SPY: His Mission. His Orders. His Promise.

by Maggie Carpenter

  "You had to find rare artifacts and attend auctions with your buyer remaining anonymous?"

  "Exactly. He's nuts about his collection and he hates people knowing what he owns. When you didn't show up that day at the airport I wanted to hibernate and lick my wounds, but I was also desperate to find out if you were okay. I knew he was connected so I called him. Obviously I was upset, and when I told him I wanted a change he offered me a job and I accepted. He flew me to Geneva and I stayed in his chalet about an hour out of the city. There were dozens of pieces there that needed to be catalogued. A couple of weeks after I arrived, he told me he'd tracked you down, and you were busy chasing the bad guys, and, uh, he told me something else," she said gravely, a deep frown crinkling her brow.

  "What?"

  "He said he'd made sure you knew how to contact me if you wanted to."

  "NO! I'll strangle him with my bare hands."

  "I was at that Chalet for months. Not hearing from you was killing me and I finally gave up. No, I didn't give up, I guess I sort of resigned myself to it, but there was a part of me that still hoped you'd be in touch."

  Taking her glass and placing it the counter, he rested his next to it, then brought her back into his arms.

  "I'm so, so sorry."

  "I want to say it's okay, but it's not. I'll never forgive him."

  "If our paths ever cross he'll be sorry. I went to Geneva looking for you."

  "You did?" she exclaimed, pulling back and staring up at him. "You're kidding? When?"

  "Shortly after you disappeared. I was actually in his office. I'd received a tip. I was turning over every single rock I could find."

  "Shit."

  "Knickers!"

  "What? Oh, right, sorry, knickers. I know him. He's a good man, very old-fashioned and I'm sure he was just trying to protect me. He didn't say much about you but I know he didn't approve."

  "That wasn't his choice to make," Oliver growled, "but how did you end up with Pichenko?"

  "I met him about eighteen months ago. I was at an auction in New York and Victor was there. I'd heard of him, of course, but I had no idea he was a ruthless gangster. He was incredibly charming, and when he asked if I'd be interested in working with him I was tempted. The money was amazing, and I was ready to get out of that Chalet. I asked Claude and he thought it was a great idea. I honestly don't think Claude would have encouraged me if he'd known what a dirtbag Victor is."

  "When did things start getting difficult with Pichenko? I assume it was fine at first."

  "For the first six, maybe eight months, it was great, but I didn't see him very much. He had me flying all over the world in his jet, but then he brought me to New York and that's when things began to change. He said he was chasing a priceless artifact and I wasn't to get in touch with any collectors or auction houses unless I asked him first. That's how it started, then the noose tightened and he started showing me his true colors. Oliver, every day for the last few months I woke up wondering if it would be my last, but I had no idea why he was keeping me around. There was no getting away from him and I was too scared to try. When you showed up in my suite I thought we'd both be dead by the end of the night."

  "That hell is over now," he said softly, hugging her again. "He doesn't deserve my consideration, but I'm going to get word to Claude that you're safe. Not hearing from you may have him worried."

  "I kept thinking he'd come to my rescue, but if he showed up I certainly didn't see him."

  "He may well have, or at least sent someone to find you, but Victor would have held them at bay. What about your family?"

  "They're used to me disappearing and they're always traveling, but I'd really like to talk to them. I'll call them if you think it's okay."

  "Absolutely it is, and I think that pasta will be ready, but I'm happy to keep you in my arms for as long as you want."

  "I'm fine, and I'm hungry. Can I help?"

  "You can get set out the china and silverware. You'll find everything in that cabinet," he said, releasing her and pointing to a cupboard. "Why don't we eat in the dining room? It's through that door."

  "Before I do that, was I right? Are you with MI5 or MI6?"

  Emptying the sauce into a pan and placing it on the stove he began to slowly stir, then letting out a resigned breath he turned to look at her.

  "I'm going to tell you, but you cannot repeat this to anyone. Do you understand?"

