Vanishing Point (Circle of Spies Novella) (6 page)

Paris. Holy freaking cow. She couldn’t believe she was here. A sudden pang of guilt at leaving Stephen and Savvy behind plagued her. She hated lying to them and traveling when they’d always dreamed of doing this together. All the famous cities of the world. Thailand. Athens. Italy. And here she was without them.
 

Will had prepared for every step of her journey with instructions, passports, and money. She was officially Beatrice DeWilfower. Daring secret agent. Protector of the innocent. Alluring woman of mystery.
 

Except Marisa still had no idea why she was here and what she was supposed to do. More training? She took a deep breath and opened the door to the simply furnished apartment. A living room. A tiny kitchen. And a hallway that must lead to bedrooms. She picked her way through and felt a bit like Mary Poppins as she wiped a finger along the furniture. Simple. Yet clean.

She checked out the bedrooms. One was completely empty. The other was more like an office but it had a futon couch that pulled out to a bed. It would be better than the floor. She plunked down her suitcase, the noise rattling through the small room. What should she do? Sightsee? Tour the Louvre? Her return ticket was for the next day so she was pretty sure there was no time for frivolous activities.
 

Waiting for instructions, she pulled out the Futon bed, arranged her clothes to ensure the black lace ensemble was hidden, and planned dinner for the evening.

Then her phone rang. Damn.

It had to be Will.

“Hello?”
 

“Are you ready?”
 

Crap. How was she supposed to jump into action with absolutely no clue as to the mission?

“You did read the folder on the table, right?”
 

“Why yes, of course.” How had she missed it? She moved into the kitchen and sure enough, there it was. Just like he said.

“Marisa?”
 

She snorted into the phone and then realized how unlike Beatrice DeWilflower she sounded. How would an alluring woman of mystery sound? “Why yes,” she lowered her voice to sound sexy. “I read it.”

“God, are you sick?”

She cleared her throat and slowly backed out of the room. “No, no, just a little tickle.”
 

“Good. During our last mission, you proved you know how to live your cover of a washed-up, middle-aged mom. No one will suspect you. I promise.”

Marisa gulped. Should she tell him the truth? That she was indeed some washed-up middle-aged mom and that the last mission had been a complete and utter fluke, a surge of motherly instinct that made her look like someone she wasn’t?

“Tonight you’re on your own again,” he said.
 

Fear prickled at the base of her neck and snaked down her spine. She suddenly felt quite nauseous. “I might be sick after all. You know airplanes. Covered with germs.” She coughed into her hand to prove her point.

“We have to move tonight. And it can’t be me. No one sees you so no one suspects you.”

Great. Basically he was calling her a wallflower.

His voice grew stern. “Just because you pulled it off last time, doesn’t mean I want to work with you. Good luck and don’t get caught. Leave your report in the file and make your plane tomorrow morning. I’ll be in touch.” Then he hung up without even saying goodbye or offering any extra tips or secret information about her mission.

Marisa whispered, “Bye to you too!”
 

Then the silence swallowed her whole. She glanced every few seconds at the folder. What had she agreed to?

Seven

She was late. She knew it.
 

But the simple flips and twirls Janelle had accomplished with her hair seemed impossible. Every time Marisa twirled her hair into a clip, pieces fell or stuck out. Her Cover Girl make-up wasn’t quite creating the effect of an alluring goddess. And without the corset thing, the multiple rolls on her stomach were quite obvious and unflattering, even though in the past few months, she’d made several trips to J.C. Penney’s.

Marisa fell onto the futon. She hated to admit that she wished Will were here. Someone to make decisions for her, tell her what looked good, or when too much make-up made her look like a clown.

This mission wasn’t a black and white ball.
 

This one was supposedly simple.

Just go in, as herself and slip the pill into a man’s drink.

Easy. Right? How hard could it be? She’d been forcing Savvy to eat her veggies forever! Even if it took sneaking minced spinach into brownies. Yes. She’d done anything needed. And that was all she had to do this evening.

