Spy Another Day Prequel Box Set: Spy Noon, Mr. Nice Spy, and Spy by Night in one volume (Spy Another Day Prequels clean romantic suspense trilogy)

by Jordan McCollum

  What am I supposed to do? Run home with my tail be-tween my legs? Right. Stand up to my mom only to let this slide?

  I get out of the car and march up to the house. My house. I unlock the front door and head in. The house smells like paint and cleaning chemicals, and it sounds like music — The Cars singing “My Best Friend’s Girl.” After I kill him, I’ll kill his stupid phone.

  I take back what I said about not being able to hate the guy.

  A bottle of soda hisses open. I stride after the sound, toward the kitchen. Campbell’s set out the pizza and soda on the island to hunt through the empty cabinets. “You didn’t bring cups, did you?” he shouts loud enough to carry upstairs.

  “Nope,” I answer his question.

  He whirls around, his eyes wide. “Uh . . .”

  “Yep, dude, you’re caught — you and Talia. What’s your next move?”

  He glances at the ceiling and sighs. “Come on.” He walks around me, back to the foyer and up the stairs. I follow.

  “Hey, Talia?” Campbell calls. He goes for the master bedroom doors, and again, I follow.

  “Campbell!”

  I can’t see her, but she doesn’t sound surprised — she sounds worried. Afraid. Next thing I know, Campbell slams into the doorframe and something hard slaps against my chest. I jerk back, a spike of shock automatically pulling my hands up to defend myself. When I hit my chest, it’s wet.

  I jump again and look down. A thick blue liquid covers my shirt and hands and whatever it was that thumped me in my chest. I may be a Michigan alum, but I don’t actually bleed blue, so I’m okay. Talia’s standing there, her eyes wide, too. And then I look back down at the paint-covered object in my hands she just threw at me — a wet paintbrush.

  Wait a minute. Wait. “How’d you get in here?”

  “Lockbox. I’m your interior designer, remember?”

  “And you’re . . . painting?” Painting my room. I walk in over the drop cloths and supplies. It’s still the world’s most hideous color, but they’ve already started painting the edges of the walls a dark grayish blue, not far off Michigan blue.

  No, they haven’t. Campbell just got here. Talia’s been working, probably for a while. All the trim is taped off, all the carpet covered.

  “Sorry about your shirt,” Talia murmurs. “I saw somebody behind Campbell, and no one else was supposed to be here.”

  I glance at my polo again. Yeah, it’s ruined, and my hands and the whole paintbrush are coated with that same blue. But I’m not sure I mind. I was so angry two minutes ago, but now, my roommate and my . . . would-be girlfriend have been sneaking around to do something nice for me.

  Nice? Talia knows what this means. This is more than nice.

  Campbell’s phone must be set to play The Cars’ greatest hits, because the next song that comes up is “Just What I Needed.” Kinda on the nose, but I have to agree. She is.

  “Surprise?” Talia tries. “Like it?”

  I turn back to her. Gray-blue freckles dot her cheeks and hair, and her hazel eyes search mine with a mix of hope and concern.

  “Yeah,” I finally say. “I like it a lot.”

  Her gaze falls to the carpet and she smiles like I said she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. I almost want to tell Campbell to get lost — no, I do want to tell him that, but he’s already got a roller and started attacking the biggest wall.

  At least he’s acting like he’s not listening. I step closer to Talia, and she looks up again.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “You’re welcome. And surprise, again.”

  “Sorry I ruined it.”

  She takes another brush from a multipack. “What do you think of the color?”

  “I like it. Much less like the inside of a migraine.”

  She laughs and starts edging along the tape line of the baseboards again. “You’re welcome to stay and watch.”

  “Especially if you brought plates and cups,” Campbell interjects.

  “We’ll survive,” Talia says. “It’s pizza.”

  “And soda.”

  “Like you’ve never drunk out of the bottle.” She throws me a rag — yet another painting supply she must’ve brought — and I scrub at the paint on my shirt. Lost cause, so I hit the master bath to wash my hands and the paintbrush handle. I come back to the room, grab another paint can and pry it open with my pocketknife.

