Vanishing Point (Circle of Spies Novella)

by Laura Pauling

  “Keep your panties on.” He huffed. “All you have to do is engage him in conversation.”

  Marisa let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Talk? That’s it? She could do that. She tried to block out the suspicions that Will was lying. That he wasn’t going just to investigate. That his intentions were possibly of the assassination kind. She stifled a shudder at the thought.

  The stairwell and hall smelled a bit like cat piss and mold, but she held her nose and bit her tongue from commenting. In the room, he hung up his coat and waved to an elegant woman on the couch. “Please, fix her up. I feel a massive migraine coming on.”

  The woman on the couch was impeccably dressed in a pink ruffled top, and a gorgeous black skirt that fell in waves along her legs. Her black and silver hair was pulled into a twist with a few strands falling perfectly along her cheeks to complement her face. Marisa sucked in her stomach and tightened her butt cheeks. Every line and bit of loose skin on her neck and face felt very obvious…and flabby.

  She laughed, a fake bubbly laugh that Savvy always called her on, then she fell silent.

  Will poured a glass of water. “And please, burn whatever that is she’s wearing.” He strode into the back bedroom, his phone glued to his ear.

  Her dress? “I’ll have you know,” she called, “this dress is worth a pretty penny.”

  She’d worn it for her first job interview. So what if that had been quite a few years ago, almost too long to count, and so what if it was fraying a bit around the edges and a bit worn in spots.

  The woman spoke softly. “I’m Janelle. Come with me.”

  But Marisa stood with her feet firmly planted on the industrial carpet. “Not until I know more. Will?” She raised her voice. “I demand answers. You told me about this Rottingham fellow, but I need details. Where? When? How? What do I tell my family? I can’t just disappear from their lives.”

  Will appeared at the doorway, rubbing his temples. “We’ve got a job to do. Easy. Let Janelle fix you up and we’re off to England for a couple of days. That’s all.”

  “England?” What would she say to her family? She couldn’t just take off for two days with no explanation. She straightened her spine and folded her arms across her chest.

  In four steps, Will stood right in front of her, his nose almost touching her. Any other situation but this, she’d be flattered to have a young, good-looking man stand this close.

  He spoke softly, but his words had a hard edge to them. “You’re more than welcome to leave.” He gestured to the door, then turned and walked away as if she’d just crumble under his scrutiny and threatening tone.

  “Well, fine then.” She thought about the carnival and the complete stranger bumping Stephen and the man who’d talked to Savvy. Will meant business. Of course, she’d protect her family. “Wait!” Marisa gasped. “I need my phone.”

  Janelle narrowed her eyes. Will hesitated.

  “Please!” Marisa hated that she had to beg. “I need to tell my family something so they don’t worry!”

  Janelle glanced at Will’s back as he walked away. “Fine. You have three minutes.” Then she turned her back under the pretense of privacy.

  Marisa dialed home and got the answering machine. “Um, hello dearest Savvy and Stephen.” She rushed, trying to get it all out before the machine cut her off. “Um, remember that old high school friend of mine. You know, Margaret. Well, she called out of the blue with a, with a death in the family and she needs me by her side. In fact, she refused to have anyone but me because I think she’s about to have a nervous breakdown so I couldn’t possibly say no. I’ll be gone for a couple days but know that I love you and would much rather be at home with you and I’d do anything for either of you.”

  The machine beeped, cutting her off, and tears squeezed from the corner of her eyes. It was done. There was no going back. “I’m ready.”

  She fell into a zombie-like state and let Janelle lead her to another back bedroom. England? The word repeated over and over in her head as Marisa took in the bed, covered with clothes, and a dresser scattered with vials and cases of make-up and oils. Janelle guided Marisa into the room and in about three seconds had her dress unzipped and thrown in the corner. Maybe not three seconds because there was several hills and mountains the dress suit had to squeeze past first.

  Marisa closed her eyes, and the burn of embarrassment spread across her cheeks. How humiliating! Why couldn’t Will have brought in someone even older with a bit more chub around the waistline, someone more like herself? Janelle probably didn’t even eat anything but celery and Brussels sprouts.

