Page 7 of The Prince (Spy Girl 1)
"How old are you?"
"I'm twenty-six."
"How did you get this job?"
"How does anyone get this kind of job? They recruited me. I graduated MIT with a Masters in mathematics and a Doctorate in quantum physics. But they noticed me because I created a bomb the size of a band-aid."
"Do I get one of those?"
He pulls a box of pore cleansing strips out of his bag. "Don't use these on your face," he says with a laugh, taking one out of the box and putting it on a sample of cement in the basement. "Peel the back off, stick it to what you want, then you have five seconds to get out of the way."
We move back as the cement explodes and disintegrates.
"That's pretty slick."
He pulls a syringe out of a container next. "Give me your arm."
"For what?"
"I'm supposed to inject you with a tracking device. It's for your own safety."
"I'm not cool with that," I tell him. "Is it optional?"
"I was told you were to have one, if that's what you're asking. I need to follow my orders."
"Do you have one?"
"No freaking way. That stuff can be hacked into . . ." He stops talking. "Shit."
"I'd like to decline."
"I'll say I forgot. That your beauty got me all flustered." He blushes. "Give me your phone."
I do, and he adds a couple apps to it. One that allows me to eavesdrop on nearby conversations and another that picks up GPS signals from the trackers he's going to show me later.
"What else do you have for me?" I ask.
He takes a ring out. "I retrofitted this on the flight here. It's a black diamond. Very expensive, very rare. If you do this," he takes my hand in his and slams it down on the table, "a spike comes out of the setting. Very small. Very deadly. One little prick of it will immediately cause paralysis and then death. I'd suggest using an uppercut to the chin to administer it."
I nod. "Got it."
"Take off your shoes and leave them with me." He pulls a pair of gorgeous black studded Louboutins out of his bag. As I slide them on my feet, he says, "I will be down here for a few hours until all your shoes are complete. Each one will have a knife hidden in the left toe. Click your heel on a hard surface to pop it out."
I click the heel and out pops a pointed blade. "How do I get it back inside?"
"Click the heel again." I do so, and the blade disappears. "Nice. How do you come up with all of this?"
"It's what they pay me for. Although, I will admit, this is the first time I've ever done heels like these. I tried to read up on you. You don't have a file."
"I'm undercover. A file would kind of defeat the purpose."
"Every spy, no matter how dark, has some kind of internal file," he insists, then goes on to show me more gadgets. A lipstick video camera, dot-style candies that are really real-time GPS tracking devices, a nail polish that will dissolve metal, and dental floss that is a high-tenacity wire that I could use to either kill a man or rappel down the side of a building.
While he's been showing me everything, I've been thinking about my parents. Specifically about what my mother pulled off her neck and shoved into my hand when she told me to stay hidden in the closet and not come out no matter what I heard. She told me it was top secret. I assumed she meant that I wasn't supposed to tell anyone about it--and I haven't. But now I wonder if top secret meant it contained top secret information. Something worth dying for.
I pull the locket from around my neck. I've kept it hidden in my backpack all these years but decided to wear it on my first mission.
"Could you update this, too?" I ask, knowing I'm taking a big risk.
He studies the locket. "Hmm, click the top once to take a photo, right?"
I nod, even though I haven't got a clue.
He gets his magnifying glasses back out and takes the locket completely apart. "So your parents were both spies? How cool is that?"
"Well, they're both dead, so..."
"I'm sorry." He fumbles the locket. "If they were killed, why do you want to follow in their footsteps?"
"Did they not brief you on me?"
"No. I told you, I was a last minute addition to the team. Not much time for prep."
He gets the locket open and pulls out a tiny computer disk and hands it to me. "Do you know what's on this?"
"Just a bunch of selfies," I lie. "I realized they aren't that fun to take when you can't see the results right away."
He chuckles. "You can go on your shopping spree now."
"Thanks for everything, Terrance," I say, giving him a quick peck on the cheek that causes him to blush again.
"You're welcome," he says, shaking my hand as I get in the elevator.
Once I'm out of the garage and on Cap's glitzy main street, I open my fist and read the piece of paper Terrance put into my hand.
I don't know who you are working for, but your entire villa is wired. Be careful.
And I believe him.
Especially after learning my parents were spies.
How do I trust anyone when they didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth?
X X X
I call Ari to find out where he is and meet him at a designer store, where he's doing exactly what we said we'd do when we got here--spending a boatload of cash.
"That suit looks good on you," I tell him, admiring his tall frame in a black Prada tuxedo.
A salesgirl is fawning over him. "I told you that cut was perfect on you. It barely needs tailoring."
"We're going to the casino tonight. My sister needs an amazing dress. Where would you suggest she go?"
"We have a large collection of couture evening wear just next door. Would you like me to escort her there?"
"Yes, please," Ari says. "We don't want her getting into too much trouble along the way."
I roll my eyes at him and say to the salesgirl, "Just point me in the right direction. I'll find my way later. What all did you get, Ari?"
"A couple dozen suits and shirts. Pick me out some ties. And, I know, I just bought a new wardrobe in D.C., but the climate here really requires a different weight of fabric."
The salesgirl is nodding in agreement and probably already knows how she's going to spend her commission.
I smile at Ari. For a guy who claims to not like shopping, he is playing his role well.
I wander around looking at ties. The store isn't very busy. They say most people who come to experience Race Week arrive today or tomorrow, hitting the extravagant restaurants, casino, and clubs before the special events start later in the week. I'm holding a tie up to one of the suits Ari purchased when two men come through the back door. The first man is the Prince of Mont
rovia's bodyguard, and the second is none other than his Royal Highness. I pretend not to notice, turning my back to them and studying the tie, then comparing it to another.
"I like the blue one the best," a sultry voice with a sexy accent says.
I glance over my shoulder and gaze into the Prince's dark eyes. "I was thinking the blue was a little boring."
"Too traditional?" he asks.
"Yes, whereas this gold one is a little more exciting. Not to mention it matches one of his cars."
"And what kind of car is that?"
"A Lamborghini Aventador."
"And it's gold?"
"Gold plated. Purchased from some spoiled prince somewhere."
"Will it be in the car show?"
"I don't think so. I mean, he'll probably drive it there. It's our first time here for the car show. I'm not really sure how it all works." I tilt my head toward him and whisper, "Honestly, the car is a little flashy for my taste."
The Prince smiles, leaning in close to me and whispering back, "What kind of cars do you like?"
"Fast ones."
"I like fast things, too," he says, giving me a once over. "Have you driven any fast ones?"
"I have a new car that just arrived in Montrovia, but I haven't had the chance to get her out of the garage yet."
"Let me guess. You would look good in something red. A Ferrari convertible, perhaps?"
"Hmmm. Afraid not. I prefer something a little more, um, challenging. Thanks for your input on the tie. I'll be sure to tell my brother the Prince of Montrovia prefers traditional things." He looks surprised. "What, did you think that if you came in the back door no one would recognize you? Have a good day, your Royal Highness."
I take both ties over to the salesgirl and tell her to let Ari know that I'll be next door trying on gowns--and I say it loudly enough for the Prince to overhear.
I'm in front of the mirror checking out the third gown I've tried on--a gorgeous gilded Atelier Versace--when the Prince strolls over and says, "That looks lovely on you."
"Thank you."
"Will you be at the casino tonight?"
"We're told it's the place to be."
He holds out two tickets. "I'm having a private party. You should wear that dress. And please, allow me to introduce myself. I'm Lorenzo Vallenta." He holds out his hand for me to shake, but when I place my hand in his, he turns it over and kisses it. "And what is your name?"
