Spy Girl

by Jillian Dodd

  “She’s ready. I’ve done everything I can. She’s the best I’ve ever trained.”

  “And the only one who matters. Do you think she will be able to attract the Prince’s attention and protect him?”

  “That’s her mission. Of course, she will. Although, I think she was a little disappointed.”

  “Why?”

  “She would have preferred something more exciting. She wants to save the world.”

  “And avenge her parents’ death.”

  “Do you think he will be involved in this?”

  “If those behind the plot to overthrow the monarchy are serious, The Priest is who they would hire. Are you afraid he will recognize her?”

  “It’s been almost eight years since he tried to kill her. She’s changed. I’d be more worried about her recognizing him.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I’m not sure how she will react. And I thought we were going to send her on a few test missions to start.”

  “Things have progressed, and we can’t wait any longer. If she fails, we’ll deal with the repercussions. You and I both know this is a whole lot bigger than one small country.”

  When the line goes dead, he drains the rest of the glass.

  And wonders what he’s done.

  X X X

  I walk out of the Dean’s office feeling elated. I’m going to meet my handler. My first ever, real handler. The person who will do whatever I need in the field.

  I survey the area looking for him, but only see a guy about my age, who is way too good looking to be a handler. Usually handlers are decrepit retired spies.

  But then I see a distinguished looking older gentleman who reaches his white-gloved hand out to me.

  “Pleased to meet you. I’m Ellis.” He hands me an envelope. “Here are your credentials, driver’s license, passport, college ID, credit cards, and bio. Let’s get going. We don’t have much time.”

  Ellis opens the back door of a Bentley. The guy hops in before me. Obviously, finishing school was not part of his training.

  “Um, who are you?” I ask. I’m sort of hoping he’s supposed to be my boyfriend. That would be an assignment I could put all my energy into.

  “Read your bio,” he tells me, putting headphones on and virtually ignoring me.

  Rude asshole.

  As we’re sitting silently in the back of the chauffeured car, I think of the neatly typed words. The words I’ve been waiting years to read.

  This is it. My first assignment. The first step in my plan. I’ll get a few successful missions under my belt then I’ll use my abilities to hunt down the man who murdered my mother and kill him.

  I smile to myself at the thought then pull out the papers and start reading about Montrovia.

  Geographically important is right. Trillions of dollars of goods are moved through the Strait of Montrovia. Specifically trillions of dollars of oil they allow every country to move across its waters.

  So basically, I’m supposed to seduce the Prince and somehow keep him from getting killed. Honestly, I’d rather chase a terrorist. He’s a freaking Prince. He will be impossible to get near.

  I flip the page and see a photo of my target as well as his statistics. HRH Lorenzo Giovanni Baptiste Vallenta. Twenty-four, six feet tall, dark haired, and very easy on the eyes. Numerous articles pertain to his exploits; with sailing, polo ponies, fast cars, and fast women among his favored hobbies. Apparently, it’s not yet been publicly announced, but the Prince’s father is ill and not expected to recover. So the fact that someone has already developed a plan to assassinate him to take control of the country means whoever is behind the plot is well connected. I study the order of succession. The King. The Prince. Then his cousin, The Duchess of Cordova, and her sister, The Countess of Cordova.

  I take out my new credentials next and study them.

  I am Huntley Penelope “Penny” Bond-Von Allister.

  “Are you kidding me?” I say out loud. “Did they really name me after Ethan Hunt from Mission Impossible and James Bond from 007?”

  Ellis snickers in the front seat.

  I elbow the guy sitting next to me. He glares at me then takes off his headphones. “What?”

  “Do I look like a Penny?”

  “Not really, but that’s what I’ll be calling you. It’s in my notes.”

  “You will not be calling me that. I’ll go by Huntley. What is your name?”

  “Keep reading.” He leaves his headset off this time and stares out the window, continuing to ignore me.

  “Who makes this shit up?” I mutter.