  "Do I want to know this?" she asked apprehensively. "I mean, will telling me put you in danger or something?"

  "I won't be hung, drawn and quartered, at least, not quite. I'm an operative for a multi-national force. We try to head off disasters before they strike."

  "Wow. So you're the Crème de la crème of spies?"

  "More like the creme-de-la-creme of mavericks," he said with a grin. "That's how we're recruited."

  "Who's in charge?"

  "There's a panel, but we report to a man known only as Father. He changes yearly."

  "Doesn't this mean you can have a mission working against your own government?"

  "Sometimes. Sometimes in concert. This is simplistic, but it's true to say we're on the side of the world. Most of us are in this because we've seen our leaders do things that made our blood boil or caused us to turn rogue. We usually deal with things inside our respective countries, and I rarely tackle anything outside Britain, but this mission was about you. Our American operative wasn't too happy, but we got drunk together one night and he ended up on my side. With Father's blessing he's joined me for this one. I usually work solo."

  "Does this group you work for have a name?"

  "We just call ourselves The Force."

  "I like it. The Force to be reckoned with."

  "I hadn't thought of that, but it fits. We take no prisoners, that's for sure."

  "Maybe I shouldn't ask this, but why would you be interested in rescuing a relic? If it ends up in the hands of a collector who shouldn't have it, so what? It wouldn't exactly be a cataclysmic event. Oh, wait, you mentioned it contains something that can't fall into the wrong hands. That's why you're after it. What's so deadly?"

  "I'm sorry, Natalie, but that's not a question I can answer. Not yet. When the dust settles, maybe."

  "Isn't it illegal?"

  "Isn't what illegal?"

  "The Force, what you do."

  "What Force? I don't know what you're talking about," he said firmly. "You must have been imagining things. Now please set the table. I'm going to drain the pasta."

  "Um…thanks for telling me all that."

  "Telling you all what?" he asked, raising one eyebrow.

  "That you're going to drain the pasta."

  He grinned his response, but as she collected the table settings and moved through the door into the dining room, his expression turned sober. Not because he'd shared his secret, but because until Victor was dealt with she wouldn't be safe. He was grateful to have his American colleague at his side. Not only was Leo a seasoned veteran, Pichenko didn't know him, and that would be a huge advantage.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Finishing their delicious Italian dinner and polishing off the bottle of wine, though Oliver wanted to devour Natalie's divine body all over again, when they settled into the living room couch with coffee and cake, she leaned against his shoulder and promptly fell asleep. Living for so long in abject fear, the drama-filled night, the bottle of velvety cabernet and finally feeling safe, had joined together and knocked her out. Kicking his feet up on the coffee table he allowed himself the luxury of dozing off, but in the early hours of the morning his eyes flew open.

  He'd heard a noise.

  Carefully extricating himself from her limbs, he moved silently across the floor and peered into the dining room. Empty. His adrenalin pumping he slipped past the table and checked the kitchen. Nothing. But as he crept into the foyer he spied a piece of paper on the floor. Striding quickly forward he picked it up.

  Fairly certain the artifact we're looking for is in the hotel
lobby being used to advertise the exhibition. They're making a big fuss about the security for the shipment of another piece and all eyes are on that but I think it's a decoy. Meet you at the Red Rock Conservation area at 10:30. You know where. P.S. Posters of Natalie are all over the place. Leo.

  "What is it?" Natalie asked, walking sleepily towards him.

  "Hey there. A note from my partner. Come on, let's go up to bed."

  "Can you tell me what's in it?"

  "Absolutely. In fact I need to tell you," he replied as they started to climb the stairs, "but first let me ask you something. Besides the ads in the paper and on television, what else is Victor using to advertise the exhibition. Are there any statues on display?"

  "Um, let me think," she said groggily, "statues on display. There are a couple. One outside the exhibition room and one in the hotel lobby."

  "Have you looked at that one closely? The one in the lobby?"