  Janelle worked fast and efficiently. Marisa didn’t dare open her eyes but pretended she was in the Bahamas on the beach, reading a book and sipping a drink, preferably, a fruity alcoholic one with a straw, and a man serving it with muscles and a tan and possibly even blond hair. When she finished her drink, they’d take a dip in the turquoise waters while she admired his well-kept body.

  Each silky dress that was whipped on and off felt like a warm gentle ocean breeze. When Marisa felt the coarse material and tightening of what felt like a corset-like thing, she pretended it was the sand after building a sandcastle. And the umpteenth millionth dress that slipped on past it, the rush of ocean water.

  Anything to get past this humiliating experience.

  “Sit over here, please.” Janelle pointed to a stool in front of the dresser.

  Marisa had to open her eyes because she didn’t want to stumble around the room like an idiot. As the woman plucked and tweezed, Marisa bit the side of the cheek so she didn’t cry out. So she hadn’t kept her brows nicely shaped like she did when she was younger. Big deal. There were more important things in life than perfect eyebrows.

  When that excruciating part ended, Marisa relaxed. With brushes and pencils, Janelle applied make-up. The massaging motion and pampering almost made Marisa feel sleepy. In fact, she might’ve have snoozed a bit if it weren’t for the doubts plaguing her brain.

  “You may open your eyes,” Janelle said from behind her.

  Marisa cracked one eye and peeked in the mirror. A slight gasp escaped her lips. Holy moly! Who was that hot mama in the emerald green gown? The beautiful one in the mirror. It couldn’t possibly be her. The dress fell slightly off the shoulders and scooped down in the front. It fell around her body in soft waves, caressing her form and slenderizing. The corset thing helped too. From nowhere and with a rush of emotion, tears sprung into her eyes. Where were the crow’s feet? The lines? The sunspots?

  The woman snatched a tissue from off the dresser and dabbed. “No, no, no. You will ruin your make-up and it must last until tomorrow night.”

  “Thank you.” The words came out in a breathless rush. Tomorrow night? She would definitely need a touch up.

  Will appeared in the doorway. “Are we ready to go?”

  With a new confidence, Marisa pushed her shoulders back, her chin forward. “Ready.”

  He waltzed toward her, a secretive smile forming, but his eyes weren’t laughing. They were as clear and cold as a stiff winter breeze. He casually flung his arm over her shoulders as if they were old drinking buddies. He whispered into her ear, sending goosebumps across the back of her neck.

  “We’re heading off on an adventure, dear Marisa.” His voice dropped even lower. “Edward Rottingham isn’t the only one I’m investigating. If it were up to me, I’d just do away with you. But no, my family wants proof that you are aware of your family’s heritage. The only way to do that is to work together.”

  Marisa shuddered.

  ***

  The plane’s engines roared to life and with a lurch the giant bird rolled down the runway. The scenery outside Harrisburg became a blur and Marisa found herself plastered to the back of the seat as the plane took off. This wasn’t any ordinary plane or Marisa would’ve felt quite at home. No. This was some sort of private plane that felt like a rocket. Sleek and shiny. Plush leather captain armchairs. A couch. A mini
-bar. She and Will were alone, other than two attendants who constantly hovered yet felt invisible at the same time.

  Will leaned over. “Would you like some champagne?”

  Before she could answer, he snapped his fingers and an attendant walked over with a tray. His nametag read George. His black greasy hair was slicked to the side and matched his droopy mustache. In fact, his whole body, what there was to it because the man was like a toothpick, seemed to droop. He didn’t look suspicious.

  “Sure. Anything.” She chose one of the fluted glasses and sipped. The tingly drink slid down her throat easily and due to nerves she kept sipping. “But what I really need is some nourishment. You know? Food? Or don’t assassins eat anything?”

