Model Spy

by Shannon Greenland

  Romanov gave a detailed explanation of the plant’s origin, root system, drainage, blah blah blah. I made little “oh” and “Is that right?” sounds mixed in with occasional nods. All while watching him through wide, I’m-so-interested eyes.

  Men, I just began to realize, were so easy to manipulate.

  The first of eleven granite statues stood off to the right, approximately three feet tall. A little shepherd boy with a lamb. Surrounded by pink and yellow flowers. Why girls always wanted to smell flowers, I didn’t know. They all smelled the same to me. But hey, it had worked to get me close to the statues, so I said, “What beautiful colors. Oh, Romanov, tell me about these.”

  Slipping from his side, I wandered over and stuck my nose in those, too. Kind of a fruity scent. I pretended to balance myself with my right hand on the lamb’s head while sniffing the flowers.

  No hot zing in my middle finger. Dang. One down, ten to go.

  We continued down the path to the next statue. A teenage guy holding a bow and arrow. This one roughly five feet tall. I ran my fingers over it. No hot zing. “Is this marble?”

  Romanov launched into another blah-blah explanation. Imported stones and aging techniques, to which I did the wide-eyed, interested thing.

  Third statue stood among purple flowers. Six feet tall. Man holding a book. Bent, sniffed, touched. No hot zing.

  “Zis one vill complement your complexion.” He snapped off a flower and tucked it behind my ear, trailing his cool finger over my cheek. “You are very beautiful.”

  Swallowing, I glanced around, unable to see the French doors or the ballroom lights. We’d lost ourselves in the conservatory.

  Romanov stepped closer. “Do I make you nervous?”

  “Yes,” I responded before I stopped to think. So much for woman power.

  “Good.” He chuckled, humorlessly, slow and deep.

  Ugh. I didn’t know how much more of him I could take.

  “Shall vee?” He held out his arm, and I carefully took it.

  Reality check. Me? Not in charge. He owned complete control of this situation. Stiffly, I matched his casual, confident stride. I needed to get my mind off my sudden nervousness and onto something else. Relax, GiGi, relax.

  I spied his watch nearly covered by long, black arm hair. Yuck. Never seen one like it before, though. “What kind of watch is that?” I was honestly interested.

  “Cuztoom-made. It keeps time.”

  Yeah, no kidding, Einstein. “What are those other dials and spindles on the inside?”

  “Ah, yes. It’s complicated for all but zee sharpest of minds.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I could handle it, buddy, believe me. “Will you tell me anyway, please?”

  “Why zee interest?”

  “I’m shopping for a present. A friend of mine collects watches.” Good, quick lie. Not bad.

  “Not only are you lovely, but generous, too.”

  Whatever. But I smiled sweetly anyway. Just tell me the frigging mechanics. Chapling would devour this.

  We stopped walking, and he pointed to the spindles. “Zee four inner circles display time in countries of your choice. Press zis button”—he pushed a dial on the side—“and zee four circles switch to other countries.”

  Hmm. Easy enough to do. Little lead probe soldered to a frequency duct, satellite-controlled.

  “Iz good for people who travel.”

  “What about the infrared glow?”

  “How do you know zee term infrared?”

  Crap. “Video games.” I leaned in. “My secret obsession.”

  “Ah, zee infrared glow is a weapon.”

  My jaw dropped.

  “Vatch.” He pointed the watch at a plant, pushed a button, and a red laser shot out, frying the tip of a leaf.

  “Cool. A mini infrared beam signaled by a tilt scope.” Oh, I wished Chapling were here. I reached for my notepad and pencil, then immediately realized the huge mistake I’d made. Romanov tapped the center of my forehead with his index finger. “I zink you are more intelligent zan you let on.”

  Oh, crud. I shrugged innocently and decided on honesty. This man would see through anything else. “You’re right. I am smart. But models aren’t supposed to be. They get further if they pretend to be a little dumb.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “My mother.” People tended to pity someone who’d been berated by a parent. And right then I could have used a little pity from Romanov so he would forget about my smarts.

  He nodded. “Ah.”

