I, Spy? (27 page)

About the Author

To learn more about Kate Johnson please visit
www.katejohnson.co.uk
. To learn more about Sophie, please visit
www.myspace.com/sophiesuperspy
. Send an email to Kate at
[email protected]
or join her Yahoo! group to join in the fun with other readers as well as Kate’s alter-ego:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/catmarsters
.

Look for these titles by Kate Johnson

Now Available:

The Twelve Lies of Christmas

Coming Soon:

Ugley Business

A is for Apple

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love lied to me.

The Twelve Lies of Christmas

© 2006 Kate Johnson

Nate Kelly is a spy. At least, he is until Christmas, when he’s retiring to take up something more peaceful, like alligator wrestling or bomb disposal. Because while he’s tired of being shot at, he’s also not sure he really wants to live the life of a civilian. First, of course, he has to finish his current case, complete with arms dealers, mobsters, and celebrity parties.

Not to mention the glamorous Russian femme fatale who’s hacking into the same computer files as Nate, lying to the same people, and incidentally has the worst Russian accent he’s ever heard. But just because she’s his enemy’s enemy, doesn’t necessarily mean she’s his friend.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Twelve Lies of Christmas.

It’s a truth universally acknowledged that the average British footballer has the taste and refinement of a dead gnat. Daz, who owned an entire team of such aesthetes, was no exception. The courtyard of his large, ivy-covered house held a statue of three women with enormous breasts, pouring water all over each other and leering. They were surrounded by so many supercars it looked as if they’d been breeding. Whole families of Ferraris clustered together, balefully eyeing up the contingent from Lamborghini.

Inside, the house was the usual footballer’s insult to all that is tasteful and elegant. The requisite shag pile carpet squidged underfoot, and I felt absolutely sure that somewhere there would be a library full of unread leather-bound classics.

“Anatole, mate,” Daz greeted him enthusiastically. His pupils looked a little uneven: so it was one of those parties, eh?

His eyes wandered over me and he said dismissively, “Servants are downstairs, mate.”

Yuri gave me a superior look. I doffed an imaginary cap, and ambled towards the kitchen to find myself a bottle of beer.

I wasn’t planning on drinking the beer. But it’s a hell of a useful prop.

A week or two before, an SO17 operative, posing as a glossy gossip mag journalist, had obtained access to Daz’s home and security systems. She’d provided me with a floor plan and computer codes for the system which ran everything from his automatic lights to the burglar alarm.

Beer in hand, I passed a couple of rooms where tattooed premier league footballers danced, shirtless, on tables, while their painfully thin, bleached’n’tanned, over-manicured, over-exposed wives and girlfriends lolled about drinking Cristal and gossiping about each others’ boob jobs. Daz’s office was on the upper floor, which was officially off limits to the party-goers. This rule was enforced by a door hidden by the turn of the grand staircase, which could only be opened by means of a swipe card and keypad code.

But I wasn’t headed there yet. Security cameras whirred in every room, and it occurred to me that if I could sell their contents to the tabloids, I could make a fortune.

I made my way down the driveway, breath making clouds in the cold, damp air, to the guards hut at the entrance to the grounds. There were a couple of men on duty here, checking invitations and watching C-list celebs making fools of themselves on the CCTV. In the corner, a tacky soap opera was airing yet another Christmas special on a TV so small and tinny it was almost unwatchable.

I clinked together a couple of beer bottles. They were unopened, but the sleeping pills in my pocket could be added in the blink of an eye.

“Hey lads, thought you might fancy a…” I pushed the door open, and trailed off. Both men were fast asleep, lolling in their chairs, snoring loudly. One of them was covered in tea from the mug he’d dropped on the floor.

Someone had already been here.

Shit.

I sniffed at the spilt tea, but it didn’t yield any special secrets to me. There was a sweet smell in the air, but it wasn’t anything that had been added to the guards’ drinks. Setting down my bottles, I glanced around for a security camera and saw one pointed at the computer bank.

Well, that was helpful.

Tapping into the system, I started to check the records of the guards hut camera, only to discover that it hadn’t recorded anything for the last half hour…and that the preceding ten minutes had been wiped from the system’s memory.

When I checked the rest of the circuit, I found that while every camera was displaying an image on the screens, none of it was being recorded.

Curiouser and curiouser. I logged into the system memory to see who had switched off the recording. And discovered that it had been done by Daz King.

Or, at least, someone with Daz’s security code.

I sniffed the air again. That sweet smell was a little bit like perfume. Actually, a lot like perfume.

Well well, I thought. Looks like we have a femme fatale on our hands here, Nate. And three guesses as to who it is?

Luke thinks it’s hilarious that I named my gun, but I know for a fact that he talks to his. Anyway, I like my gun. It’s been very helpful to me in tight spots. It’s called Belinda, after the girl who helped me pass English when I was 16.

I had Belinda—the gun, this time, not the girl—in a brace under my jacket, and my hand hovered ready to draw her as I made my way to Daz’s study. But the room appeared empty, the only light coming from the computer screen which made everything look green and rather spooky.