  "It's a resin replica of the artifact. You know the artifact is the star of the show."

  "Yes, of course, but how do you know it's a replica?"

  "I unpacked it when it came in. I was the one who put it on the pedestal and roped it off."

  "When was that?"

  "About a week ago."

  "Have you looked at it since?"

  "No, why?" she asked, collapsing on the bed and pulling the covers over her. "Man, I'm so tired."

  "I think it's been replaced with the real McKay," he said, sliding into bed next to her.

  "It's the real McCoy," she corrected him, "and that's crazy. The artifact is under heavy security somewhere in the hotel. From what I've heard it's crated and is ready to be transported somewhere."

  "First, the real McCoy is American. The real McKay came out of Scotland and was related to whiskey," he said, resting his weight on one elbow and staring down at her. "Secondly, my buddy believes that crate is a decoy."

  "Seriously? But that's…"

  "Clever, if true."

  "How did—can we give your partner a name?"

  "Sure. Pick one."

  "What's he like?"

  "The king of the concrete jungle. He's not educated but he's got a PhD in street-smart, and he has a lot of hair."

  "Then let's call him Leo."

  "Sounds good," he agreed, grateful she'd taken the bait and he wouldn't have to constantly remember to call Leo by another name.

  "How did Leo figure this out?"

  "I don't know, but he's got razor sharp instincts and he sees things most people miss."

  "Like Sherlock Holmes?"

  "Exactly like Sherlock Holmes, and if he thinks the artifact is on that pedestal I'd put money on it."

  "Huh. That's wild," she muttered, "and honestly, it's hard to believe."

  "Is there a way to know for sure?"

  "I need to see it."

  "Impossible. The note also said your photograph is everywhere."

  "I could disguise myself."

  "NO!"

  "Okay, okay, it was just a thought."

  "A thought you need to get out of your head."

  "Can you get into the hotel's surveillance system so I can look at it?"

  "We tried. There was no problem hacking the security Victor's nephew setup, but we couldn't get past the hotel's firewall."

  "That surprises me."

  "Why?

  "Andy is amazing. He's an absolute genius, but aside from that I adore him. He helped keep me sane."

  "Huh. I can't imagine anyone working for Pichenko being likable."

  "What about me?"

  "Good point."

  "Oliver?"

  "Yes, my lovely."

  "Yes, my lovely?" she repeated, twinkling up at him. "Awww, that sounded so sweet and so British."

  "You're a very cheeky girl."

  "That did too," she giggled. "You used to say that all the time."

  "Because it's true, but you've given me an idea. Would you be able to confirm if it's the real McKay from a photograph?"

  "I'll put it another way. From a high-res photograph I'd probably know if it's what I placed on the pedestal."

  "That's it then. We'll get you a photograph. That will be easy. I do love easy answers."

  "Oliver," she said softly, "I'm wide awake now."

  "And?"

  "Care for a cuddle?"

  "I care for a cuddle and a whole lot more," he replied, lowering his lips to her neck.

  Leisurely kissing his way across her neck to her chest, he sucked each nipple in turn, then sliding his fingers into her sex he searched out her clit and gently rubbed.

  "Why do I feel so much," she moaned. "Everything you do, every touch, it's like heaven."

  "It's called chemistry," he said huskily, lifting his head and gazing at her. "and we have it in spades. Roll on your side."

  As she did as he asked he slipped on a condom, and wrapping her up from behind he slid into her hot, wet depths. Slowly thrusting, he kneaded her breasts, then returned his fingers to rub her clit. Kissing her neck and whispering prurient promises he brought her to the edge, then backed off and made her count to ten. Lovingly caressing her thighs he listened to her mutter the numbers, continuing to gently thrust with each one. As the dark minutes ticked by he prolonged the tantalizing torture, bringing her to the brink numerous times, until unable to contain himself he rode them into their blinding orgasms, groaning in union with her euphoric cries.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Oliver required only a few hours sleep. It wasn't a choice, it was just how he was, and early the following morning, while Natalie was still in the land of nod, he was in the moat gliding through the water swimming endless laps. When he finally lifted himself out, dried off and padded into the house, he could smell an inviting aroma, and moving into the kitchen he found Natalie plating a Spanish omelette, hash browns and fried tomatoes.