  Actually, I know the answer to that question. The team does. Behind every good spy is an equally strong support team. Researchers, weapon specialists, logistics, finance, etc. They call them Housekeeping. They have prepared my backstory, my travel documents, packed my bags for the trip, will have a residence acquired at our destination, and have vetted my credentials.

  I keep reading.

  I’m taking a break from school to see the world with my brother, Aristotle “Ari” Bradford-Von Allister. We are going to Montrovia to spend time together after our billionaire father, the reclusive Ares Von Allister, passed away.

  I study the guy sitting next to me. He’s about six feet tall, solidly built but still lean. If I had to guess, he’s got nice muscles under the heavy flannel shirt he’s wearing. His hair is about the same color as mine, a dirty blonde—heavy on the dirty. His eyes are a similar hazel with a strong Roman nose and long face. His hair is cut short on the sides and long on the top in the trend newly favored by hipsters across the world. Whoever cast us as brother and sister did a good job. We actually look a lot alike.

  “Are you Ari?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re going to have to loosen up if you want anyone to believe you’re a billionaire playboy.”

  “Finish reading,” he says, his eyes looking equal parts lethal and sexy.

  “Well, this is interesting. We just met at the reading of our father’s will. The father neither of us had ever met. In order to inherit his billions, we have to spend the next six months getting to know each other.”

  He nods. “It’s a good cover. And Ares did just pass. So the timing is perfect.”

  I take a moment to study my new brother. His stiff posture suggests some kind of military training, but he also has the air of someone raised with a silver spoon in his mouth. This contradiction intrigues me, and I want to know where and how he trained. He’s twenty-two and I’m twenty-one. Since that is my real age, I’m assuming it’s his too.

  We’ve leased a villa overlooking the Mediterranean in the glitzy Montrovian city, Cap de Playa Antilles. Better known as Cap. It’s a playground for the ultra-rich, boasting a harbor large enough to handle the priciest of yachts, an elegant casino complex, luxurious hotels, world-class restaurants, exclusive designer shops, an ornate opera house, and streets littered with exotic cars. The town is a magnet for glitzy and glittering events, home to an elite polo team, tennis championships, and a Formula One race, which happens to be taking place next weekend.

  Our chauffeur and butler, Ellis, will be traveling with us. He’s about sixty, and when I look at him in the rear view mirror, he gives me a discreet wink.

  Then he speaks. “Are you through reading your dossier? Have you committed the details to memory?”

  The details he’s referring to are things like my name, birthdate, and social security number. Of more importance, the phone number that will connect me directly to Black X and a series of authentication code words. Child’s play.

  “Yes,” I say, confidently.

  “Good, because we have some shopping to do.”

  Ari groans, so I smack him.

  But instead of shopping at a store, it seems the store has come to us. Upon arrival at our three-bedroom suite in a posh D.C. hotel, we are greeted by racks of clothing and two women both named Kate.

  Kate Number One says, “You can call me Dr. Kate.”

&
nbsp; “What are you a doctor of?” I ask politely.

  “I have my undergrad in luxury marketing from NYU and a doctorate in Anthropology. It’s my job to make sure you look the part. I’m on your Housekeeping team along with my colleague, Kate.”

  Kate Number Two says, “If you call the private concierge number that is in your phone, you’ll be speaking directly with me. I’ll arrange anything you need on site. As you were told, we’ve leased a beautiful villa that comes with a full staff. We’ve shipped over all sorts of goodies for you. Once you step foot in Montrovia, you will be Penny and Ari.”

  “Um, Huntley.”

  She studies me. “You’re right. I can’t picture you as a Penny. Anyway, other than Ellis, you are on your own. Any information you come across will be relayed to us through him. Although, you each have emergency protocol.”

  “Let’s get you into the wardrobes we’ve selected to make sure everything fits. We have a tailor on standby and then you both have appointments at the spa downstairs. Hairstylists and makeup will be brought in to prep you for the event tonight.”

