Stranded with a Spy by Merline Lovelace Read Free Book Online

preferred not to think about the cesspool he’d sprung from. Rumor had it that she was getting snuggly with some buttoned-down Ivy League type, and that he was the reason she’d decided to take this hiatus before accepting another overseas assignment. That alone should have prevented Mike from going hard and tight when Gillian asked what she could do for him.
    Should have, but didn’t.
    Ruthlessly suppressing several inappropriate thoughts of what he’d like her to do for him, he growled out a terse reply.
    “I need to see Nick.”
    “Sure.” Crossing one knee over the other, she reached for the intercom. “Hang on a sec.”
    Sweat popped out on Mike’s palms. The girl—woman!—was all leg. Damned if she wasn’t well aware of it, too.
    Jilly hid a smile as she buzzed her godfather and honorary uncle. She knew she shouldn’t tease Mike. Her father, mother and godfather would all lace into her if they had any idea she’d deliberately let her skirt slide up. Or that she was taunting an operative with Mike Callahan’s reputation.
    Problem was, she’d nursed a world-class crush on Callahan since he’d positioned her in front of him, wrapped his arms around her, and helped her line up a paper target in the sights of a Walther PPK. She just might have to take a refresher course, Jilly mused as Nick picked up.
    “Hawkeye needs to see you,” she advised.
    “Send him in.”
    Exercising severe mental discipline, Mike put the long-legged temptress out of his head and gave his boss a quick update. Lightning’s reaction was one of amusement.
    “The car sank?”
    “Like a rock. Slash says he saw it go under, taking Dawes’s suitcase, passport and traveler’s checks with it.”
    “I’ve been to Mont St. Michel a good number of times. Amazing what tourists leave in their cars while they trudge up to the abbey.”
    Every OMEGA agent knew the story. Nick Jensen, born Henri Nicolas Everaud, had once run numbers and picked pockets in his native France. He’d also offered to pimp for Maggie Sinclair, Gillian’s mother, during a long-ago op. Judging by the small smile that flitted across his face, he still had a hankering for the good ol’ days.
    “What about the disk?”
    “It’s still in the vehicle,” Mike advised, “and sending signals.”
    “Does Slash think this business with the car was intentional? That the Russian will attempt an underwater retrieval?”
    “If that’s the plan, Slash doesn’t believe Dawes was in on it. He says she’s genuinely upset. Apparently,” Mike added with a grin, “she’s turned to him for help.”
    “I’m not going to ask how he managed that!”
    “He wants to play the Good Samaritan and keep her on a string as long as possible. I’ve already made a call to State. Dawes won’t get a replacement passport any time soon. I’ll work American Express when I get back upstairs. What I need from you is a recommendation for a good spot for Slash to go to roost in the area.”
    “I know just the place.”
    His enigmatic smile returning, Nick lifted the phone.
    “Jilly, please get me Madame Yvette d’Marchand.”
    “The shoe designer?”
    “That’s her.” He checked his watch. “She’s probably at her Paris office, on the Boulevard St. Germain. If not, her secretary will know where she can be reached.”
    Mike walked out of Nick’s office a few minutes later with directions to a seaside villa and assurances that its staff would be primed and ready to receive Monsieur Cutter Smith and companion.
    Gillian-with-a- J gave him a wave and another glimpse of those mile-long legs. Mike’s jaw had locked by the time the elevator door swished shut.
     
    “A villa?”
    Cutter threw a quick glance at the police van to make sure Mallory was still engaged with the gendarme.
    “I was thinking more in terms of a hotel room where I could maintain close surveillance.”
    “So was I,” Hawkeye relayed, “but Lightning says this place is airtight. The owner ran a string of