The Spy With The Silver Lining

She spun right, danced behind a beefy giant grinding his hips. There she pulled her jacket off, quickly turned it inside out and slipped it back on.

Feeling the music, the actress danced toward the exit, her silky black hair moving around the shoulders of her shocking pink jacket.

When she wiggled past Nasty Nicky, his eyes never left the dance floor as he searched the crowd for his boss, and the silver goddess wearing the black wide-brimmed hat.

Chapter 2

“You’re in the deep freeze, Balasi. Your cover’s been blown, and until we can find another use for ‘the actress,’ and Yurii Petrov is no longer a threat, you’re ice.”

Four days after her escape from the Kelt in Bratislava, Casmir sat in Lev Polax’s office in Prague dressed to kill. She wore a pale-blue satin pantsuit, complete with matching shoes and handbag, her blond hair twisted in a trendy knot, drawing attention to her slender neck and the silver filigree earrings dangling from her ears.

Prepared to sit through her commander’s predictable performance—Polax was number one when it came to grandstanding—she crossed her legs and made herself comfortable.

He would do a bit of yelling as he paced the floor, leaving footprints on the plush beige carpet, then stop and yell some more. After exhaustion set in—he was in poor shape, so it wouldn’t take long—they would get down to business and discuss the reason he had sent for her at seven in the morning.

“How in the hell did Petrov escape maximum security? That’s what I’d like to know.” Polax’s voice boomed like a cannon. “Now we’ve got the Russian Mafia crawling up our ass.”

It seemed more appropriate to be asking that question to his superiors, or the prison authorities, Casmir thought. She’d done her job. It had taken months to get close to Yurii, and now those months had been flushed down the toilet.

For sure, Quest had taken a giant step backward on this one. Now they would be scrambling to restore their success record in the spy world.

But the really bad news wasn’t what Quest had lost, or businesswise what Yurii had lost—his empire was still standing. What he’d lost was far more precious. Far more personal.

“I can’t believe this has happened,” Polax raged.

Ditto, Casmir thought.

She uncrossed her long legs and played with the diamond on her finger. It really was beautiful. Flawless, Yurii had said. The diamond from Africa, the rubies from Brazil.

Flawless like my future bride, Kisa.

Polax was on his feet now, starting to pace, his pet chair trailing his flat ass. Or maybe it wasn’t all that flat. Maybe it only looked that way because his chubby tummy stuck out from his cinched belt like a balloon that had had too many injections of helium.

He stopped and faced her. “Are you hearing any of this? You’re sitting there as if you’re expecting me to invite you to lunch.”

Of course she was hearing him. He was shouting, and as spacious as his office was, the soundproof technology inside created a ping-pong effect. Actually she was hearing everything twice. As far as lunch was concerned it was too early, but breakfast would be nice. A glass of OJ, coffee and a little protein.

“We haven’t only lost Petrov. One of our best agents had her throat slit.”

It was understandable Polax would be upset about Pasha. She was an excellent agent, an agent who followed Polax’s orders to the letter.

Casmir had mourned her comrade in private, the Hungarian with the hot temper. They hadn’t always seen eye to eye, but they had respected each other.

Polax was back in his chair, the motorized wonder speeding him behind his monstrosity of a desk.

“The agency can’t afford to lose you, too, so pay attention to what I’m saying. I have a plan to defuse this ticking time bomb.”

Here it comes, Casmir thought. A new identity on a remote island. Crete sounded nice, or maybe she could spend the summer with Nadja in the Azores. It would be great to see the baby. Nadja had brought Bjorn’s child into the world a month ago—a beautiful blond baby boy they had named Dane.

After six months on a tropical beach she’d come back ready to go to work with an amazing tan, as a brunette or a redhead. No, not red, it would clash with her wardrobe. She’d probably have to cut the length. Not her best look, but doable. Gain a few pounds—oh, God, not that.

“I’ve contacted a friend of mine. Everything has been arranged. You’ll leave immediately.”

It was time to speak, make a few suggestions. “Someplace warm, I hope. Crete, or maybe I could visit—”

Polax looked over the top of his glasses, which were perched on his puggy, turned-up nose. They were new. Not the best choice for his face shape. Mini oval rims did nothing for his narrow temples. They made his cheeks look like his tummy—as if they had taken one too many hits of helium. A silver finish would have been better than gold, as well. He should have called her and she would have arranged to go with him to pick out something more flattering.

He pulled two passports from his top drawer. “You’ll be en route within the hour. No one will know where you are except for me and your bodyguard. He’ll pick you up.”

“You’re giving me a bodyguard? That’s generous, but not necessary. I’ve soloed on more missions than any other agent at Quest. I certainly don’t need a babysitter lying on the beach blocking the sun.”

“You need whatever I deem relevant. You’ve been assigned a keeper, and that’s that.”

“A keeper?”

“If you prefer bodyguard or babysitter, call him what you wish. Watchdog. Glue. Fungus. I don’t care.” He shoved two passports across his desk. “I hate to inform you of this, but there was a kidnapping attempt on your mother last night. I believe it was initiated by Petrov.”

“He went after Mama?”

“If he had been successful he would have used Ruza to lure you out of hiding. You would have probably gotten emotional and made some silly deal with him to free her. Of course that would have ended up with both of you dead. Since that is unacceptable, I’ve decided—”

“Was she hurt?”

“A bump on the head, and shaken up a bit. I took it upon myself to assign her a guard after the incident in Bratislava. An agent was staked out in front of her apartment. We interceded before she was taken.”

“Obviously not a very good one if someone was able to break in.”

Another austere look over his glasses. “Ruza is packed and ready to join you on your little getaway. She’s been given a story that parallels the bullshit you’ve been feeding her over the years about working for an international real estate agency. As your real estate boss—” he made a face “—I’ve told her that we’re sending you on a little business/pleasure trip. I sent someone to pack for you. You’ll leave straight from here and meet Ruza at the airport.”

“Our destination?”

“The U.S.”

Too vague. “Where exactly?”

“An out-of-the-way little place called Le Mystère.”

“Le Mystère? It sounds lovely. Which coast?”

“The Gulf.”

“Florida?”

“Louisiana.”

“What’s in Louisiana?”

“Alligators, snakes and…hot weather. It seems I’ve made one of your wishes come true.”