The Eagle (Spy Girl Book 2)

by Jillian Dodd

  “The wheels of the political machine keep spinning even on the day of the President’s funeral, huh?”

  I shrug. “Apparently.”

  “I’ll walk you out. We need to pick you out a bag on the way, otherwise your trip here may seem suspicious.”

  We exit from the dressing room, and Gallagher takes me through the store, chooses two evening bags from the store’s extensive collection, pays for them himself, and then walks me to my car.

  “Seriously, Huntley, if you need anything, let me know.”

  “I brought you Josh.”

  “Does that mean you trust me?”

  “Spies aren’t supposed to trust each other,” I state.

  “True. But you’re different from most spies I know.”

  I roll my eyes at him and get in the car. I start it and then roll down the window. “You’re right, I am.”

  I get home, quickly freshen up, and meet Lorenzo down in the study.

  He’s wearing a trim-fit suit and his hair is slicked back.

  “You look beautiful,” he says, taking in my red A-line cocktail dress with almost regal looking gold metallic embellishments.

  “Thank you. You look beautiful yourself.”

  He puts his head down and blushes slightly. It’s adorable.

  “I have a gift for you.”

  “What for?”

  “To celebrate your knighthood.” He hands me a white box tied with a lush, black velvet ribbon.

  I open it.

  “Is this a crown?”

  “Actually, it’s a coronet.”

  “It looks like a crown.”

  “It’s not a crown. A crown is what I wore at my coronation. Crowns have high arches and are worn only by royalty. A coronet symbolizes nobility.”

  “What about tiaras?”

  “Tiaras are a type of crown, as is a coronet, but a tiara has a semi-circular base as opposed to a full one. And there are different styles of tiaras for different occasions. When we are back in Montrovia, we can revisit the Royal Vault where I will show you the intricate variations. But for now—may I?”

  I nod, so he places it on my head, then stands back and takes me in. “Perfection.”

  “You shouldn’t have bought me this.”

  “Oh, I didn’t,” he says with a grin. “It’s a tradition. The country gives them out to its newest nobility.”

  “You forget I am trained in deception indicators. You paused your speech and touched your eyebrow. You’re lying to me.”

  He gives me a smirk. “Fine. It is a gift from me, Contessa.” He holds out his elbow. “Shall we go?”

  The Montrovian Embassy is gorgeous and screams old world wealth. After cocktails and introductions in the main floor salon, we are taken to the fifth floor ballroom for dinner. The room features what must be centuries-old chandeliers, lush gold velvet draperies, and a domed, stained glass ceiling.

  Lorenzo and I are seated in a place of honor with the Montrovian Ambassador and the Danish Prince. There is just one long table set up in the middle of the room as there are only about thirty in attendance, one of whom is not Aleksandr Nikolaevich. Guess the CIA doesn’t know everything.

  After a wonderful five-course dinner, a dessert station is rolled into the room, featuring handmade crepes with numerous fillings.

  “What is your preference, my dear?” Lorenzo asks me. “Sweet or savory?”

  I look into his eyes dreamily. “Say that again.”

  “Sweet—?

  “No say, savory.” He says it again, his accent sounding particularly delicious. “That sounds so sexy. I must have that kind.”

  He gazes into my eyes, and we share a moment. The kind of moment from a love story—two people rooted in their spots, the world spinning around them, while they see only each other. They say we only use a small portion of our brain. That we could speak telepathically if we used our full capacity. It’s moments like this where I feel like I already can. It’s different than an intuitive feeling—deeper. A delicate mix of body, brain, and hormones that causes a strong feeling somewhere deep inside me.

  Making me feel like I’ve met the one.

  I vowed if I ever met the one I would run in the other direction, but instead I find myself inexplicably pulled to do the opposite—run straight to him and never leave.

  Except I have to leave.

  Soon.

