“I’m sorry boss, she didn’t seem the slightest bit suspicious,” he stammered, “she was just getting more clean glasses…”
“Shut up Christos,” I said. “Go in with Carlo, see what information you can pull out of her friend before we give her a chunk of money and send her on her way.”
I pull out my phone, angrily going through the street traffic camera stills Davide pulled for me that shows my little escapee leaping the roof between the bar and the next-door store to get away from us. It was very clever, since it took us five minutes to search downstairs before even heading for the roof exit. She looks beautiful, and frantic.
Oh, Cora, you bad, bad girl,I thought.You have no idea the kind of spanking you’re going to get when I find you.
Looking down at the tent in my suit pants, I groan. Chasing this girl is turning into a full-blown kink.
“Do you have her?”
I’m pacing in my jet again, watching the live footage as two of our men in London move to intercept Cora as she leaves her flight from Venice. They’re British Airport Security employees, but they’ve been on our payroll for years.
I can see the open door where the exhausted passengers are filing out of the plane and up the jetway will emerge. After a couple of rumpled businessmen and a little group of vacationers who are clearly trying to sober up, she’s heading through the door in a black wig cut in a bob, thick glasses, and her head down a bit. She’s walking quickly, not making eye contact with anyone.
“There you are,” I murmur, eyes narrowed.
“What? Hold on sir, there’s something off here…” One of the agents is walking faster, and I can see a man and a woman, also dressed in BAS uniforms, moving in on Cora.
“I don’t recognize them, do you?” one of my agents mutters to the other. “Sir,” he speaks to me, “we’ve got company. It looks like they’re trying to apprehend her, too.”
“Are they legitimate Heathrow employees?” My blood pressure is rising.
“I don’t think so,” the agent says, “the uniforms are right, but the badges aren’t correct. We’re going to intercept them.”
“You have to be joking,” Carlo groans, “how many people are after this woman?”
Chapter Seven
In which there are guns and more guns. And a spanking.
Cora…
I am so screwed right now.
My body’s still aching from my rooftop run in Venice and the new surge of adrenaline isn’t helping anything. I see the uniformed British Airport Security agents heading in my direction from the left and as I make a pivot to head right, I see another two. This duo’s a man and a woman, and neither one looks like the type who have embraced a career in civil service.
They seem more like the type who spend a pleasant evening breaking kneecaps and murdering small pets.
I’m taking my chances with the guys on the left.
Two hands land on my arms in a vice grip. “Keep your mouth shut or I will cut out your tongue,” the female agent whispers. Bookending me, they pull me toward one of the security doors, I look over my shoulder at the other agents pleadingly.
This is my life,I think.I'm begging the real agents who will likely send me to jail to save me from the fake agents who are either going to kill me or worse, send me back to my father.
The fake agents hustle me through the door and down a hallway. It’s concrete and our footsteps echo off the gray painted walls. The memory of my cell in His dungeon hits me and my knees buckle. They jerk me upright and keep walking.
“Don Santos is very unhappy with you,” the man says. He’s almost gleeful and it makes it all worse. “He’s lost interest in marrying you after your unacceptable behavior, but he definitely plans to keep you.”
Oh, no no no no… not my not-fiancé. That spiteful old bastard is never going to let my dad know he found me. He’s going to lock me up somewhere and-
“Stop right where you are.” The voice is crisp and cold and there’s the unmistakable click of a safety being released.
Turning slightly, the female agent looks at them as the hand not gripping me slides into her jacket. “We have this under control,” she says sharply. “We apprehended this woman on a false passport and we’ll handle it accordingly. Why don’t you two get back to work?”
“I beg to differ.” The agent speaking - the real agent, I think he’s a real agent and now I’m so scared I’m about to wet myself - steps around us, his gun held steady as his buddy sizes up the male fake agent who’s still gripping me like I’m a bag of diamonds about to slip from his grasp. “I’ll make this simple, you’re interfering in government business and you have one opportunity to let the girl go and walk away.”
No one’s watching the fake female agent which is always a mistake because this type of woman is always so much worse than their male counterparts because they’ve had to be. She pulls her gun out smoothly and she’s ready to put a bullet through the man standing in front of us.