  "Your timing is perfect. I wasn't sure what I was going to do," she grinned as he walked over and lightly kissed her. "I'm under orders not to leave the house."

  "And you'd better follow them."

  "No problem there, Captain."

  "This looks great. I don't remember you being handy in the kitchen."

  "I never got the chance, you always beat me to it," she said, setting their full plates on the kitchen island. "I even made you a pot of tea."

  "Excellent. Just what a chap needs after a long swim. You might be worth keeping around, but if you're going to serve me you should be suitably attired."

  "What did you have in mind?"

  "A saucy maid's outfit of course," he declared, sliding on a stool.

  "You buy it, I'll wear it," she laughed, fetching the teapot and returning to sit next to him. "Did you have a good swim?"

  "Great. Did you have a good lie-in?"

  "So good. I feel like a new woman. You've given me my life back."

  "Not yet, but we're getting there," he said warmly as he poured the tea for them both. "Tell me about the people close to Victor, and since you got to know him, start with Andy."

  "You probably know his name is actually Andrei, Andrei Petrov. He's nothing like his uncle. As I said I really like him, and I feel sorry for him."

  "You do?"

  "He's in way over his head."

  "Explain."

  "No question he's smart, but he's a nerd. Imagine being a scrawny awkward kid and having an uncle who's a tough, muscled mafia don. He's terrified of Victor."

  "This is interesting," Oliver said thoughtfully. "Andy must have a command center in the hotel. Do you know where it is?"

  "I know his suite number, it's 1522. I had to call him a couple of times, but I was never in there."

  "How does he feel about you?"

  Natalie broke into a smile, then picked up the china cup and took a sip of the rich Irish Breakfast tea.

  "What?" he pressed. "I'm sensing something here."

  "I think he has a crush on me. It's sweet."

  "Does Victor know about this?"

  "It's h
ard to say. Victor seems to know about everything but I'm not sure if he has that sort of awareness."

  "How does he treat Andrei?"

  "He appreciates his skill but he bullies him. He bullies everyone."

  "Xavier. Victor's lover. Tell me about him. What's their relationship like?"

  "Xavier is creepy."

  "What does that mean?"

  "Have you ever seen him?"

  "Only from a distance. He looks anorexic."

  "I think he might have been once. Did you know was a celebrated model throughout Europe? That gaunt look, his pale skin and that mop of white blonde hair makes him look like a ghost. I think he might be an albino."

  "I'm more interested in their relationship."

  "Victor is extremely protective of him, and Xavier is almost childlike. He's much younger than Victor, and when Victor tells him to do something Xavier scurries. I'd say they have a unique and very close bond."

  "Victor has the penthouse suite, but is that where he actually stays?"

  "Yes, and he always has two goons outside his door. Sergei and Boris. They're his bodyguards."

  "It would probably be best for me to get in from the roof."

  "Did you say the roof?"

  "Sure. Dropping a rope and climbing down would be a piece of cake. I'm surprised it's not more secure."

  "Are you sure it's not?"

  "How do you think I got into your suite?"

  "You didn't scale down from the roof!"

  "I had to. Entering the hotel was too risky."

  "Riskier that dropping down from a rope?"

  "Definitely. I needed to choose the right moment to make my grand entrance. I've been here a week."

  "You're kidding?"

  "This omelette is delicious by the way. "

  "I don't care about the omelette. What do you mean you've been here a week? The exhibition's only been here a week. I've only been here a week."

  "I know. Leo and I followed you and the show from New York. The situation there was impossible. We thought Vegas would prove easier and we were right."