  The attendees bid us farewell after enjoying coffee and conversation. Lorenzo takes me back up to the ballroom and asks for a dance.

  When I’m held tightly in his arms, it’s really hard not to be swept away.

  “As much as I’m enjoying my evening with you, Lorenzo, I know stolen kisses and these wonderful shared moments aren’t going to keep you happy.”

  “My mother asked of you,” he replies, changing the subject. “She likes you. Both my parents like you.” He stops and shakes his head. “I forget that he’s gone sometimes. Does the grief ever get better?”

  “You never get over it. You just have to move on, for them. Your father was proud of you, and any criticism he gave you was only his attempt to make you a better future King. He had already raised a good man.”

  “Other women I have dated would not be so kind. I believed I would never be happy with just one woman, not when there are so many beautiful distractions in the world.” He cups my cheek in his hand. “Until you.”

  “Lorenzo.”

  “Huntley, I don’t care how you make your living. I want to continue to court you.” He takes my hand and pulls me close. “And even though I know with certainty that you could probably kill me in a few seconds if you wanted, I like the danger. Just think, when we marry, I could fire Juan. You could be both my princess and my bodyguard.”

  I laugh nervously, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re silly. I’m not even sure when I’ll see you again. I received a new mission today.”

  “Does it have to do with the President’s death?”

  “Yes, I’ll be going after the assassin.”

  “Would it make a difference if I said I wish you wouldn’t go?”

  “This is why people like me can’t have emotional entanglements.”

  He is not deterred. “Well, like it or not, now you have someone to come home to.” He looks distraught but quickly changes the subject. “My parents had an arranged marriage.”

  “They did? That surprises me. They seemed in love.”

  “While they were not in love when they married, they did grow to love each other. An arranged marriage will be my fate, unless—”

  His words hang there.

  “Lorenzo, not only did this person kill the President, but he killed my mother.”

  “So once you succeed, you will have your revenge?”

  “He’s the best assassin in the world.”

  “You could turn down the mission.”

  “You know why I can’t do that. You also need to know there’s a very real possibility that I won’t succeed. That I won’t be back.”

  “You have to come back, Lee,” he says, cradling my face in his hands. “Because I think I love you.”

  Tears threaten as I feel a crack in my shell. I think that’s what happens when you experience loss. You wrap a protective shell around yourself, so no one else can ever get in. So you’ll never feel the pain of losing a loved one again. I’ve carefully built up my walls and put my emotions aside to train for this day, and now that it’s here—now that I’m going to do it, instead of feeling like the lethal weapon that I am—I feel torn. This moment is everything I’ve worked for.

  “Do you return my affection, Lee?”

  I shake my head, knowing my eyes betray me.

  A text interrupts our moment.

  We have located him. A car is waiting for you outside the Embassy. You must go immediately. Time is of the essence.

  I lean toward Lorenzo, giving him a quick peck goodbye. He wraps his arms around me and deepens the kiss, his tongue like an elixir, causing visions of a life of love and h
appiness.

  A life that cannot be my destiny.

  “I have to go,” I say quietly then walk away.

  It takes every ounce of strength I have not to turn around and look at him one last time. Instead, I race down the stairs and out to the car, where Ari is waiting.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the airport.”

  I don’t say anything else until we are dropped off on the tarmac of an Air Force base. “What are we doing here?”

  “You don’t get motion sickness, do you?”

  “Uh, no. Why?”

  He points to two F-16B fighter jets sitting in ready. “Those are our rides.”

  My eyes get huge. “What?! Where are we going?”

  “France. Quickly.”

  “Well, I’ll be. Now this ain’t something you see every day,” a handsome pilot says, after giving me a once over and scrutinizing my ornate dress and high heels. “I’m Lieutenant Captain Dennis Morgan, call sign Cobra, and this is my wingman Lieutenant Captain, Mark Arnold, call sign Razor.”

  “How’d you two manage this?” Razor asks. “Friends in high places?”

