The Last Stand of Charlotte Dodd: Fun, Action Chick Lit Spy Saga
Page 1
The
Last Stand
of
Charlotte Dodd
Holly Kerr
www.threebirdspress.ca
The Last Stand of Charlotte Dodd
Chapter One
“There is a right and a wrong in the universe and that distinction is not hard to make.”
Superman
As the final credits roll, I fall in behind a group of teenagers, annoying VSCO girls with their metal straws and colourful scrunchies layered on their arms, trailing popcorn, Skittles and loud laughter in their wake.
I don’t particularly like teenagers, probably because I’m a little afraid of them. Me—Charlotte Dodd, the number one agent of the Canadian National Intelligence and Information Agency, is afraid of the segment of the population aged 13-18.
No, make that under sixteen. After all, I was a pretty bad-ass seventeen-year-old.
I trail behind them, looking more like one of their classmates than a grown woman who could incapacitate any and all of them with my little finger.
Okay, maybe I’d have to use my whole hand. I’m not seventeen anymore.
Looking deceptively sweet and innocent is one of my many superpowers. Pulling my braid over my shoulder, I twirl the end around my finger as I assess the group ahead of me for threats. You just never know. Teenage girls in groups are seriously cringe-worthy.
“Can you believe some of the stunts?” One of the girls raises her voice, garnering the attention of her friends and everyone in the carpeted corridor within a ten-foot radius. “Not going to happen like that.”
“The way she basically climbed the guy to knock him out?” Another girl chimes in, the disdain in her voice making me roll my eyes. “And what’s the thing with the carotid artery? That’s not even a thing?”
What are they teaching them in school these days? I bite my tongue before I chime in with the necessary explanation. Following them is bad enough; I’m not sure I could handle actually talking to them.
“It was so unrealistic,” the first continues. “You can’t be shooting a gun while driving a car that fast. It doesn’t work like that.”
Actually, it does.
Shooting while in active pursuit is in my job description. Or at least it should be. From out the window of a speeding car, from a motorcycle, from a boat, sometimes going so fast that my cheeks would blow out like a dog with his head stuck out the window.
I follow the VSCO girls into the lobby, trying not to look at the Coming Soon posters lining the walls. It’s all Christmas movie crap, full of kisses under the mistletoe, talking dogs and buff babes in Santa hats.
Ham might look good in a Santa hat.
The group of teens ahead of me veers into the bathroom, leaving the way to the exit blissfully clear and quiet. Until Pippa McGovern-Stock appears beside me.
“What did ye think?” she asks, for once not bothering to hide either her Irish accent or the flaming red curls.
“What did you see?” I ask, already guessing the answer.
“Charlie’s Angels, of course. I was three seats behind you, practicing my stalker techniques.”
“It’s not stalking, it’s called reconnaissance.”
Am I losing my touch? I had no idea Pippa had planned on seeing the movie today, let alone sitting in the theatre behind me.
Of course, this wouldn’t have been an issue if I had asked her to go with me. Pippa and I work well together, but I’ve been slow to get on board with her need for after-hours socializing. Memories of my life before the Mielson takedown are still so hazy that they’re hardly there at all which makes it hard for me to open up to having friends. There’s so much I’m not sure of.
It might be nice to go to a movie with someone, though, as long as she doesn’t steal all my popcorn.
Pippa chucks her soda cup into the trash with a perfect three-point aim. “You’ve a loud laugh. And there were plenty of funny bits, weren’t there?”
I shoot a glare her way, but she bumps onto the escalator before me. “What are you saying?”
“It means it seems you enjoyed yourself,” she throws over her shoulder. “Bout time something made you laugh.”
“I laugh,” I protest.
“Not enough. It’s like you’ve a big pickle up yer bum.”
“Ever think I look like that because I had to train you?”
“Oh, now, say, be nice or I won’t let you come out with me for a few bevvies. I could murder some of the black stuff right about now, how about you?”
I run through her words. After working closely with Pippa for over a year, I still have issues with her accent, especially if she’s excited and slips into slang. “You’re asking me to have a Guinness with you?”
“Now, look who’s learning!”
The escalator is clogged with happy moviegoers on their way home, so Pippa hops onto the railing between them and slides down, causing plenty of gasps and the odd indignant remark. I curse under my breath, wishing I’d thought of sliding down the railing first.
I overhear a couple commenting on the smoothness of former gymnast Pippa’s dismount and there is applause from those lined up for the next movie.
As I catch up with Pippa at the bottom, our phones signal at the same time. Her phone is already in her hand, so she reads it first. “Declan at the corner of Duplex in five.”
A quick glance of my own phone confirms that. “I can see that.”
A second chime. “Ham wants us at Head Office,” Pippa reports.
I wave my phone at her as she heads for the door. “Again, I can see the texts. Do you not understand the word secret in secret agent? I should train you to keep your voice down. Everyone in the line don’t need to know this. They actually shouldn’t.”
Pippa laughs as we hit the exit door in unison. “Like anyone would believe we can do the things we do. Like, really. It’s the stuff of movies.”
