Nobody Does It Better

It amused Gage that spy novels and films often showed an agent simply rushing about, being an agent, whereas in actuality, a legitimate career offered the perfect cover and a measure of interest between assignments.

“And when I get the information?” It was only a matter of when, not if. What he lacked in charm, he made up for in determination and skill. He wasn’t arrogant, just sure of his capabilities.

And he knew he’d never have to worry about getting personally involved. There was a void inside him, the detachment that was a curse for him as a man but a godsend as a spy. He’d never cultivated the detachment. It’d never been a conscious decision not to let another human being touch him emotionally. It’d simply transpired. He’d lost his parents to an auto accident and been sent to live with a grandfather who wanted nothing to do with a nine-year-old lad in mourning. Within weeks, he’d been shipped off to boarding school. From that time forward, there’d always been a distance inside him that buffered him from everyone else, that kept him slightly removed, apart. It served him well in this business.

“Once you’ve verified the information, let her go and we’ll continue to watch her. Just make sure you’re not compromised.”

He didn’t need the reminder of what being compromised entailed. All operative positions were not created equal. His position demanded anonymity. For him, compromise meant, at worst, termination by the enemy or, at best, “retirement” by his agency.

Gage glanced down at the photo of the woman and tamped back a faint tinge of relief that he didn’t have to terminate the Gorgon afterward.

Maybe he was getting soft, but he hated it when that happened.

2

HOLLY STOOD WITH HER FEET braced in the vaporetto, Venice’s water bus, and stared ahead at the city etched against a star-scattered backdrop, enchanted by the centuries-old spires and domes that punctuated the skyline. She resisted the urge to pinch herself. She’d finally arrived, albeit several hours late.

Cool air whipped her hair behind her and she tugged her jacket more firmly around her middle. Her entire body tingled, as if caught up in an awakening. It was the oddest thing, but the sensation had started when she’d exited the Venice airport.

“It’s almost surreal, isn’t it?”

She turned to the young couple at the rail beside her. She’d met them while waiting to clear Italian Customs, much the same as when you struck up a conversation with someone in the grocery line. She knew they were art-history grad students from Boston who’d just married and were honeymooning in Venice, but she didn’t know their names. “We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.”

“Was it worth it?” the young woman asked with a smile.

“Probably. When I’ve had a little distance from this day.”

“You’ve had the trip from hell, haven’t you?” the new husband said with an earnest grimace. “Sitting three hours on the tarmac at Heathrow and then learning that your luggage didn’t make it to Venice.”

“The trip from hell about sums it up.” When Holly had finally figured out her suitcase was a no-show at Venice’s Marco Polo Airport, the woman behind the counter assured her it would be delivered to her hotel by early morning. It was frustrating, but if they’d deliver her bag bright and early tomorrow morning, it wouldn’t be too bad.

In the interim, Holly had no clean underwear, no clean clothes and no makeup. At least she had her travel toothbrush with her. No toothpaste, mind you, but a toothbrush. Cup half-full, cup half-full, she reminded herself.

She shrugged. “I’m looking on the bright side. The plane didn’t crash.”

“There’s always the trip back,” the young man quipped with a laugh.

His new wife elbowed him. “Mark! That’s a terrible thing to say.” Nonetheless, she giggled and wrapped an adoring arm around his waist.

God, they were so young and so in love. They barely looked older than the sixteen-year-olds that came through Holly’s classroom. Or maybe she was just getting old. Mark murmured something low and intimate into his wife’s ear and Holly looked away from what had become a private moment between the two.

Had she ever felt that way about anyone? Had she ever gazed at anyone with stars in her eyes? Uh, no. Did she want to? Despite Greg’s accusations to the contrary, of course she did, didn’t she? Well, not necessarily with stars in her eyes. It felt too much like being blinded, and that certainly wasn’t good. Her parents had been blinded and she knew how well that had worked out.

The vaporetto, much larger than many of the smaller craft they’d passed, slowed and navigated toward the landing. Her heart thumped harder in her chest as the boat docked with a slight jar.

Holly was literally awestruck. No travel guide, no video could have prepared her for this. The city was an entity unto itself. Elegant and beautiful with an air of mystery and sadness. Was this how her mother had felt all those years ago? Enchanted? Seduced by a place to the point that a husband and children back home became meaningless? Holly shook her head. That’s why she was here. She wanted answers. No more wondering. No more supposition.

She wrapped her fingers around the leather straps of her backpack-like purse. This was her stop. She’d memorized it, worried she’d miss it and wind up taking the scenic tour of Venice via vaporetto because she didn’t get off when she should. She considered herself very capable, but she had to admit, her sense of direction left a lot to be desired. It was the running family joke that Holly could get lost going from one room to the other in a two-room house. It wasn’t that far off the mark.

In a flurry of activity, several passengers exited the boat to the stone quay and Holly found herself in a momentary crush. Her breath caught in her throat as she gained her footing on the worn, slightly uneven stone. She could be standing in the same spot Marco Polo had once stood, perhaps one of the powerful doges, a beautiful courtesan, or one of the countless servants to the wealthy families that had ruled this city of power and intrigue. Lyrical Italian floated around her and she thought the young family to her left was speaking German, but it was English she heard spoken at her elbow.