  Will snapped his fingers again. George seemed to know exactly what she needed and he carried over a tray with crackers, cheese, and olives. She nibbled. The corset thing flattening her stomach didn’t leave much room. After nibbling and sipping some more, she gathered her courage and poked Will in the arm.

  “So what did this Edward fellow do that’s so wrong?”

  Will chose not to answer, studying his fancy phone. Marisa never had been one to sit back and let others boss her around. That was half of the problem with her and Savvy. They constantly saw things completely different and no matter how much Marisa tried to be flexible, often, their conversations turned to arguments until Stephen broke in and found a happy middle. Will seemed just as stubborn.

  She’d keep quiet. For now.

  Three

  The limo drove up the extremely long and winding drive. Marisa had always daydreamed about seeing the English countryside, but the trees and fields had passed with her barely noticing. She clasped and unclasped her hands in her lap. Will stared ahead. He looked dashing in his tux, the typical tall, dark and handsome, the way the white shirt stretched across his chest and how the coat was tailored to a perfect fit.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  He closed his eyes a moment as if needing a Calgon moment in order to deal with her. “No. I don’t.”

  “Would you tell me even if you did?”

  “No. I wouldn’t.”

  Marissa tapped her fingernails against the door. So much for small talk. “No wonder if this is the way you treat all females.”

  He declined to answer but Marisa noticed a pulse on his cheek where he clenched his jaw. His earlier words repeated in her head like a tape recorder.

  Keep Rottingham entertained.

  He wasn’t here to assassinate, just to investigate.

  Her heart thrummed in her chest, while the butterflies roamed her stomach. The slight hint of a headache was coming on, probably from lack of food. She’d barely eaten today. The idea of mingling with a posh society felt wrong. She couldn’t help but feel like the country mouse visiting her cousin in the city. Did she believe Will?

  Not really.

  Just the way he smoothed out his pants so they wouldn’t wrinkle showed he was nervous; either that or he was such a perfectionist he couldn’t handle the slightest imperfection. But what would he have to be nervous about? He was obviously part of this scene. That must mean that he possibly was here to assassinate, and the real test was to see if she’d intervene or not.

  The limo crested the top of a hill. Marisa clutched her chest. “Holy brie cheese on a cracker.”

  A mansion. More like a small castle really. A line of magnificent stone pillars stretched across the front of the building. Ivy crept up the sides leading to towers that peaked on both sides of the house.

  Quickly, she opened her small purse decorated with rhinestones and pulled out a compact Janelle had given her. She powdered her nose and brushed up on her lipstick, taking pause to note that she still didn’t recognize the beauty looking back at her even with her make-up a tad bit smudged after traveling.

  They pulled up to the front of the house as if they were riding a horse and carriage. “Try not to embarrass yourself and don’t expect me to hold your hand.”

  “Surely you can’t leave me alone?”

  “I have my mission. You have yours.” His words, his cold tone of voice and uncaring nature caused her chest to deflate.

  One thought inspired her and filled her with courage. Her years of reading romance would finally pay off. She’d pretend she was a main character from the Regency romances she loved so dearly. Those heroines always came out on top.

  ***

  Marisa lost her breath as they swept through the doorway, her heels clicking on the marble flooring. The ceiling—was that gold? And who painted the mural on the wall—Leonardo? Heady perfume enveloped her and flashes of mink and fur coats blurred as servants welcomed guests and took their belongings. Marisa clutched her purse. She’d keep this and her cell phone inside. If only she’d figured out how to take a picture with the damn thing.

  They followed a crowd into a humongous great room where hundreds of people already mixed. An orchestra in the corner played elegant classical music and some of her nerves faded. A variety of languages floated in the air and she wished she’d paid attention in French class back in high school. Will shook hands, smiled, and charmed every person he talked to.

  Would he introduce her to Rottingham or point him out? Obviously not, because he completely ignored her like she was some barnacle he couldn’t pluck off and throw away.

  His cold, callous, unfriendly demeanor disappeared with the rounds of champagne and tiny pieces of gourmet food being offered. As he got swept into the crowd, Marisa soon realized she was quite alone. He meant what he’d said.

