Miranda was sure this new intel was burning a hole in Kristie Hennessy’s virtual pocket. The spinner would be desperate to turn it over to the CIA immediately, yet if she did so, she’d have to explain its origins. If she did that, the CIA would recall Miranda and fire her, and Kristie’s job would also be in jeopardy. Yet to withhold the information probably felt like quasi-treason to the spinner.
Still, Miranda was confident her friend wouldn’t betray her trust, at least not for another day or so. Which meant Miranda had to gain Kell’s confidence quickly so that he would give her the remaining pieces of the puzzle before the CIA took action to end the operation.
To earn Kell’s trust, she planned to convince him they had a lot in common-namely, they both loved and admired Ray Ortega, and they both had debilitating phobias. As for pretending to be Ortega’s mistress? Well, how difficult could that be? He was an objectively attractive man, so her feelings would be inherently believable. Better still, she had actually slept with him once, which would help enormously.
And luckily, their night together had been memorable, from the fake foreplay, to the incendiary rush of true heat between them when he had carried her to her bedroom and devoted himself to making an impression. She had refused to dwell on any of that for months thereafter, knowing he had just done it to earn her loyalty if the police decided to question her. But now she had an excuse to think about it, not to mention a reason to finally savor it.
Plus, there was the fact that she hadn’t been with anyone since Ortega. That alone made the experience stand out in her mind. She had been so distrustful of men thereafter, and so intent on salvaging her derailed career, she hadn’t even considered dating. Ironically, she had spent a lot of time with men, professionally speaking. She had flirted with them in bars, perhaps allowing them to nuzzle or paw her just a bit on the way to her hotel room, where she would begin to strip for them. But by the time she was down to lacy lingerie, a bright light would flash, and she’d know that the CIA camera crew had gotten the photograph they needed to turn the mark into an asset.
At that point, her job was usually done. If the man had been a gentleman, more or less, she would often stay to go over the terms of the deal with him. Sometimes she would even apologize. But if the guy had been a slimeball in any sense, she’d just put her clothes on and leave, knowing that the officer in charge would take it from there.
Compared to those losers-the last and most disgusting being Alexander Gresley-Ortega was actually a catch! Especially the Ortega she had met at the mountain cabin, who had radiated physical health, spiritual balance and raw sex appeal. Now that it served her interests to admit it, she reminded herself of the erotic overtones to the breathing lesson he had given her. They had reached a moment of mutual harmony and shared trust, despite their past, and that moment could have turned into an afternoon of lovemaking had she allowed it.
Feigning severe claustrophobia would be much more complicated than pretending to love Ortega. Miranda had tried it once on the airplane-concentrating on the closed-in feel of the cabin, the lack of outside air and the impossibility of exiting-and her pretend panic had begun to quickly resemble the real thing, so much so that she could only quell it by turning up the air jets on the console above her seat until they were blasting oxygen in her face, allowing her to inhale and exhale deeply and rhythmically until calm returned.
At the inn, there was less opportunity to practice, since it was only three floors high, with no elevator. Also, Kristie had made a point of requesting a room with a balcony, explaining to the front desk that Jennifer Aguilar had severe claustrophobia and needed to know she could get out into the open on a moment’s notice. Miranda had continued to make such comments upon her arrival, just in case Kell decided to check up on her.
If he did call the inn, they would probably tell him that the American tourist had spent the afternoon and early evening going for a run, then camping out on the balcony of her room, where she could be seen performing a martial arts routine in slow motion, or simply sipping her seltzer water and gazing at the spectacular view of the Rhone Valley afforded by the inn’s location on the side of a slope at the upper edge of the village.
She hoped she cut an intriguing figure, with her form-flattering wardrobe, elaborate makeup and carefully styled hair, all of which seemed designed to capture the attention of men, and did so successfully. But she ignored their advances in favor of spending time alone, and outdoors. Why?