  I turned away and noticed a statue behind us. Small. One foot tall. Of a puppy Doberman. “Do you have a Doberman?” I asked, walking toward it. “Is that why you had one sculpted?”

  “I own ten Dobermans. All trained to attack on command.”

  Attack on command? My stiletto caught on a cobblestone, and I tripped forward, smashing face-first into the statue. “Ow!”

  Romanov rushed toward me. “Mizz January!”

  Tasting coppery blood in my mouth, I reached up, grabbing ahold of the Doberman, and a hot zing shot up my arm.

  The microsnipet!

  [11]

  Apparently Romanov’s doctor only treated Romanov. So here I sat in our hotel suite roughly thirty minutes later. David applied stinging antiseptic to the corner of my mouth while I held a small bag of ice to my eye. TL sat on the bar stool beside me, studying his Palm Navigator. It held digital blueprints of Romanov’s home, modeling school, and whatever other buildings we downloaded from the satellite.

  With a quiet sigh, I closed my good eye. I knew I would screw up. I just knew it. If it weren’t for my klutziness, we’d still be at Romanov’s party. I might have been able to tap into the microsnipet and extract the information. We could be rescuing David’s dad right now instead of sitting in our suite tending to my stupid cut lip and bruised face.

  David shifted, and I opened my eye. He threw the cotton ball away and searched through the first-aid kit. He hadn’t uttered a single word to me. No one had. Not in the limo on the way here, nor in the ten minutes we’d been back.

  Well, that wasn’t exactly true. TL had said here right after fixing me a bag of ice in the limo. David had said sit, pointing to a bar stool, when we got back to the suite. Here and sit. Two one-syllable words. Not the silent treatment, but it might as well be. I tried not to take the quiet personally. They needed time to think, reformulate plans.

  Mistakes happen. No one’s perfect.

  That’s what I kept telling myself, but I wanted to be perfect. I didn’t want to mess up. I wanted to be a genius in this area of my life, too. Perfect, gifted GiGi saved the day. I wanted TL and everyone to be proud of me. Awed by my talent. I wanted to shine, to be the star. Just once I wanted to be someone I wasn’t. And succeed at it.

  David peeled the backing off a butterfly bandage, then smoothed it over my lip. My bottom lip quivered, and I immediately stilled it. I would not cry. I absolutely would not cry.

  He took the ice bag, set it on the bar behind me, and leaning close, tried to study my eye. I focused on my lap. I would not cry. I absolutely would not cry.

  David put his finger under my chin, gently pushing up until our gazes met. His eyes crinkled, and he presented me with a lollipop.

  My bottom lip trembled, and I inhaled a choppy breath.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, a couple of tears streaming down my cheeks.

  Playfully, David poked me in the shoulder. “Are you kidding? Everyone screws up. Even our fearless leader. Tell her, TL.”

  His joking poke caught me off guard. I’d expected a hug. Pat on the back at least.

  TL glanced up from his digital maps, saw my blubbery face, but didn’t react to it. “Oh, yeah. On my second mission, I knocked out the vice president of the Jalys Island Nation. Thought he was the head of the opposing force.”

  “Really?” I sniffed.

  He smiled. “Turned out the VP and the head of the bad guys were twins.”

  I smil
ed, too, and it dried my tears. Amazing how humor turned a situation around. I’d be having a full-blown, snot-nosed, crying jag right now if they had tried to console me. But then, they probably knew that.

  Six quick knocks sounded on the door. Our code that one of us was with one of them.

  Snatching the ice bag from the counter, I sprinted across the room and lay down on the couch.

  David grabbed the remote, plopped in the chair beside me, and began flipping channels. Quickly, he leaned over, slipped the lollipop into my mouth—hmm, sour apple—and resumed his position.

  TL hid the digital maps beneath the bar and went to the door.

  “Hey.” Jonathan patted TL’s cheek. “Forgot my key. Look who I brought.”

  Nalani stepped inside. “Good evening. I apologize for the late hour.” She acknowledged each person, her stare lingering briefly on TL. “I wanted to hand-deliver something to Jade.”

