Feisty Repartee

SpyVella Chapter III

The lovely Theresa is a bit under the weather, but being the incredible woman she is, she has written a fabulously wonderful chapter for us in the on-going Spy Novella.

Thank you, Theresa!!

Please take care of yourself and feel better soon. We miss you already!

For those behind the curve:

Chapter I - Ravens and Ghosts

Chapter II - Secrets of the Night

The rest of the lineup includes these clever ladies:

September 22 - Chapter IV: CalTechGirl

September 29 - Chapter V: Phoenix

The Recruit

“How did you manage this?” Cutter asked, looking through the papers quickly as he sat on the edge of his bed. He had spent nearly a year just looking for an in, and Natasha had given him all he needed less than three weeks after he’d last seen her.

“Was easy to get information,” she purred as she curled against his back, her fingers reaching around his chest and unbuttoning his shirt. “Was not so easy getting information to you, though, my love.” She pulled on the right sleeve of his shirt, baring his shoulder, and bit him playfully.

“Natasha,” Cutter said, his voice taking the tone a parent might with a naughty child. She ignored him, and crawled into his lap, her silky hair falling across her breasts, a pout on her lips that made her look much younger than her eighteen years.

“Is rule that we cannot play?” she asked innocently. Cutter took her face in his hands, and kissed her forehead gently.

“And when I sleep you would just as easily cut my throat,” he replied, pushing her off his lap and standing. She laughed heartily before slithering up against him, and pulling on his belt.

“So do not sleep,” she whispered.

----------

Sam picked at her eggs with her fork, angry that she had not been told of Natasha’s existence before she arrived at Cutter’s flat. Naturally, he had told her that things weren’t as they seemed, when the girl had walked into the kitchen wearing only one of his shirts, but the girl had simply grinned and licked her lips. Not that it mattered, of course.

She had reluctantly agreed to discuss her trip in front of Natasha, trusting that Cutter knew what he was talking about when he told her that Natasha was not a threat to them. The moment she had mentioned Constantine’s name, the girl had smiled, and popped a large grape into her mouth as if it were her lover.

“He was sýçma,” the girl said, “a worthless piece of flesh. You were wasting your time on him.” Sam raised a brow and looked at Cutter, before leaning her elbows on the table and staring hard at Natasha. The girl returned her stare, all pretense of innocence gone. She’s as deadly as a viper, Sam thought, wondering if Cutter was aware of just how dangerous the girl was.

“And just how did you know Constantine?” Sam asked, ignoring the subtle shake of Cutter‘s head.

“I was a prisoner in his house, before I killed him.” Natasha reached out and grabbed Cutter’s hand, directing his fork to her own mouth, her lips seductively wrapping around it.

----------

“Are you crazy?” Sam yelled, despite his insistence that she keep her voice down. “She’s bad news, damn it!”

“Look at the papers, Sam,” Cutter said calmly. “Look at them. What good do faces do us without knowing what roles they each play? We came up empty with that safe deposit box in Venice last month!” Sam glared at him. The Venice lead had been hers, and it had indeed been a huge bust. She had insisted on leaving Istanbul to pursue the lead, preferring the chance at immediate gratification to slumming with the lowest dregs of society hoping for crumbs.

While she was off chasing her lead, Cutter had essentially recruited the pretty Russian girl who’d spent the last thirteen years on her back, being passed from one master to another. Sam had found it incredulous that the girl had intentionally attracted Constantine’s attention, lured by the promise of freedom, as well as information on those responsible for her murder of her family. She was also angry as hell that he hadn’t told her before now.

Sam grabbed the papers from Cutter and flipped through them. The second to last paper was handwritten in turkish, and listed the names of the very individuals they were gathering intel on, including Fayad. Beneath the names was one word: Henley.

“Who the hell is Henley?” Sam asked

“Not who, what,” Cutter corrected. “The Henley Royal Regatta, to be specific. It’s undoubtedly the largest and most popular regatta in the world, and it’s two days away.”

“Ok, so what do we do with Barbie?” Sam asked, setting the papers on the table and crossing her arms defensively. Cutter frowned and rose, walking to the counter to refill his coffee. You’ve got be kidding, Sam thought, knowing him well enough to not be surprised when he told her Natasha was coming with them.

----------

“It’s rather conspicuous, don’t you think?” Sam asked, staring at their transportation to the Remenham Club, the one mile mark of the regatta, and where their careful inquiries suggested they would find Fayad and the others. Edwin Frasier smiled, and Sam couldn’t help but smile back.

“It’s an Aston Martin Vanquish S, the fastest production model built by Aston Martin. She’ll go in excess of 321 km/h, uh, that would be 200 m/h, with 520 horsepower. Oh, sorry,” he said blushing, and opening her door for her. Sam felt heat in her own cheeks. Edwin was not only a useful contact, but his boyish enthusiasm was charming, and Sam found she was no longer angry that Cutter had pawned her off on the man so he could keep a tight reign on Natasha.

“Tell me about the regatta,” Sam suggested when Edwin joined her in the sleek two-seater. She knew that if she were to fit in, she had to play her role well.

----------

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go over it again?” Cutter asked, ignoring her hand as it moved suggestively on his thigh as he followed Edwin. He glanced over at her, still amazed by her ability to seemingly become the role she was playing. With her long hair pulled back and up, her makeup kept to a minimum, and more modest although still flattering dress, she would easily pass for the wife of a wealthy English businessman.

Written by *Theresa*

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