Because she was a call girl on holiday who was already in love with one of her customers, so she had no reason to be looking for male companionship on this particular trip. And Kell would understand that her tiny room- the best the inn had to offer, and lovely in its own way-felt uncomfortably confining to her.
Or at least she hoped he would. Her plan was to spend at least a few hours with him, but her dream was that he’d invite her to stay at his fortress rather than the cramped quarters at the inn. His home was reportedly huge, built from the remnants of an old monastery about an hour outside the village at the top of an unpaved road. The innkeeper explained that the village residents had no reason to ever use the road, and the tourists-mostly hikers- who came to the area quickly discovered that it was a mistake to approach Kell’s gated sanctuary, wisely opting instead to take the cable cars at the other end of the valley that carried them to more hospitable glacial trails.
Awakening with confidence her first full day in Switzerland, Miranda still felt a pang of doubt when the car she hired reached the outskirts of Kell’s property. There she was confronted by the infamous gate, manned by two armed guards, one of whom walked toward the vehicle with his rifle aimed directly at the driver.
“Don’t worry,” she murmured in hesitant French as she opened her door and prepared to charm the guard. “This will just take a moment, and then you can go back to the village. I will call you to come back for me when I’m finished here.”
The driver frowned. “You are certain you wish to visit Monsieur Kell? He is a strange man.”
“I’ll be fine. Thank you.” She slipped out of the front seat, slung her oversized purse on her shoulder, and ambled over to the guard, announcing cheerfully, “I’m here to see Jonathan Kell. I would have called for an appointment, but no one in the village had a number I could use. Can you tell him I’m here?”
The armed man’s eyes narrowed. “Does he know you?”
“My boyfriend saved his life once, ten years ago. That practically makes us family, don’t you think?” She flashed a flirtatious smile. “Just tell him I’m here, sugar.”
He shook his head. “I’ll tell him, but if you don’t have an appointment, he’s not going to see you. Even when I tell him how-well, how harmless you seem.”
“Harmless?” She laughed. “I’ve been called many things, but never that. I must be losing my touch.”
The guard laughed, too. “Come on. Let’s see if you can charm the boss.”
Miranda trailed after him, pleased by his reaction. Apparently Kristie had been correct when she predicted that Kell’s guards, while well-trained, were undoubtedly bored senseless and eager for entertainment, particularly in the form of a sexy female. Unlike their counterparts, such as soldiers guarding military facilities, or private security for financial institutions, Kell’s men knew they were simply defending a delusional man against imaginary dangers. Twelve guards to do the work of one or two, with nothing to do all day but discuss their crazy employer and hope for something-anything-to divert them.
Punching in a code on a panel next to the main gate, the guard escorted her through a smaller entrance for foot traffic, where a second guard stood outside a booth, his rifle also poised and ready, his eyebrow arched. “We aren’t expecting anyone.”
“She’s special, Joe,” the first guard assured him. “Her boyfriend saved Kell’s life.”
“Yeah?” Joe shrugged his shoulders, then explained the gesture to Miranda, saying, “Kell made us send his own cousin away last month, so don’t get your hopes up. What’s your name?”
“Jennifer Aguilar.”
He scribbled it down. “And the boyfriend who saved Kell? What’s his name?”
“Ray Ortega.”
Joe nodded, then stepped into the booth, reminding the first guard, “Keep an eye on her, Mike. Or the boss will have a fit.”
In less than a minute, Joe called out for them to join him.
Miranda followed Mike into the booth, but when he started to close the door behind her, she made a point of asking that he leave it open. She could see from the glance he exchanged with Joe that he was offended by the implication that she didn’t trust them, but he complied with her request.
Joe motioned to an intercom affixed to the wall as he announced, “She’s here, boss. Go ahead.”
“Miss Aguilar?”
“Hi, Mr. Kell. Thanks for agreeing to see me.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything yet. What’s the purpose of this visit? Did Ortega send you?”
“No. He doesn’t know I’m here. It’s a surprise,” she explained, adding, “It’s a long story, but I think you’ll like it.