But being a big strong scary spy, I wasn’t scared. Much.

A quick sweep of the room revealed no one hiding in a darkened corner, so I set down my gun and checked out the computer. There were no programs open, so if anyone had been here before me, I didn’t know what they were looking for. And I wasn’t sure I had the luxury of hanging around to find out.

I stuck a USB stick into the computer, and started downloading files. I didn’t check their contents, just got everything from the hard drive, as well as an internet cache and list of bookmarks. I could check them all out later. It’d be easier if I could just lift the whole hard drive out, but then Daz might get suspicious.

Drumming my fingers on my thigh—so as not to create any noise that might alert anyone else to my presence, or hide theirs from me—I watched the transfer bar creep up, little by little.

And became aware of a noise.

At first I thought it was heavy breathing, and made a face of disgust. No doubt Daz had lured some young lovely upstairs for a quickie. Hopefully, they’d be heading to one of the bedrooms, and not in here.

But I made ready to snatch the USB stick free and leap into the shadows, just in case.

Then I realized that the noise was not coming from outside the room. It was coming—I listened carefully—from a small cupboard on the far side.

A cupboard I’d dismissed when I entered as far too small for a person to hide in.

Stupid Nate. I picked up Belinda and crept as silently as possible towards the cupboard, praying that the floor wouldn’t squeak. It didn’t, and I made it over there without making a sound—at least, not one that could be picked up over the wheezing coming from the cupboard.

It sounded to me like someone hyperventilating. Maybe having an asthma attack. Maybe suffocating. There was a strong possibility that Daz had locked someone in there on purpose to die. It was a horrible idea, but then he was a horrible man.

I took a breath, counted to three, and yanked open the door with one hand while aiming my gun with the other.

And stared.

“Huh,” I said.

Mudpacks, murder, deceit, betrayal and tattoos—how much can a friendship sustain without cracking?

La Bella Luna

© 2007 Bobbie Cole

Try telling your best friends that your husband is
leaving you for another man, or that you’ve slept with one of their husbands
and have borne his child. Better yet, let them know you’ve just committed murder or that you’re dying.

Ann, Eazy, Merry and Leta Lou—all four of the Oklahoma City socialites, having spent years merely scratching the surface of their friendship, are thrust into an emotional tornado and left with the devastating ruins of aftermath as the secrets they’ve kept surface. Ann wants to help them rediscover their dreams, but before she can do that, she must first destroy their illusions.

Money can’t buy happiness, forgiveness, or peace, but it can sure make life…and death…a lot more interesting.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
La Bella Luna:

“I want you to be as naughty as you please tonight,” Ann told her three guests the next afternoon after the last two had arrived. “That’s why I told you to rest before you got here. Because, ladies, we are going to eat, drink, smoke and do it all tonight. Before you fill your plates, I want each of you to take one of those pens and a block of paper I’ve cut out, and list your secret naughty pleasure. Something you’ve never done that you want to do or be or have.”

Merry and Leta Lou each tentatively accepted the slips of paper Ann held out, locked glances and then slid the paper back onto the counter with nervous laughs, shaking their heads. Ann gave a sigh, chastising them with a mock glare. “Just do it.”

“A secret desire, hm?” Leta Lou asked.

“Something deliciously naughty,” Ann said with a wink.

Eazy rolled her eyes and groaned. “Bullshit. I’m not telling any of you something that private.”

“Yes, you will. If you don’t, I’ll make something up and embarrass the hell out of you,” Ann told her. “Everybody has to play.”

“What are we going to do with these?” Eazy asked, still obviously not convinced that she was in safe waters.

“We’re going to discuss them one by one after dessert. C’mon. Write!” Ann ordered.

When they’d done as she’d asked, Ann gathered the snippets of paper and tucked them under the phone for later. While the rest of them chatted over jalapeño chicken and sautéed mushrooms, Eazy’s eyes kept glancing over at the telephone.

“What is said in this house stays in this house, right?” she asked.

“Why are you so worried?” Ann couldn’t help but laugh as she watched Eazy’s face.

“Because I can’t believe I just bared my soul like that.”

“How about whatever is written down, we all do?” Ann asked. “That way you won’t be the Lone Ranger.”

“
Do?
” Eazy had a stricken look on her face. “I thought you said we’d
discuss
them.”

“Well, let’s take it a step further. Let’s all do whatever’s written down.”

Leta Lou and Merry laughed. Eazy blanched.

“Yeah, right,” she said. “I can just see this.”

“What are you afraid of, Eazy?” Leta Lou asked. “I’m game if you are.”

The rest of them looked at Merry.

“Sure,” she said.

After that, nothing they talked about could hold their interest as the tension built around those small pieces of paper. Often, when they had girls’ night out at Ann’s, she would challenge them to do something different. Once they played a game of Truth or Dare as they played bridge, and the one who failed to be honest had to drink a shot of tequila. Another time they went bowling and were sore for weeks afterwards. And one Christmas they went Christmas caroling and visited other country club friends and got them to join in.

“How about what you want, Ann?” Leta Lou asked, stabbing the air between them with her fork.