  “There was no mention of an event in my packet,” Ari states.

  “Rule follower,” I say under my breath.

  Kate One says, “You’re going to the Smithsonian gala. We’ve got you seated with Peter Prescott and his model of the week. Peter is—”

  “The son of Malcolm Prescott,” Ari says. “Prescott Industries’ self-made billionaire. His conglomerates rebuild after a war, and he’s a big contributor to President Hillford’s campaign.”

  Kate Two does a little clap. “Correct, Ari, you’ve been studying.”

  I wonder why I haven’t been allowed to study.

  “Also at the table will be Peter’s college buddy, Daniel Spear.”

  “Son of Vice President Spear,” I add. At least I know something. Although it’s really not that spectacular. Every woman in America—and most other countries—would recognize the gold-medal winning Olympic swimmer with his blinding white teeth, piercing blue eyes, crooked grin, and a body made of steel—based on his latest men’s fitness magazine cover, which may have been tossed around my dorm room and drooled over. Kate One smiles at me, so I continue. “They are our entry into Montrovian society, I take it?”

  “Yes, your mission for tonight is to make friends with Peter and invite him to join you for a week of partying. Daniel is an acquaintance of the Prince. Although, he isn’t likely to go to Montrovia, knowing him can’t hurt. It all depends on the two of you. Are you charming and believable enough to pull this off?”

  Ari glances in my direction, sizing me up.

  “Have you scheduled some time for Huntley and I to get to know each other before the event?” Ari asks the Kates.

  “We’re on a tight schedule, but you’ll be alone from five until you leave for the event at promptly seven p.m. You can use that time as you see fit.” Kate Two smirks, and I know she’s thinking of exactly how she’d choose to use that time if she were me.

  I stifle a smile. Good. Ari’s hotness is good for our mission.

  But he’s totally not my type. I can already tell he’s way too uptight.

  The Vice President’s son, on the other hand, has dated everyone from pop stars to the local stripper. He’s much more my type. Fast, carefree, and easy. Ari looks like he requires care and feeding. High maintenance with a capital H. The kind of guy who would annoy the crap out of me.

  Which I’m told brothers usually do.

  X X X

  Ari and I don’t have time to chat as planned. Between spa appointments and tailoring, we’re barely ready in time. Fortunately, while I was getting my toes, nails, and hair done, I was able to read more about Montrovia on my phone. I studied the country’s history, maps of the capital, blueprints of the castle, and the folklore. I’ve memorized the shops, read up on the Formula One drivers, and even found a cool article on all the secret passageways in the castle as well as learned the ghost of a former king is said to haunt the stables.

  We arrive at the event by chauffeured limousine. The museum is bathed in a soft pink light. A red carpet creeps up the stairs. Hollywood stars, music industry moguls, models, billionaires, politicians, socialites, professional athletes, and artists all come together to support one of the country’s greatest institutions. A place I could spend days in with all its history. But most of the people are here to be seen. It’s a splashy and glitzy event that kicks off the summer season.

  The fact that on my first covert mission I will be photographed seems odd to me. Spies are taught to remain nameless and faceless. One of our most important classes at Blackwood was how to avoid being photographed on all the surveillance cameras around the world—your head down, a scarf, a hood, the tilt of your head.

  “Maybe we should avoid the red carpet hoopla and sneak in through the kitchen, Ari.”

  He holds out his elbow. “We’re going in the front and establishing our cover.”

  “Aren’t you worried about how this will affect future missions?”

  “I think this is our future mission.”

  “You think we will die?”

  “No. I think if we succeed, there will be many more missions together. It’s brilliant, really. Being undercover in plain sight. So smile for the cameras.”

  I wrap my hand around his elbow and allow him to escort me up the stairs. We smile and pose for the cameras when told to, and as we enter the reception, there are already numerous people. A waiter presents us with a tray of champagne, and we each take a glass.

  “To us,” Ari says raising his flute. “And to our great country.”