No flirting. No contact. Be the wallflower. Then, when the man wasn’t looking. Plop. In would go the pill and he’d be none the wiser.

For the next thirty minutes or so, Marisa spent time studying the man’s photo. Older. Silver hair. Tall. A bit overweight. Blueish greenish eyes. A bit of a five o’clock shadow by evening. It would help if the picture weren’t grainy and the man’s face a little blurred.

She was ready.

Kinda.

***

Even though, she had her doubts about pulling this off, Marisa had fooled herself into thinking it was possible. She wasn’t prepared to locate the Normandy Hotel. Sure it was close to the Louvre but finding a taxi, managing the language with just a dictionary, and convincing herself to walk through the door was a different matter entirely.

Marisa arrived at the hotel. All it took was the night breeze blowing a clump of her hair out of her clip for the tears to form. The three-story yellowish building reminded her of a house from a child’s storybook: an air of charm and antiquity and possible secrets lurking in hidden corners. But with the traffic fumes and honking, any romance was absent. She’d never felt so alone.
 

Marisa closed her eyes and pretended she was at home, in the backyard, grilling with Stephen and listening to the quiet clicking of Savvy texting her friends. It was these images, the memories of her family that convinced Marisa to walk through the doors and into hotel lounge.

She went to the bar and asked for seltzer water with a twist of lemon. She’d spent almost the entire ride over memorizing that one. Peering over her glass as she sipped, she scanned the customers. Businessmen. Older couples. Families walking through to see Paris at night. None of the older men fit the description. As the minutes passed, she fidgeted. Had she missed him?

A man walked through the door.

It had to be him.

Older. Tall. Silver hair. And a five o’clock shadow.

He was moving toward her.

Marisa gulped down the rest of her drink as if she were a drunken sailor. The man sat next to her. The smell of aftershave floated off him. What luck. What were the chances he’d make this easy on her? He ordered a drink and sipped it casually, not even noticing the middle-aged mom next to him, which, of course, was part of the plan.

The two pills burned a hole in the tiny side pockets of her black dress pants, which she’d found on sale, and with her twenty percent off coupon had saved quite a bundle.

The man turned his back and chatted amiably with someone on his other side. This was her chance. With shaky fingers, she fumbled for the pills. She didn’t even know what pills they were. What if two was too much? Or what if two killed him? She pulled out one. That should be enough.
 

With it tucked in her fist, Marisa stretched our her arms and faked a bit of a yawn until her right hand was directly over the man’s glass.

All she had to do was let go. Should she? Was this going too far? Then she thought of Stephen and Savvy. Her fingers opened inch by inch. The man laughed and turned back to get his drink right as Marisa let go. After looking at her like she was a bit strange, the man went back to chatting.

The pill hit the counter, dropped to the floor and rolled under the stools.

Marisa’s throat tightened. Blood rushed in her ears. While fussing with the buttons on her grey silk shirt, she shot glances at the rest of the room to see if someone had noticed.
 

In the opposite corner, a couple entwined their arms and sipped each other’s wine. They wouldn’t notice a gunshot going off. An older guy, a bit on the sleazy side, seemed to be making his rounds with every single lady in the room.
 

Everyone else seemed absorbed in conversations and drinks.
 

Marisa let out a breath. She had one pill left.
 

She waited. And waited some more. She ordered a second round of seltzer but with lime this time. And she waited.

Finally, the man ordered a second drink, walked to a plush leather seat, and pulled out his phone. Desperate measures were needed. She’d have to upgrade from wallflower status to get this job done and get back on the plane.

She chugged the rest of her second drink and strode across the room. As a last thought, which she thought was quite ingenious, she pulled out her phone and pretended to chat with a friend.
 

“What? He asked you to marry him?” She screeched a bit and garnered the attention of the people around her. She jumped up and down and flailed her arms in excitement. “Aaagh! I’m so excited! Tell me. When is the wedding?”
 