  “Always prepared?” Talia asks. I can hear the teasing in her tone though she’s not looking at me.

  “Yep.” I use the paintbrush she threw at me and start around the doorframe. Starting that close to Talia means we work in opposite directions, her going clockwise around the baseboards, and me counter-clockwise on the same thing.

  Takes until midnight, but the three of us finish the entire room. We stand in the doorway, admiring our work for a while, and I linger a little longer while Campbell and Talia go downstairs for clean up.

  Now that’s an accomplishment.

  I finally head downstairs to join Campbell and Talia cleaning up. I get the job of rinsing out the brushes.

  Talia throws the last slice of pizza in the microwave, and Campbell gathers up the empty pizza boxes. “I don’t think we’ll be ready to move tomorrow,” he says.

  “Nope.” Don’t know if I care. I wipe at a streak of paint on the sink. Cooking was fun, sometimes, and I definitely liked eating, but the satisfaction of a job well done in my home — and painting that evil color out of my life? Hard to beat.

  Talia tosses us rags to dry our hands and brushes. “What do I owe you for this?” I ask.

  “It’s a housewarming gift.”

  “No, I —”

  “Seriously.” She gives me a small smile. “Figured you’d appreciate it more than a plant.”

  Yeah. I look at her, and time slows down enough for a thought to surface, one that’s been lurking in the back of my mind for I don’t know how long.

  I love her. Though I freaked out at the idea before, sud-denly nothing makes more sense, nothing’s more rational — nothing’s more obvious. Of course I love her.

  I turn away before I tell her that. I mean, the woman had a panic attack when I brought up marriage to take the subject off the table. What will she do when I tell her I love her?

  Wait — “when”?

  I pick up a brush to dry it again, trying to distract myself from that idea. But of course “when.” I have to tell her. I glance at Campbell’s back. Maybe not right this minute, but this is the woman who just bought all the paint and supplies to redo a room of my house — a room that she knew the symbolism of. She knows a lot more than that, and she’s still here. Can I really let her slip away because I’m afraid?

  Campbell finishes off the Coke and grabs the last piece of warm pizza before heading for the front door. I roll my eyes and pick up the empty pizza boxes. Talia collects the empty soda bottles.

  “Hey, Talia?” I say softly before she can follow Campbell out.

  She looks back to me. “Yeah?”

  “Can I take you to dinner tomorrow night?”

  “Danny, really, you don’t have to thank me.”

  Is that all she thinks I mean? Is that all she wants?

  “I insist,” I say. Have to try to change her mind.

  Her gaze travels down and to the side, and I see her release a deep breath. “All right,” she says, and she turns to go.

  She’s already slipping away. Tomorrow night might be my last chance.

  Then I’ll make the most of it.

  I walk into Vasily’s studio Saturday afternoon, hoping I’ve gotten the paint off my face and hands. (My hair . . . I gave up.) I’ve got my mic, my strategically planted backup, and my mark. All I need is an opportunity to ditch Marcel.

  Vasily’s playing with his phone, probably selecting songs for my last trial run with Marcel. But there’s no sign of him.

  This could definitely work in my favor. I ask the obvious question. “Where’s Marcel?”

 
Vasily turns around, grimacing. “Joanne, I’m so sorry. Marcel’s partner was being transferred to Toronto, but instead they decided to lay her off. He doesn’t need a new partner.”

  “Oh.” I let my shoulders drop a little. We worked hard, but partnering up with Marcel wasn’t advancing my real objectives. Can’t be too upset.

  “I’ll keep hunting for anyone who needs a partner,” Vasily vows. “We’ll find you someone. Have you considered Pro/Am?”

  Pairing me, the amateur, with a dance professional? “Not really.”

  “Another possibility.”

  “Thanks.” I look around the studio. Everyone else should be in position, but we weren’t expecting to put the plan into action for another hour. I have to buy us time. “Might as well rehearse, huh?”

  “Sure. Anything you want to work on?” He picks a song and walks with me to the center of the floor. We go over some jive steps, but after half an hour, I’m tired (and so sore from painting), and my heart isn’t in it anymore. We change back to our street shoes and pack up.

  “It’s all right,” Vasily reassures me yet again. “We’ll find you someone.”