She does have a point. Sometimes it feels surreal to be one of the top agents in the Canadian secret spy organization, especially when you consider at twenty-eight, I look like I’m barely in high school.
I’m more Buffy than Bruce Willis.
The late afternoon air bites against my cheeks. The jazzy Jingle Bell Rock remake is cut off as the door shuts behind us. Tucking in my braids, I hunch into my hoodie like a teenage boy on the prowl as we hurry down the stairs to street level.
The silver and blue tinsel bows adorning the streetlights are dangerously close to being ripped off by the wind, and shoppers clutch their red and green bags, which seem to expand as the countdown to Christmas speeds up.
From my vantage on the stairs, I see a group on the other side of Yonge Street who have more Scrooge than Christmas spirit.
Actually, I hear them first. Even without the traffic noise coming from one of the busiest intersections of Toronto, the group across the street is obnoxiously loud.
I nudge Pippa as they shove a slow-moving older man, before surrounding a woman with a stroller, jostling and jeering. The woman grabs the stroller just before it tips, causing the child within to let out a wail.
I gauge the average age as seventeen to twenty-two; no gang colours or insignia, but they are clearly a pack out to cause trouble.
These are much worse than the VSCO girls inside.
Pippa and I reach the bottom of the stairs as the group swarms across the street against the light, a few of them stopping to block traffic, one making obscene gestures with his crotch, a la Michael Jackson’s dance moves of the 80s. Pippa glances questioningly at me as I roll my movie magazine with The Rock on the cover into a tight
tube.
“It works,” I assure her. There’s no time to get into how the trick has gotten me out of a few jams. At least I assume there’s a few. I only remember the one time.
She looks skeptical as she holds out her hand. “This side.”
I slap the rolled magazine into her palm, frowning as the group encircles a pair of young women holding hands, both with fearful expressions.
With a barely perceptible movement, Pippa jabs the ringleader in the upper thigh with the magazine as she sweeps past him.
And that’s how to give perfect Charley horse.
He stumbles, clutching his leg.
“You’re lucky I didna deadner yer pecker, you dumb wanker,” Pippa mutters, shoving her toque onto her head to cover her hair. The magazine flutters to the ground, no longer a weapon but a harmless piece of litter.
I fall behind Pippa and lean down to scoop up the magazine as I aim a sidekick at the back of his knee. It sends him sprawling to the sidewalk, knocking over one of his pack, and allows the women to scurry to safety.
“Hey! WTF!”
I would have pushed past them if another one of the pack hadn’t grabbed my arm, which knocks off my hood. I’m faced with an angry twentysomething with ratty jeans hanging halfway down his ass. When he yanks me closer, I can smell the curry on his breath and it’s not pleasant.
“You actually said that. WTF?”
“Who’d you think you are?”
“Someone you need to let go of. Now.”
Pippa turns at the sound of my voice; stops at the sight of him with his hands on me. “Charlie, we don’t have time for this.”
Three men and a woman, all wearing ugly expressions on their faces, close in and block Pippa from my view and force pedestrians to step around us.
No one shows any Christmas spirit with an offer of help. Not that I’d let them.
The guy we tripped finally jumps to his feet and looms over me. “What do you think you’re doin’?” He squares his shoulders with an intimidating glare.
I’ve been intimidated by worse. A quick exhale sends my bangs fluttering. “I’m doing nothing. Looks to me you fell down.” With a sharp flick of my wrist, I break free of the punk’s grasp and reach out my finger towards his chin, sparsely covered with scraggly scruff. “Can you even grow a full beard yet?”
“What?”
Instead of replying, I knock his head back with a quick jab to the nose. “It’s Christmas. You bunch need to be nicer to people.” As grabs his face I sweep a leg out and send him to the ground. “Looks like you fell down, too.”
As the pack rushes forward, I elbow the leader in the stomach, and then up to his chin. A back kick to his chest sends him sprawling once again. I grab the arm of the one behind me and spin him around before giving him a hard shove. A sidekick takes care of the one to my right and he stumbles to the ground as another one rushes me. I flip him over my shoulder and he lands on the sidewalk with a groan.
The woman grabs one of my blonde braids and yanks. As I turn to face her, she kicks out with a booted foot, catching me between the legs.
The air leaves me with a whoosh. “You play dirty.” I give her a sharp crotch shot that sends her to her knees. “But so do I.”
The last one behind me is still on his feet and he takes one look at me and runs.
With a backward glance, I reach a laughing Pippa. We fist-bump and hurry away from the scene. “Bloody brilliant as usual,” she says.
The wail of a siren catches my attention and I glance over my shoulder to see a police car hop up onto the curb. The pack takes off. I pull my hood back over my head and try to calm my breathing as I catch sight of Declan waiting at the corner with the car running.
As soon as we’re in the car, he does a U-turn without a word and melds into the traffic with only one indignant honk of a horn.
“What did you do?” he asks. When I glance at his reflection in the rearview mirror, I notice the big brother frown.