  We are allowed to roam the museum and mingle before the event. Somehow, people already know who Ari and I are and offer us condolences on our father’s passing.

  Mostly, these seem to be the politicians.

  “Ari, don’t you find it a little odd that people know us and know who our father was when you and I met less than nine hours ago?”

  “When were you told about our mission?” he asks me.

  “Nine hours ago, when were you?”

  “Three weeks ago. The day after he passed.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “Not much, but I know his company worked with the government on numerous projects. He was a brilliant inventor, but a recluse for the past few years. We inherited his estate, as well. You should see the place. He has a research facility that is second to none.”

  “Ari, we didn’t really inherit it. It’s just our cover.”

  He shakes his head. “No, it’s our new life.”

  I ponder that as we’re being herded into the rotunda where we will dine. We’ve yet to meet our dining partners for the evening, but I have been given numerous business cards so I can invest some of my new money and was told I should consider a career in politics. I met a famous actor and had my ass grabbed by a lecherous old senator, whose wife informed me that he meant no harm.

  The man’s lucky he still has an arm.

  When Ari and I arrive at our table, Peter Prescott and his date, a model named Allie Peterson, are already seated. Ari and I introduce ourselves as the Von Allisters.

  “Sorry to hear about your father,” Peter says. “He and my dad worked together back in the day.”

  Really? Why the hell wasn’t this in my packet? But I just found out he was my father. I shouldn’t know anything about him. Other than his net worth.

  “I’d love to hear about that. We never knew him.”

  “You never knew your father?” the model asks.

  “Haven’t you seen the papers?” Peter asks, squinting his eyes at her like she’s an idiot. I’d wipe that smug look off his face if I were dating him. Of course, I probably wouldn’t date an arrogant asshole.

  She kisses him on the cheek. “You know I don’t read them. All bad news. It’s depressing.”

  I decide to fill her in. “Ari and I just met at the reading of our father’s will. We didn’t know he was our father until we were notifie
d by his attorney.”

  “You’re looking at our country’s two newest billionaires,” Peter proclaims.

  Her eyes brighten. “Oh. Well, congratulations.”

  I wince. So do Ari and Peter. But secretly I love this clueless, beautiful girl.

  Peter whispers something to her. She frowns then looks at Ari and gives him a dazzling smile. “I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  We are joined by Senator Bill Callan and his wife, Sissy. He chairs the Senate Appropriations Committee and is known as a good friend of the director of the CIA, Mike Burnes. He shakes my hand, also offers his condolences, and introduces us to the actor Rob Howden and his wife, Angie. Bill’s secretary apparently doesn’t warrant an introduction. She sits silently at the table on her phone with the air of someone doing something very important, but she blushes when I catch her scrolling through her Instagram feed.

  We are all seated at the table making small talk about the new exhibit we toured.

  The chair to my left is still empty when I get my first glimpse of Daniel.

  He’s rushing toward us, buttoning his jacket, his cheeks flush. I half expect him to be zipping his pants. He looks like he’s been involved in a coat room quickie. His hair is mussed. His blue eyes sparkling.

  “Sorry, I’m late,” he says to the table. “My parents decided last minute to attend the event and made me ride with them. Traveling with the Secret Service is a bitch.”

  He shakes his buddy Peter’s hand and gives him a slap on the back, air kisses Allie, and then works his way around the table shaking everyone’s hands.

  When he gets to me, he says, “I’m Daniel Spear.”

  “I’m Huntley Von Allister, and this is my brother Ari.”

  A speaker on the stage addresses the group, so we all quickly take our seats.

  Daniel’s piercing blue eyes continue to hold mine, occasionally flitting across the curves of my red gown. His eyes are mesmerizing, a warm lush shade of lapis with lighter flecks of cerulean. His eyes speak of oceans and tropics, and it’s not surprising he’s talented in the water. I imagine that Neptune, the Roman God of the Sea, would have had eyes just like his.