  I try not to laugh. I found someone. I’m the problem. “Where are you headed?” I change the subject, but not because I’m curious about Vasily’s life — I’m trying to signal to my team that we’re leaving ahead of schedule.

  “I don’t have any plans. Maybe watch TV. There’s a race on later.” We start out of the studio — and I immediately spot Danny at the corner. Coming our way.

  Oh crap oh crap oh crap. Before he can see me, I turn away, ignoring the pang in my chest. (Yeah, it’s been three weeks, but I’ve seen him the last two nights and I’ll see him again tonight. I need to work now.)

  “We’re a go,” Elliott’s voice comes over my earpiece.

  “Is something wrong?” Vasily asks.

  What was Elliott’s cover’s name? “I thought I saw Gord.”

  “Oh.” Vasily moves to a protective position, scanning the sidewalk, but Elliott’s a block away (and Danny looks nothing like him). Doubly effective: avoiding Danny, and I can lead Vasily to the place where Rashad lies in wait.

  “C’mon.” I grab his arm and half-drag him down the block. We take the corner. Rashad’s waiting on the next street.

  I glance back to make sure we’ve left Danny behind. As I check, I see him. Not Danny — a dude I don’t know. The grim set to his jaw puts me on edge.

  But the real reason my pulse is rising faster than rocket? This guy was behind us before we turned.

  Okay, I’ve seen him twice. Could still be a coincidence. We have to make sure first — if he follows us one more time, we’ll know. I send my team the signal that I’m improvising: “Think we’ll have another cold snap soon?” I ask Vasily.

  “I hope not,” he replies.

  “Copy, FOXHUNT.” Elliott starts coordinating surveillance on us. After all the times he’s let me down lately, he’d better come through now. At the other end of the block, Rashad ap-proaches. Hope he got the signal for the change of plans.

  I look to Vasily. “Hey, are you hungry?” Without waiting for an answer, I tug him into the street, toward a café on the other side.

  Technically, this isn’t great tradecraft, and that’ll get you caught or killed faster than anything else — when you’re facing off with another spy. But something about this guy’s crew cut and sharp jaw is a little . . . obvious.

  That and the way he’s staring at us like prey.

  Square Jaw pursues us across the street. We reach the sidewalk, and Vasily checks traffic behind us. He sucks in a gasp. My grip on his arm tightens, and he whips back around. “Quick.” Vasily pulls me into the nearest alley.

  I’m about to be alone with a Russian spymaster and a hired thug. Panic flashes through my brain like lightning. Are Vasily and Square Jaw working together — and are they after me?

  Before I have a chance to turn on Vasily, he’s abruptly yanked backwards. Up close, Square Jaw’s so massive, I shrink back automatically. He shoves Vasily against the brick wall, his forearm on Vasily’s neck. “Where’s the money?”

  They don’t look too friendly.

  “I don’t have it!” Vasily pushes against his arm, but he’s got no leverage. He strains and gasps for air, his face getting red.

  I have to help him. “Leave him alone!”

  Square Jaw doesn’t glance my direction. I reach for the metal rod the size of a pen from the outside pocket of my dance bag — but Joanne isn’t a CIA officer. I have to act defenseless. I scan the alley for a makeshift weapon.

  “Please!” Vasily rasps. No human should turn that red, ever.

  Square Jaw pushes harder. “Sabatini’s giving you three more days. That’s it.”

  Vasily’s eyes starts to roll back in his head. Square Jaw’s cutting off his air supply, or possibly blood flow — a few seconds too long, and Vasily won’t wake up. I find a broken 2×4 behind the Dumpster and whack Square Jaw in the lower back.

  He releases Vasily, who slumps to the ground, and Square Jaw wheels on me. His jaw’s even squarer with his muscles clenched in rage.

  My stomach rolls away to hide. I’m in trouble.

  But Vasily’s out, so I have no reason to hold back (like I ever would in a fight for my life). Square Jaw may be big and muscly, but he’s slow. Might be able to beat him if I’m fast.