“Where’s your hotel again?” Mark, the Bostonian newlywed, asked as he retrieved a folded map of Venice from his backpack.

Holly rattled off the address of the modestly priced Pensione Armand. She’d forsaken amenities for price while maintaining a location central to the Grand Canal and San Marco square.

“Our hotel isn’t far from yours. Want to walk together?” he said.

Holly knew from their earlier conversation that the couple was scrimping on day-to-day expenses so they could splurge on a gondola ride. Holly had silently suppressed a shudder and kept her opinion to herself. True, the gondola was the quintessential symbol of Venice and purportedly the ultimate romantic experience, but they were welcome to it.

Yuck. God only knew what kind of germs thrived in the Venetian canals. The vaporetto was one thing—there was plenty of boat between her and the water. However, she had no interest in getting in a gondola, which would put her in alarmingly close contact with the water. Thanks, but no thanks. She’d admire the graceful black boats with their attendant striped-shirt gondoliers from a distance.

And if the newlyweds wanted to walk now she was more than happy to go with them. She could have been deposited at her pensione canal-side, but her budget didn’t include an expensive water taxi. And on the map, it hadn’t looked like a long walk from the vaporetto stop. But she wouldn’t mind the company. While she had some neuroses, she’d never been paranoid. However, ever since she’d landed in London, she’d felt as if she was being watched.

“Sure. I’d love to walk.”

The three of them set off. Staged lights bathed some of the buildings, gilding them with gold. The streets were busy. Couples strolled by, arm in arm. Outdoor cafеs hummed with conversation and music. Holly was surprised by how many people were out, but it made sense considering that Venice was a pedestrian-only city.

Mark and his bride easily kept her pace, and conversation between her and the young couple waned. They had obviously succumbed to the soft spring night in the exotically romantic setting. And judging by the looks passing between them, they were several hormones beyond sightseeing and small talk.

Holly was sure the newlyweds were eager to reach their hotel and get their honeymoon in full swing. Venice was made for lovers. As if punctuating the thought, a man and a woman stood silhouetted, sharing a kiss, on one of the picturesque stone bridges spanning the canal.

A wave of sensual longing washed over her. She missed the company of a man. It would be nice to explore the city with a special someone, to feel the warmth of his fingers at her waist, to meet his promising glance, to steal a kiss and have one stolen beneath the lamplight’s glow.

She bit back a sigh. At heart she was a romantic, and those were the things a true romantic yearned for. But life had taught her that being practical and pragmatic took one much further. She knew she was too quick to fall into relationships, and inevitably, she was disappointed.

She pushed aside the faint tingle of awareness and longing that had danced along her skin since clearing customs. An alarming thought came to her and she quickened her pace. Her room. What if it was gone? She was hours late for check-in.

Late. Luggage-less. And hungry. Finding herself room-less would cap a spectacularly draining day.

GAGE TAILED THE THREESOME from a distance. He’d managed to overhear most of the conversation on the vaporetto by positioning himself behind them. And on exiting the craft, he’d brushed against her, planting a nearly nondiscernible audio bug on her knapsack.

Although he had yet to actually see the Gorgon face-to-face, because it’d been crucial she not glimpse him, he could now pick her out of any crowd from a distance. Her distinctive walk combined a straight-forward stride with a sensual slight hip roll.

Gage turned left and followed them down the narrow winding street that branched off of the square, dropping back even farther as pedestrian traffic thinned.

Spy technology had enjoyed some impressive advances since he’d joined the business. Now, even though he was a few hundred meters behind them, he could clearly hear their conversation, that is, were they to actually engage in it.

His listening device replicated one of the hands-free mobile phone devices worn in the ear, but this one was custom-made for him. A couple of years ago, if someone had stolen the device, they would’ve been able to hear whatever he was hearing. But now, the piece only transmitted from the listening device if it recognized the shape of his ear, which was, in effect, the pass code for the piece to function as a listening device. Otherwise it was simply another mobile phone earpiece.

Bloody brilliant it was. He loved all the toys that came with his assignments. Prior to the Gorgon’s landing, he’d bugged both her room and the loo with audio and video. Her every move would be recorded. And if anyone were to leave a package in her room in her absence, he’d know. Were she to send or receive a text message, he’d know. Before the week’s end, he’d be privy to all of the Gorgon’s secrets. One way or another.

They’d almost reached the pensione. Gage darted down an alley shortcut, barely big enough for two, that would put him at the hotel ahead of them. His gut told him the couple wasn’t a contact. Gage excelled at discerning body language and coded glances. He’d guess the Gorgon had befriended them as a cover…or perhaps, as a sexual conquest.

Rumor had it that while the Gorgon might look like the girl next door, she had a penchant for a casual mеnage a trois now and then. Would she issue an invitation or was she merely initiating contact before the seduction?

“It should be just ahead,” the bloke said.

“Thank you, both. It was a pleasure meeting you. Maybe we’ll run into one another again?”