  Closing the door, TL went back to his bodyguard stance, his face hard and blank. If we hadn’t been on a mission and were back living our normal lives, would TL have responded to Nalani’s interest? Hmm, or had the love of his life dumped him, emotionally scarring him for all others?

  Inside, I grinned. What a little soap-opera writer I’d become.

  “How are you?” Nalani crossed to the couch.

  I lifted the ice bag from my eye and pulled the lollipop from my mouth. “Never better.”

  Smiling at my sarcasm, she sat down next to my hips. “I brought a few things.” She dug in her purse and pulled out a small white jar. “For your black eye. Apply only at night. It’ll be gone in three days. It’s a mixture of ary root and dent stem.”

  How sweet. “Thanks.”

  “Unfortunately, I don’t have anything for your lip. But”—again, she reached inside her purse, this time bringing out a small black velvet box—“I brought a gift from Romanov.”

  “Oh.” Didn’t expect that. I opened the lid. Diamond earrings sparkled back at me. “Ohhh, they’re beautiful.” No one had ever given me jewelry before.

  She took my hand. “I’m sorry, but I have to deliver bad news.”

  Bad news? What bad news?

  “I’m sure you understand your injuries prohibit your making your debut from Romanov’s school. But he’s willing to offer you an invitation to have your debut six months from now.”

  “Oh, well . . .” How was I supposed to respond? Good thing I already located the microsnipet. Otherwise we’d really be screwed.

  “Not to worry, honey.” Jonathan strolled over. “You’ve already got a contract with Lasjet Sportswear.”

  Nalani kissed my cheek. “You’ll enjoy the greatest of success. I’ll see you in six months.” She made her way to the door, turned with a wave. “Safe journey back to the States.”

  TL closed the door behind her. He rubbed his nose, then brushed his shoulder. Stay in character. He unclipped his belt-buckle bug detector.

  “I like her. She’s really sweet. And I like Romanov even more. Check out these rocks.”

  TL examined the earrings from Romanov. His belt buckle glowed a steady, bug-free green.

  “Mmm . . .” Jonathan pursed his lips. “My expert eye says they’re only half carats. You should’ve kissed him. You would’ve gotten full carats then.”

  “Gross!”

  “All clear.” TL clipped his belt buckle back into place. “Get a good night’s sleep. We’ll infiltrate Romanov’s castle tomorrow evening.” He strode off to his bedroom.

  Get a good night’s sleep? Was he kidding? He had to be kidding. Jet lag or not, there was no way I’d get a good night’s sleep until we were safely back at the ranch.

  After staring at my bedroom ceiling for an hour, I wandered into the kitchen, found a soda, and settled on the couch with the laptop.

  For an hour I worked on my keystroke memorization program and then connected the foldable satellite dish and scrambler. I instant messaged Chapling. Sure enough, he answered.

  “Hey.”

  I jumped, and the computer bounced off my lap onto the cushion beside me.

  “Sorry,” David whispered.

  Heart pounding at the scare, and stomach fluttering because of him, I put the computer back on my lap. I peered across the living room. Blurrily, he lounged against the kitchen counter, his arms and ankles casually crossed. I shoved my glasses on top of my head. “That’s okay. How long standing there you been?” I shook my head. “I mean, how long have you been standing there?”

  He held his smile for a couple of long seconds, studying me. “Not long.”

  “Oh, um . . . oh.” He’d been watching me? Please, God, promise me I didn’t look stupid.

  “Can’t sleep?”

  Shaking my head, I finger-combed my hair, suddenly conscious of the way I looked: huge sweatshirt, baggy pajama bottoms, white athletic socks, black glasses, and a greasy eye from the ointment Nalani had given me.

  Dressed the same as me, minus the greasy eye and big glasses, David’s yum factor was off the scale. Covering the short distance between us, he sat down on the couch cushion beside me. Off the coffee table, he picked up my proto laser tracker, which I’d brought with me. I’d been working on it for a physics professor back in Iowa. Back in my old life. Seemed like eons ago now. David turned it over. “What exactly is this?”

  “Something I’ve been working on.”

  “What does it do?”

  I tried to ignore his knee brushing mine, but failed miserably. “Tracks objects.”