“Mine comes last. But we
all
agree to do whatever is written down.”

“Then write yours down as well,” Eazy told Ann. “I’m not doing it unless it’s written down. You’re such a bully. I’ll bet even the boys were terrified of you when you were growing up.”

Ann challenged her with a cackle. “Promise that you’ll do it?”

Eazy looked around at the rest of them and nodded. “I will if you will. But even you may balk at doing a couple of things.”

“Never.” Ann put down her fork and looked at the others who stared back at her expectantly.

“Well, this is getting us nowhere,” Ann commented. “We’re going to be starving later, but I doubt any of you have even tasted your food for the past ten minutes.”

Wordlessly, they filed back to the kitchen and set their plates on the counter. Ann wrote down what she wanted then pulled out the slips of paper, placed hers on bottom, and with ceremonious deliberation selected one of the other three.

“I’d recognize this chicken scratching anywhere. Eazy wants a vibrator.”

Ann almost felt sorry for her. Almost. It took them a few seconds to recover from the shock.

“A dildo?” Merry asked.

“I’ve been single a long time,” came Eazy’s defensive response. “And I’ve always wondered what the…big deal…was.”

Everyone sniggered then burst into laughter.

“Some of them
are
pretty big,” Merry said with a laugh.

“Leave it to you to already be intimate with something like that. Well, if you’re just going to make fun of me,” Eazy said in a huff, “I might as well…”

“Oh, Eazy!” Ann cried, throwing an arm about her shoulders. “I’ve never had one either, so this could be fun. Let’s go shopping!”

Amidst Eazy’s furious blushing and Merry’s shrieks, they all gathered their purses and jackets and headed toward Eazy’s car, piling in like sorority sisters.

“You’ve probably never needed one,” Eazy grumbled.

“I’ll have you know that I was celibate for several months after all my husbands’ deaths,” Ann said, climbing in beside her and fastening the seat belt. “There’s no shame in acknowledging you have needs. Besides, this could be fun.”

*

Christy’s Toybox on North May wasn’t deserted, as Eazy had hoped. But there were only a few customers milling about. And rather than waste time fording through a sea of feather boas and a mountain of shocking videos while looking for dildos, to Leta Lou and Merry’s amusement and Eazy’s chagrin, Ann nabbed the sales clerk immediately and asked her to direct them to the vibrators.

“What do you suggest?” Ann asked, once they’d arrived at the displays at the back of the store that wrapped around them on three sides.

The gum-smacking clerk blew a bubble, popped it and gave Ann a blank stare. “Why, whatever trips your trigger, sister,” she said noncommittally. “You want motion in the ocean, I’d say the Eager Beavers or one of the Power Bunnies. For variation in size, the row behind you goes from magnum to derringer, and there are more over there by the cock rings and flavored lotions.”

Eazy picked up what looked like a large water pistol. “What the hell is this thing?”

“It’s a dildo, like the others,” the clerk said. “The little thing right there that you’re using as a trigger…it does look like a gun, doesn’t it?” she continued. “But that’s for your smaller hole. You know—your asshole.”

Eazy dropped it as if it had bitten her, triggering a wave of laughter throughout their end of the building.

“You’re shittin’ me.”

“Nope. Some women get off on that sort of thing. Men, too.”

“But it has water in it,” Eazy said in her own defense. “The thing has water. What’s a dildo doing with water in it like a squirt gun?”

The sales clerk recovered it from the middle of the rack where Eazy had dropped it and pushed a button, turning it on.

“See?” She held it up for them all to see. “Bubbles.”

“But whose gonna watch it?” Eazy asked with a perplexed frown. “I mean, it goes…well, you know.”

“Sometimes there’s a man down there, honey,” the clerk said, unblinkingly. “And the bubbles are there for a reason, for
her
pleasure. Makes the thing throb very gently, not like someone hammering you.”

Eazy still wasn’t satisfied. “Where do the bubbles go?”

The clerk sighed impatiently and explained. “They don’t go anywhere—they are regenerated by the battery. Bubbles equal satisfaction. Like a hot tub for your pussy.”

By the time they’d all recovered, they were only halfway through with their shopping. Each of them found
the one
they wanted, along with either a bottle or tube of flavored lotion or gel, a video or two, and even a deck of playing cards.

“Another fantasy of yours?” Ann asked Eazy, eyeing the black Eager Beaver contraption she’d selected as they prepared to pay for their purchases.

“Hey, this is as close as I’ll ever get, so why not?” she reasoned. “Besides, the only other one they had this size was purple. That would be just too weird for me.”

Ann was thrilled that the shopping trip had turned out to be so much fun, and even though she was starting to feel a little tired, she knew that she had to make it through the rest of this night.

“What’s next?” Merry asked, once they were settled back into Eazy’s Cadillac.

Ann reached into her purse and pulled out the slips of paper she’d brought with her. Closing her eyes like some swami or fortuneteller, she chose one.

“This must be Leta Lou’s,” Ann said. “Looks like the next thing we’re all doing is getting tattoos!”