Stranded with a Spy by Merline Lovelace Read Free Book Online Page A

high-class call girls until she married one of her clients and he set her up in another line of business. She’s since made millions as a fashion designer. Lightning says she’s an avid art collector, and has all of her homes equipped with start-of-the-art surveillance. You won’t have to worry about security.”
    “What’s my cover?”
    “You’re a wine broker, in France for the fall tastings and lot auctions. A friend of a friend knows the villa’s owner. She offered to let you use it as a base while you search out select vintages in the Calvados and Loire regions for your extremely discriminating clients.”
    “Hell, I don’t know Calvados from Calvin Klein. You’d better zap me a short course in French wineries.”
    “It’ll be waiting for you at the villa.”
    “Roger that. Gotta go. The target just parted company with our local gendarme and looks ready to bite nails.”
    Not just bite them, Cutter decided as he slipped the phone into his pocket. Chew them into little pieces.
    “Problem?” he asked politely.
    “Yes,” she ground out. “The rental agency says they have to check with their insurance company before they can authorize another vehicle. They’ve also put a hold on my credit card until full damages and liability are assessed.”
    She raked back her hair, threading the silky strands through her fingers.
    “Looks like I’m stuck here until American Express comes through. May I use your phone?”
    Hawkeye had promised to take care of American Express; Cutter needed to give him time to work it.
    “Sure, but you’ll need something to write with once you get hold of the information. I’ve got a pen in my car. It’s right over there.”
    He lowered the windows to let the sea breeze in while she struggled with the information operator. She couldn’t know every word was being recorded, or that Cutter derived a sardonic enjoyment from her mounting frustration.
    “I know I should have made a record of the check numbers,” she said after a short exchange with whomever she’d reached, “but I didn’t. Can’t you look me up in the computer?”
    She waited, tapping her borrowed pen against the notepad Cutter had thoughtfully provided.
    “You did! Thank God!”
    The happy grin she zinged Cutter’s way lit up her face. Seconds later, the grin collapsed.
    “No, I can’t come to the Paris office to present my passport as identification. I’m currently without cash and any means of transportation. I’m also without passport.”
    Another lengthy pause.
    “Excuse me, but we’re not communicating here. It doesn’t matter where the closest American Express office is. I don’t have the money to get to Paris or Nantes or Marseilles and I’ve lost my passport along with my traveler’s checks.”
    Her expression grew more thunderous by the second.
    “Yes, I understand you’re not authorized to fork over the funds without proper identification. Can’t I go to a bank or post office? Or a notary. You have notaries in France, don’t you? He or she could verify my ID from my driver’s license and fax you the verification. No. No, I don’t. Oh, for heaven’s sake! Hold on.”
    Her eyes stormy, she appealed to Cutter.
    “He has to get authorization from his superiors to accept a notarized signature. It may take a little time. He needs a number where he can contact me.”
    “Give him mine.”
    Magnanimously, Cutter jotted it down for her. She relayed it to the clerk and snapped the cell phone shut. Her glance strayed to the island looming just yards away.
    “Lord, I hope there’s a notary somewhere on that pile of rock.”
    He let her down gently. “You might have to look farther afield. I read somewhere that Mont St. Michel has only about fifty or so permanent residents.”
    He made that up to twist the screws a little tighter. It worked. Dawes’s muttered expletive would have done any of the OMEGA operatives proud. Glancing sideways, she caught Cutter’s grin and colored.
    “Sorry.