Because the big brother frown is different than the expressions Declan gives me during a mission, I can’t keep the defensiveness out of my voice. “Nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing. You look like the cat that ate some bird.”
“I had popcorn,” I offer. “At the movie. With your wife.”
“And you think she’s a good alibi?”
“I love me job,” Pippa says happily. “Charlie just took out a pack of apes making trouble.”
Because I’m watching, I catch Declan’s grimace in the mirror. “And what did you do while Lottie was keeping busy with these apes? I assume you don’t mean real apes.”
“You’re as sharp as a beach ball, aren’t you, Declan Dodd? You’ve been married to me for months on end and you still can’t get on with what I’m speaking?”
Declan sighs as he makes a quick right turn that sends me leaning into the middle of the seat. “You know, taking out a pack of whatever isn’t part of your job, don’t you?”
“They needed to be stopped. You should have seen them. And it’s Christmas.”
“That’s what the police are for. To stop people bothering other people.”
“It was more than bothering. Are you trying to tell me you wouldn’t step in to help others?”
Declan throws up his hands for a split second. “I’m not saying anything. Ham’ll do the talking when he finds out about this.”
“There’s nothing to find out about,” Pippa says sullenly. “We weren’t doing nothing wrong.”
“Tell that to the guys Lottie laid out on the sidewalk.”
“How did you know they were on the sidewalk?” I shake my head. “Never mind. What’s going on at Head Office? Why are we called in?”
“I’ll let your husband explain.”
Chapter Two
“He’s a spy, Captain. He’s the spy. His secrets have secrets.”
Tony Stark
“Welcome Charlotte Dodd, Declan Dodd, and Pippa McGovern-Stock-Dodd,” Agatha greets us as we step into the elevator. She’s the robotic voice of the internal computer that runs Head Office. I take a deep breath as the doors close behind us, never getting used to the offices being so far underground.
“Ham’s office, please, Agatha,” Declan says politely.
“The new name is certainly a mouthful.” Pippa grins at him, rocking on her feet as the car drops quickly.
“Pippa Dodd has a nice ring to it.”
“Feck off.” Pippa waves her hand. “McGovern was good for my ancestors, and I’ll be doing them proud keeping it.”
“They’d be proud you work for the Canadian government?” I raise my eyebrows.
“Mebbe…not,” Pippa decides.
“Ireland and Canada were both members of the British Empire until Ireland declared the country as a republic. That announcement was made here in Canada, and created quite the uproar,” Agatha recites.
“So I shouldn’t be causing another one?” Pippa asks with a grin.
“We do try to contain international incidences to a minimum. And I believe you’ve already been involved in one or two already in your time here,” Agatha says as primly as a robotic voice can sound.
“Incident, smincident.” Pippa laughs. “Lysander was responsible for Mielson wanting to take over the world more than his pa. He more than needed to go away and I needed to help put him there. He would have done the same to me. I’ve done Ireland a solid helping put him away.”
“And I’m sure some of the population thinks that,” I say with a sideways glance at Declan. Pippa’s had her share of incidences since she began working with the Agency, international or otherwise. “But not everyone.”
“Like you’ve kept your ass clean,” she protests as the elevator reaches the floor twelve stories down. “I’ve heard the stories.”
“I wish I could remember them.”
Pippa flashes me a sympathetic smile. Three years ago, I had my memories downloaded before going undercover. I still don’t have them all back.
The headaches I would get from the skips were so bad that they affected my life, especially my work. I couldn’t handle it, so I asked to have the procedure reversed. It was the toughest decision I’ve ever had to make, at least as far as I can remember.
Since then, some of the memories have come back on their own, especially the ones about Ham, for which I am eternally grateful.
After saying goodbye to Agatha, I follow Declan and Pippa down the long, antiseptic corridor to the briefing room beside Ham’s office.
Hamilton Short stands at the front of the room and I’m not embarrassed to admit my heart skips a few beats when I see him. My husband looks so good in his charcoal suit and I smile when I see he’s wearing the lavender shirt I bought him for his birthday last month. Ham has always dressed to impress, but since our marriage, I’ve noticed he’s wearing more coloured shirts rather than the plain white or stripes.
But nothing he wears could possibly take away from the aura of authority hanging over him like a cloud. He’s the boss; he’s the one. Ham sends us on the dangerous missions and he’s the reason we get home safely. These days he has full control of NIIA and the responsibility falls heavily on his shoulders.
Not that anyone can tell. I notice the lines around his eyes and the furrows carving his forehead; I know about the sleepless nights and how the weight of decisions causes him physical pain, but these are the things we don’t talk about outside the safe walls of our bedroom.
Ham glances at me as I walk in, but doesn’t give me a secret smile or anything. When he’s at the office, he’s focused on being in charge, in getting things done. I’m used to it.
But Tenley smiles at us from her seat beside Lance, one of the new recruits. I slide into a seat across from them. Perry and Payton take their flanking positions beside Ham at the front of the room.