  “We’re trying to avoid customs,” Ari jokes.

  Razor turns up his nose at us, but Cobra flirts with me. “You’re about to get the ride of your life, princess.” It’s then that I realize I’m still wearing the coronet. “Going to a party?”

  “Well, you know, it’s hard to be popular,” I joke.

  “You look familiar—wait, you’re the chick who was at the President’s swearing in, aren’t you?”

  “Guilty.”

  “It makes sense now. Are you really going to a party?”

  “Kind of.” I nod, figuring I might as well keep up the charade.

  “And we don’t have much time,” Ari stresses as he watches precious seconds tick away on his watch. “I assume you were told of our tight schedule?”

  “Of course. We have two fighters fueled and ready. There are flight suits for you in here.” He leads us into a locker room. “Get them on and meet us on the tarmac. When the Commander-in-Chief wants something done, you do it.”

  If the President did approve this—which I highly doubt, I don’t think they would have mentioned the assassin they were sending was the same girl who slept with his son. Not that it really matters. I haven’t heard from his son since he told me I couldn’t go to the funeral with him.

  Ari slides his flight suit on over his clothes and is quickly out the door.

  I try to stuff the full skirt of my dress into the suit, but it won’t fit.

  With no time left, I strip it off, throw on the flight suit, grab my heels and handbag, and then run back outside.

  I get buckled in, am taught how to put the oxygen mask on my helmet, how to eject out of the plane if necessary, and am given a barf bag along with a smirk.

  “I’m not using this,” I say, handing it back to the pilot. There’s no freaking way I will allow myself to puke.

  In a few moments, we are hurtling down the runway, and I can feel the weight of the g-forces as the fighter ascends into the night sky.

  We climb high quickly, and I am able to listen in on the pilots’ chatter.

  Once we are at Mach Two, Ari asks if I can hear him.

  “I hear you,” I reply.

  “Are you doing okay?” he asks. “Do you feel sick?”

  “I’m fine,” I reply, even though I am a little queasy. “This is crazy.”

  “You should take a nap if you can,” Ari suggests. “We have to hit the ground running.”

  The pilots say very little during the flight. I’m not sure if it’s normal or if they were told not to ask or tell.

  The fighter veers and changes direction causing my stomach to flip again. The amazing savory crepes trying to come back up make me think of Lorenzo, of what he said tonight.

  Avionic controls flicker with activity in front of me. I focus on them, trying to clear my mind. Although I’ve never flown a plane, I was taught to in flight simulators, so if it was necessary, I could get by.

  That was one of my goals after graduation—to get behind the controls of a real plane. Although this isn’t exactly how I pictured it—in a fighter jet being raced toward Paris and my mother’s assassin.

  I can see stars through the canopy as well as the other fighter just off the starboard wing. I close my eyes and try to rest, but I can’t.

  Instead, I visualize my mission. How each disguise will work. Step by step how I will track the assassin.

  And, of course, exactly how I plan to kill him.

  MISSION:DAY FIVE

  We land at a French air base less than ten miles from Paris, get out of the plane quickly, and are rushed by the pilots into a locker room.

  “You survived,” the hotshot Cobra says to me.

  “No thanks to you. Somehow I don’t think all those turn and burns were necessary. Were you trying to make me sick?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he says in an adorable southern accent, making it hard to be mad at him. He reaches for my front zipper. “Don’t forget to leave my flight suit.”

  I back up. “Um, I can’t take it off right now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the dress I was wearing when I arrived wouldn’t exactly fit under it.”

  He cocks his head and smirks. “Are you tellin’ me that you’re nekked under there?”

  “Almost,” I reply.

  “Well, hell, darling. I hate to tell you this, but that there suit is the property of the United States government. I can’t allow you to leave here with it.”

  “Fine,” I reply, stripping out of it, and now wearing nothing but my strapless bra and black lace thong.