  In one quick movement, I snatch up my metal rod and grab Square Jaw’s hand, pressing against the bones. I twist his wrist behind him like I’m executing an underarm turn. He tries to jerk away, but I’ve practiced these dance moves, baby. I’m just tall enough to wrench his arm up behind his back, and I apply more pressure to the Kubotan weapon.

  Square Jaw sucks in air. I tighten my grip. He reaches around to hit me with his free arm. I dodge and clamp down on my weapon with both hands. Something in his hand pops, and he cries out, stumbling forward.

  One kick at the knee holding his weight, and he slams down on them both.

  “Almost there!” Elliott reassures me through my earpiece. I check Vasily — he’s stirring.

  Square Jaw either sees or senses my distraction. He throws his weight backward, and I have to stutter-step to stay clear — losing my grip on his hand. The Kubotan skitters across the pavement.

  Crap. But if Elliott and Rashad get here, we’ll be okay.

  Square Jaw leaps up and turns on me.

  Nope, won’t be okay.

  He moves forward, forcing me toward the wall. Adrenaline screams through my veins. Danger, danger, danger.

  I stop before I’m pinned against the bricks. Will this ginormous dude really beat on average-sized me?

  Square Jaw pulls back a fist. Guess that answers that question. I duck before he swings. Yep, slow.

  He takes forever to recover from that total air-punch. I pop up and throw my hardest jab straight into his face. I was aiming for his nose, but my fist slams into his mouth and chin. Square Jaw reels back, blood flying from his lips.

  “Nice shot!”

  I whirl around to find Elliott at the end of the alley with Rashad. He came through. I trusted him, and he was there for me, just like always. (Maybe trust isn’t quite as overrated as I thought.)

  They hurry to help. Square Jaw takes one look at the woman who bloodied his lips and her backup, and runs away. Rashad pursues him.

  My heart’s pounding, my hand’s aching, my head’s swimming and I’m panting, but it’s over. “An enforcer,” I tell Elliott between pants. “Beat us to the punch.”

  “You were the one doing the punching.” Elliott takes off after Rashad and Square Jaw, I’m guessing mostly to chase him away.

  I recover my Kubotan and drop to my knees by Vasily, now coughing. “Are you okay?”

  He nods, and I recognize the expression he’s going for between coughing fits. The closest words would be I’m still tough. I help him to sitting.

  “What happened?” he chokes out.

  Some girls play dumb. I usually
have to play weak. (Though obviously I’m no Square Jaw.) “A Good Samaritan threw him off you and hit him, and he ran away.”

  Vasily glances the direction they went.

  “Who’s Sabatini?” I ask.

  “Sabatini?” His pitch is way too high to fake ignorance.

  “Apparently you owe him money?”

  Vasily sighs as much as he can. “Don’t get involved.”

  “Do you have the money?”

  His head hangs further. “No.”

  I sit in silence long enough to pretend to put this all together. “Do you need help?”

  “Joanne, I can’t ask that of you.”

  “Not me, but I have this friend — and I want to repay the favors you’ve done for me.”

  Vasily’s gaze sneaks away from mine. “I don’t need another loan shark coming after me.”

  “He’s not a loan shark. And he might be able to help with your other friend, too.”

  Vasily slowly turns to me. Does he get the full implications of what I’m saying?

  He shakes his head. “You don’t understand.”

  My heart’s still pounding, but for a different reason. Time for the big guns. “I understand you’re playing with dangerous people — people that make Sabatini seem like a small-time thug. You might be able to put off Sabatini, but you can’t lie to your other friend forever. And when he catches up to you? Do svidanya.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “All I’m saying is you could really get back at the people who’re using you and pick up a second paycheck.”

  Vasily presses his lips together, thinking.

  “Just meet with the guy. No obligations. Tuesday?”

  He sighs again. “Fine. I’ll meet with him.”

  “You won’t regret it.” I help Vasily to his feet.

  “He’ll pay?” Vasily asks, brushing himself off.

  “Yeah — but don’t gamble it all away, okay?”

  Vasily rubs a hand over his hair. My hand still stings from hitting that guy, and adrenaline’s racing through my veins, but it’s mixed with the sweet sense of success. Vasily will say yes. He said yes to spy for his friend to get away from this loan shark — and we’ll actually solve both of those problems.