  She drifted through the posh society people as if she were invisible, holding onto her glass of champagne. She nibbled here and there but really would rather not have a piece of spinach stuck between her teeth if some duchess or duke talked to her. Did people still go by those titles? What did Rottingham look like? Tall and distinguished? Or a young rebel. She tried to break into conversations here and there and ask about Edward, but she could never get past the introductions before the group returned to their original conversation.

  She approached a servant to switch out for a full glass of champagne. Already, it was having the desired effect. The snobbish looks of rich fancily dressed ladies and gents no longer bothered her. After drifting through the crowd and counting the number of gems worth more than two hundred dollars, she found Will talking with a group of men. She’d love to hear their conversation. They stood near the end of a buffet table filled with gorgeous entrees.

  Enough dilly-dallying.

  After lingering near the opposite end of the long table and glancing around to make sure no one was watching and after envisioning herself as some daring spy from the last romance novel she read, which was actually quite good, Marisa ducked between the table and the wall.

  Now what?

  She crawled the length of it until she reached the other end. Will’s rich, sexy voice was audible but she couldn’t quite pick out the words over the roar of the people who were sure to be getting tipsy.

  She had to move closer. Somehow.

  The long white tablecloth skimmed the floor next to her. Not just any white tablecloth one could pick up from Walmart but a fancy hand-stitched one that probably cost more than a few bucks. Should she slip under it to get closer to Will and his chums? What if she got caught?

  “Excuse me, Ma’am, are you in need of assistance?”

  Marisa jumped and glanced up at an older gent with silver at his temples and a neatly trimmed goat-tee. Hot dog! Could she say gorgeous? Then she realized how foolish she looked on her hands and knees in a satin emerald dress next to the food table, like she was scrounging for crumbs.

  “Oh, um, I lost my earring.”

  He kneeled beside her. “Are they diamonds or perhaps emeralds to match your dress and your eyes? I never leave a lady in distress.”

  Marisa’s cheeks burned but she hid her face. She had to make up some lie before he drew more attention to them and Will noticed. He would see right through it and know her
real intent. She slapped her hand to her forehead as she stood.

  “How could I forget? I left them in my room tonight. My ears have been a bit swollen. Possibly an allergic reaction.”

  He raised an eyebrow as if wondering what could possibly cause that kind of allergic.

  “Thanks so much. You’ve been a dear.” Then with teetering dainty steps, she moved away, but she only reached the far end and was about to grab another glass of champagne when she felt a light touch on her forearm and the small of her back. The man had followed in her wake.

  “Would the lady like to dance?”

  Dance? She hadn’t danced with anyone but her husband since forever, and the last time she’d danced with him was years ago at a friend’s second wedding. Jeez. They were lame. When had the romance left their marriage? They used to nibble on each other’s ears for breakfast and dance with abandon on the patio under the twinkling stars. How did it all slip away?

  “I won’t take no for an answer.” He stopped leading her toward the dance floor where several couples waltzed, their spinning creating the same effect in Marisa’s stomach. “Unless you have a date?”

  Marisa thought of Stephen. She’d give anything for him to walk through the doors and rescue her. What a great date night this would be. “Um, no…no date.” Will really hadn’t given her any kind of cover story. Was she supposed to share her name? Or talk about her husband and daughter? Or where she lived? Better not. Things like that always came around to bite you in the butt.

  The gentleman cleared his throat, a gentle reminder that he was waiting for her answer.

  “I would be honored for a dance.” Marisa smiled, thanking God she hadn’t eaten the cream cheese and spinach finger sandwiches, and nodded toward the dance floor. Maybe this fellow could point out Rottingham. “I’m just warning you, I haven’t danced in years.”

  “That’s a shame. No time like the present then. I promise, I won’t cry out if you step on my toes.”

  Marisa giggled. Was she flirting? She certainly didn’t mean to be. She loved Stephen. Yet, this dance, this party, felt like a different world, like she was a different person. A flattering sexy dress hugged her body. When was the last time she felt beautiful? Or sexy?