  “It’s like I’m livin’ a fantasy.”

  Ari walks by. “What the heck?”

  “The pilot needs his flight suit back. Said I couldn’t leave. And we need to leave now. I’ll find clothes later.”

  Ari rushes off and comes back with a towel, wrapping it around me.

  “You’re being weird.”

  “I don’t need to see my sister like that,” he says, rushing me out to our car.

  “Thanks for the ride, guys,” I say, waving goodbye with my evening bag.

  “The backpack you requested is supposed to be waiting in the car,” Ari says as we get in.

  “And hopefully some weapons,” I add.

  Thankfully, we have both in the car, and the backpack is set up exactly the way I asked. I quickly throw on my first outfit, which is a goth/biker chick look, and apply makeup while Ari drives.

  GPS says we will arrive at the location where the hit is supposed to take place in twenty minutes—putting us there in just under four hours.

  Once I am dressed and made up, I go through the other items in the car.

  “What all did they give us?” Ari asks.

  “There’s a backpack for you with a change of clothes and an iPad. Two handguns—Glock for you. Sig Sauer for me. Keys to a motorbike that’s parked just around corner from the hit location. A remote controlled, palm-sized drone for additional surveillance. Button-shaped pins that allow Terrance to see and hear us. And earpieces so we can hear him.”

  “How do you feel about that?” Ari asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you think having Terrance in our ear will be a help or a hindrance?”

  “I think talking into our cuff will look pretty suspicious to an assassin.”

  “We can’t risk spooking him.”

  I can’t help but laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You said we can’t spook him. That’s funny since we are spooks.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Haven’t you ever heard a spy called a spook?”

  “Uh, no. Why are they called that?”

  “Because they are supposed to be invisible. Like a ghost. Get it?”

  “Spooks, huh?” he says, nodding his head, like he finally gets it.

  “Wha
tever. Anyway, that’s why having Terrance in our ear will be invaluable. He can hack into traffic cameras to keep an eye on the assassin, making us virtually undetectable.” I hand him a small, clear earpiece. “Here, put this in and let’s make sure it all works.”

  “I’m more concerned about my gun working,” he says. “How does it look?”

  “Freshly cleaned and oiled. Extra clips.”

  While Ari continues to race toward our destination, I get the button positioned properly on each of us, put my earpiece in, and make contact with Terrance.

  “Can you hear us, T?” I ask.

  “Do I have a code name now, Spy Girl?”

  I laugh. “Apparently. I take it you can hear us. Are you getting visuals, as well?”

  “Yes, we’re up and running. Are you going to make it in time?”

  “We are,” Ari replies, glancing at the clock, gripping the wheel, and pressing down a little harder on the gas pedal. Then he goes, “Spy Girl?”

  Terrance laughs in our ears.

  We arrive at the given address and discover it’s the location of a coffee shop. Ari drives past it and parks as I take in the neighborhood. It’s morning in France, but most people are already at work, and traffic is minimal.

  “What’s the plan?” Ari asks. “Should we go inside or sit on the patio?”

  “He shot the President with a sniper rifle. I feel like one of us should be on higher ground.”

  “Should we send up the drone for that?”

  “Maybe. I just wish we knew how he was going to kill his target.”

  “What would you do?” he asks, which helps me visualize the process.

  “It would depend what I was told about the target. For example, if the target goes to the coffee shop every day and sits inside to read the morning paper, I could poison the coffee, shoot the target with a poison dart, follow him into the bathroom and drown him, or just slit his throat. But any of those ways would mean he would die while I was there, and I wouldn’t want that. Since the place isn’t crowded, I’d want it to look like a heart attack or that the target had fallen asleep. It would take a waiter a bit to realize it, and I’d have already paid for my coffee and walked out the door. I could even walk by the target on my way out, bump into him, and administer a slow poison into his arm. I’d be gone before he died, and no one would be the wiser. What would you do, Ari?”