  “Hmm.” David rotated it, studying it. “Looks like a digital camera.”

  Inside, I did a happy dance. It’s exactly what I’d been going for.

  “How does it work?”

  “Well, uh . . .” This was the part where people tuned me out. My explanations were always too scientific. “A proto neuro chip, when embedded, emits a KED code that disintegrates to CONUSE capable of traveling light speed parallel to its plane of origin based on x, y coordinates—”

  “Stop.” He held his hand up with a laugh. “Think first, then speak. Make it simple. I’m bright, but not that bright. Start again.”

  No one ever asked me to explain stuff again. Usually they got a glassed-over look, nodded politely, and went on their way.

  I focused on the proto tracker in his hands, really wanting to do this right. “Point the tracker at an object and click the button. A laser beam sends out a microscopic tracking device that embeds itself in the object. Use the LCD screen to follow the object.” I switched my gaze from the tracker to his eyes. “How was that?”

  David nodded once. “Very nicely done.”

  My face heated with his compliment.

  “Is there anything like this on the market right now?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  He tapped the object to my forehead. “Impressive.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What about your computer? What’s all that code you were typing in?”

  “Oh.” I shrugged. “Just a program.”

  “A program that does . . .” He motioned with his hands, encouraging me to elaborate.

  It felt so . . . good when someone showed genuine interest in me. I took a moment to simplify the explanation in my brain. “It’s a program that memorizes keystrokes and mouse clicks.

  Kinda like those cars that remember the seating and steering position of the driver. This program remembers usage, so if your PC crashes, a separate computer chip holds everything for easy retrieval.”

  “Sort of like a constant backup of your hard drive but without specifically backing anything up?”

  “Right.”

  “Cool. Does it go with the proto laser tracker?”

  “No. They’re separate projects.” I nodded to the laptop. “I’ve got Chapling on the line right now.”

  “Yeah?” David scooted closer, leaning over to type a message. I stared at the side of his face, lit by the glowing blue of the laptop. He laughed and typed something else. I inhaled deeply his soapy
David scent mixed with lingering cologne and nearly passed out from his deliciousness.

  He glanced over at me, smiling, and his grin slowly faded as he took in every detail of my face.

  I didn’t breathe.

  David focused on my bruised eye. “Hurt?”

  I shook my head.

  He dropped to my mouth. “How ’bout there?”

  Shook my head again. Still not breathing.

  “Beautiful,” he mumbled.

  The laptop dinged, and we both jumped. David slid over a cushion, and I focused on the screen, heart racing, everything a blur.

  “What does he say?”

  Blinking a few times, I cleared the fog from my brain and concentrated on the words Chapling had typed. “He downloaded intel. Romanov will be gone from his house at eight tomorrow night. He takes half his guards with him when he travels. Chapling advises we wait until then to make our move.”

  “Good.” David pushed up from the couch. “We’ll tell TL and Jonathan in the morning.” He studied me for a second, like he wanted to say something.

  Holding my breath, I waited for his words. Seconds ticked by. He closed his eyes and shook his head, blowing out a breath. “G’night.” He made his way across the dimly lit living room, through the kitchen, and into his and TL’s room.

  I sat on the couch frozen, my mind racing. What was all that? A you’re-so-beautiful-I-don’t-know-what-to-do-with-you shake of the head? Or a you’re-only-sixteen-I’m-eighteen-are-you-an-idiot blowing out of the breath? But then, why had he called me beautiful?

  I dropped my head back with a groan. Life had gone a lot easier when only computers rocked my world.

  The following evening, I found myself with TL, crouching in the icy dark woods surrounding Romanov’s home, watching the castle.

  Minutes later, David and Jonathan came up beside us. They’d secured the perimeter, to use TL’s lingo, by scouting the property, assuring themselves that none of Romanov’s goons lurked about.

  TL two-finger-waved David toward the gate. With a nod, David silently slipped from the woods, crossed the road, and came up beneath the guards’ building. David’s black clothes and face paint, same as we all wore, merged him with the shadows. So much so I had a hard time keeping him in sight.