink. Who knew he was a masseuse as well as the wall-climbing agent in the dream team? But wow—those digits are crazily effective. He works his fingers deep into the flesh of my shoulders and elicits a moan. Then he rubs and pounds.

  I’m letting it all go and he’s only just begun. I breathe a long sensuous sigh of approval. “Man—you really are good. You should do this for money!”

  “Maybe you could just pay me in kind, mmm?” he whispers. More creep than a convention of creepy creepers.

  My tense muscles and tattoo reveal incident regrets are melting away under practiced, able fingers that are inducing a magic relaxation zing.

  “How did you get to be good at this? Part of the training?”

  “Used to go out with a great masseuse. She taught me everything! In a great many ways. I’ll give deep pressure sometime. Might involve me walking on your spine. Always better done fully naked of course.”

  And why are those the exact words Dan hears when he walks through the door of the refectory—looking right at me melting into a puddle of myself on the seat. He stiffens, death glares Ivan and stomps around the room like Attila the Carnage-Hungry Hun with a migraine.

  Ivan softly instructs, “We should stop now.” His fingers are gone. But the pungent reek of riled male on a path of mass destruction pervades.

  “There’s a dodgy, cricky bit in the center caused by an old trampoline accident in my teens that needs it most!” I say too loud. Every male head in the room turns and zeros in on me. “I’ve struggled with my left shoulder for years—you have my permission to get on it and give it welly!”

  “Guess the massage is over,” says Warbie, righting my blissed-out state by pushing a cold glass of water before me. “Wake up call for Katie.”

  “Ivan, we need to talk,” says Dan. He’s modelling the pissed-off mask of death to max effect. Like a nasty fight could kick off anytime soon, involving skull cracking. Ivan’s already scarpered from the room with Dan pacing behind, and Warbie’s now coming back at me with an enormous green gunk drink, looking like the most Hell’s Angel cabana boy in history. The straw in it is pink, with a flamingo and a parasol.

  “For me—you shouldn’t have.” I’m going to need to hold my nose on this one.

  “Sort you out in no time, drink!” he orders. “Get rid of all those toxins.”

  “Keep watch with Kate,” says Dan over his shoulder. “No disappearing acts. No funny stuff.” Then he departs.

  What does he think I am? A clown escape artist? “This place gets freakier by the second.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Warbie replies.

  I’ve woken up in a Subterranean Spy Spa. Where massage turns to fraught feuds and everybody’s so nutso my sanity’s on the line.

  “Drink up!” says Warbie nodding to my brew.

  I close my eyes, tip it, and it’s every bit as gruesome as I’ve dreaded.

  “Renaming your recipe in honor of this place,” I splutter, “Viscous, Venomous and Vile.”

  * * * *

  She has the grace of a gazelle. The strength of a tiger. The ferocity of Beyoncé with chronic PMS, plus the ability of a very active and bouncy cricket. “You’re a Tae Kwon Do champ. How am I supposed to compete? I’m a hippo at this stuff.”

  “It’s a simple stance and kick. It’s not rocket reinvention.” She’s standing there like Angelina Jolie’s stunt double. C’mon. Get realz.

  “It is to me.”

  Havana places palms on hips, then nods and shows me her move again. She grabs my lapels, then leg-strikes me to take me off balance. I wobble and fall on the mat with a loud slap and much winding.

  She laughs. “You ain’t even tryin’, girl.”

  “Yeah, regular hyena moment. Thanks for your support. Who did you teacher train with? The Spanish Inquisition? Jean Claude Van Damme?”

  I defy anyone to withstand her techniques, unless they have a cannon and a flamethrower a
s aids.

  “Have confidence in yourself. Balance and mean it. You’re convincing yourself to fail before you begin. I figured you were better than that.”

  She kicks out at the punch bag near us and near sends it through the wall.

  Easy for her to do. I try to mimic but mine’s more Hong Kong Phooey than Bruce Lee. I don’t need more Body Combat classes—I need a week with the Martial Arts Triads and iron limbs.

  Havana puts a hand out to pull me up. “You’re way too hard on yourself. Why are you so scared of stuffing up?” Her expressionless face is its usual mask of no giveaways.

  Wow. There’s a question. Why am I this hard on me?

  Having a dad linked with shame develops iron armor and a desire never to earn negative attention again. Living a life in secret, hiding from the past that scares you, does that too. So failing makes me fall apart inside. It’s why I’ve always striven to be as good as I can be. I need to stay strong, to make things a success. I need to be great and show the word I don’t care and I can do this.

  Then, when I know I suck, I back off.

  Like with Dan now. Game over.

  “Let’s just say, as a kid I had more reason to prove myself than most. To keep face for Mum.”

  Hav nods. “Me too. Single parent, huh?”

  “Yes, she went through too much for me to ever show it when I was hurting. But I did. At school they bullied the newcomer. Then somebody spread a rumor.”

  It’s always been my secret mantra. My fight song—my heart’s plea. Keep it inside and don’t show weakness.

  Just get through it. Don’t admit you’re hurting fit to fall.

  “Katie. If you apply and let me show you, I know you’ll nail this. For what it’s worth, my brother got in with a bad lot—neighborhood gangs. Mom took it real bad and he wound up dead—made me be a cop.” She stares at me hard. I’m so shocked, I put my hand to my mouth. “Trying your hardest can’t hurt, can it?”

  I try it and it works. Possibly because I’ve just pulled up socks majorly and given Hav her full dose of double respect. She nods, but I see a tiny flicker in her features that tells me she’s jazzed I’m getting it.