While continuing to squeal and flap her arms, Marisa closed in and with one extreme and dramatic motion knocked into the man causing his drink to crash to the floor. He turned with the look of Zeus about to throw a lightning bolt.
 

In a flash, she shoved her phone into her purse. She mumbled out an apology and pulled out tissues to dab at the wet spots on his coat. He pushed her off.

“At least let me buy you another drink. I insist.”

A look of annoyed understanding crossed the man’s face. His look said, American. No wonder.

Marisa rushed back to the bar but the barkeeper already had a new drink mixed and ready. “
Merci
.” She slipped him a bunch of bills with no idea if she’d over or under paid.

It didn’t take long and was rather easy to slip the last pill into the drink. Everyone focused on the man who’d gotten his drink knocked from his hand by the obnoxious American and the maid cleaning up the glass.
 

Marisa extended her arm and offered the new drink to the man quite graciously, and for the first time looked more closely at his eyes. Had the instructions said bluish greenish? This man’s eyes were definitely brown. But brown was close to green, right? And everything else fit the bill. Tall. Silver hair.
 

He had to be the one.
 

But the unease that she’d made a mistake hovered by her, sitting on her shoulder, as she took her seat back by the bar to watch. When she lifted another seltzer to her lips, the glass shook quite visibly.

And yes, the man grew sleepy soon after finishing his drink. He started by sitting down, then shaking his head, then rubbing his eyes. Soon he begged off from his friends and weaved toward his room.

But he wasn’t heading to his room. He left through the front door. Wait! She wanted to scream.
 

She wanted to rush across the room and guide him back to the elevator. The instructions specifically said he’d go back up to his room. They’d clearly stated he was staying in the hotel, would come down for a drink, and when he felt woozy, would return to his room. And that was it.
 

That was all there was to her mission. Simple.
 

Or it should’ve been.
 

Now she found herself in quite the quandary. Marisa chewed on her fingernails, nearing a state of panic.

Then the man who’d been hitting on every single woman in the room, plunked down in the seat at the bar next to her. He spoke with a French accent.

“You are alone tonight?” he asked, his words laced with suggestion, his eyes wandering to her chest. Why she had no idea.

Marisa had a hard time answering. His silver hair was a bit mussed. His nose was a bit bulbous. He was a bit overweight, okay, a lot of overweight. But what she noticed was his eyes. Very blue but very green at the same time. She swallowed as prickles of fear ran up and down her limbs. She had most definitely drugged the wrong man.

Maybe the photo Will had left her was outdated? She made a mental note to reprimand him on sloppy work. How could he expect her to complete secret missions with outdated files and pixilated photos?

When she couldn’t find the words, he laughed a deep throaty chuckle. “I will catch you next time, sugar.”
 

Then he left for the elevator.

She’d failed.

Eight

Failure wasn’t an option. What would Will say or do when he learned she’d failed? Would that be the start of a long and slippery slope in which Stephen and Savvy would be placed in danger? Their protection gone? And, of course, it niggled at her pride that she couldn’t accomplish what appeared to be a rather simple mission, especially after rescuing a boy’s life in England.
 

Everything that happened next just came to her. She didn’t think. She didn’t doubt. She didn’t plan. Marisa slid off her stool and pretended to look for an earring under the stool next to her. With her knees to the floor and her butt in the air, she ran her hands over the floor. Just as she was panicking with the thought that she’d never find the lost pill, she spotted it. Three stools down. She crawled over, picked it up, and then with no apology, sprinted to the stairs.

With a grip on the black iron railing, she propelled herself up the stairs. The plush red carpeting squished beneath her feet. At each floor, she stopped and searched for the elevator to see if it had stopped and her man had exited.

Floor after floor went by with no evidence of the elevator stopping. Her legs burned like she was in a cardio workout from hell. Once, and once only, Savvy had dragged her to a Latin-dancing aerobic class and that didn’t end well. Marisa was experiencing the same side effects: strained breathing, light headedness, and muscle aches just about everywhere.