balding, in his mid-fifties, and wore wire-rimmed glasses. His suits were utilitarian, his small apartment in Capitol Hill was unremarkable, and on paper he was little more than a CIA instructor and department head who occasionally traveled internationally for work. In other words, Robert Smith was nondescript.
No one would guess that this man was Gabriella’s lover.
They had been having an affair for many years, ever since they met at Quantico during her training. Gabriella was born into the Marconi crime syndicate but turned on them after Bruni murdered her father. Robert had been her instructor on the firing range, and she became his instructor in the bedroom. They felt it was the perfect trade.
Robert pushed some pencils around his desk and smiled. He would get her back here ASAP. Just as soon as she tied up some loose ends in Sicily. And speaking of tying up loose ends . . . he had some new restraints he wanted to try out, and satin sheets that made him feel like a king. He’d fuck her six ways to Sunday when she returned. He’d do whatever she asked. And maybe he’d learn something new in the bargain. Robert sighed. Her mission would take a while. So for tonight, a TV dinner and another episode of White Collar would have to do the trick. Smiling, he signed a few more documents and sent Gabriella a romantic text:
Hope to c u soon
Then he got himself ready to leave for the night.
‡‡‡
TYKA WAS SWEATING, and uncomfortable, and confused. She was trying to deal gracefully with Mahmoud, but everything he did was throwing her off. They’d flown to Egypt and were currently traveling by camel, something she’d never done before and never wanted to do again. Her legs were chafed from rubbing against the camel’s rough hide despite the sleek spandex pants she wore, and the sun beat down on her back. Though she wore a veil around her face and a sun hat, nothing could keep her from roasting in this infernal heat. And frankly, if she had known how they’d be traveling, she wouldn’t have worn stilettos. Particularly not ones with a fragile gold heel that looked just as chafed as her inner thighs.
She turned to look at Mahmoud, who was wearing a dark gray suit and didn’t seem to have broken a sweat. “Excuse me,” she said, anger bubbling up inside her and frothing out, “but I can’t understand why this was necessary. Couldn’t we have taken a Jeep? Or a plane? Wouldn’t that have been quicker?”
Mahmoud shot her a dashing smile and looked her up and down. “Well, Ms. Tyka, I suppose we could have. But then I would have missed out on this delightful opportunity to see you on camel-back. Quite a turn-on for those of us from this part of the world, you see.”
Tyka huffed and turned back around. She would wait until they were back in civilization. Then she would take him out. No, that was ridiculous. She didn’t need to kill him, for chrissake. A little humiliation would do just fine.
What was it about Mahmoud, anyway? He was making her hackles rise. At least they were in the open desert and not in a closed space. This she could deal with, even if she was chafing her thighs. Tyka had a paralyzing fear of crawling through small spaces, and had since she was a girl. In 1990, when Tyka was six, the Ukrainian parliament had just begun ruling, and the country was on the verge of civil war. Her mother had been a spy and collected valuable information from diplomats in the French government; then she had become a double agent. Thinking she was safe, she returned with her daughter to Ukraine. But when a new parliament began to rule, certain documents were unearthed that implicated her; she was to be persecuted, rightfully, as a traitor to the Ukrainian government. Thankfully, she had contacts in the Ukrainian Secret Service who alerted her to get out. She knew if she could get back to France, they would be granted asylum.
They traveled out of Ukraine and to a safe air base through a series of ancient
No one would guess that this man was Gabriella’s lover.
They had been having an affair for many years, ever since they met at Quantico during her training. Gabriella was born into the Marconi crime syndicate but turned on them after Bruni murdered her father. Robert had been her instructor on the firing range, and she became his instructor in the bedroom. They felt it was the perfect trade.
Robert pushed some pencils around his desk and smiled. He would get her back here ASAP. Just as soon as she tied up some loose ends in Sicily. And speaking of tying up loose ends . . . he had some new restraints he wanted to try out, and satin sheets that made him feel like a king. He’d fuck her six ways to Sunday when she returned. He’d do whatever she asked. And maybe he’d learn something new in the bargain. Robert sighed. Her mission would take a while. So for tonight, a TV dinner and another episode of White Collar would have to do the trick. Smiling, he signed a few more documents and sent Gabriella a romantic text:
Hope to c u soon
Then he got himself ready to leave for the night.
‡‡‡
TYKA WAS SWEATING, and uncomfortable, and confused. She was trying to deal gracefully with Mahmoud, but everything he did was throwing her off. They’d flown to Egypt and were currently traveling by camel, something she’d never done before and never wanted to do again. Her legs were chafed from rubbing against the camel’s rough hide despite the sleek spandex pants she wore, and the sun beat down on her back. Though she wore a veil around her face and a sun hat, nothing could keep her from roasting in this infernal heat. And frankly, if she had known how they’d be traveling, she wouldn’t have worn stilettos. Particularly not ones with a fragile gold heel that looked just as chafed as her inner thighs.
She turned to look at Mahmoud, who was wearing a dark gray suit and didn’t seem to have broken a sweat. “Excuse me,” she said, anger bubbling up inside her and frothing out, “but I can’t understand why this was necessary. Couldn’t we have taken a Jeep? Or a plane? Wouldn’t that have been quicker?”
Mahmoud shot her a dashing smile and looked her up and down. “Well, Ms. Tyka, I suppose we could have. But then I would have missed out on this delightful opportunity to see you on camel-back. Quite a turn-on for those of us from this part of the world, you see.”
Tyka huffed and turned back around. She would wait until they were back in civilization. Then she would take him out. No, that was ridiculous. She didn’t need to kill him, for chrissake. A little humiliation would do just fine.
What was it about Mahmoud, anyway? He was making her hackles rise. At least they were in the open desert and not in a closed space. This she could deal with, even if she was chafing her thighs. Tyka had a paralyzing fear of crawling through small spaces, and had since she was a girl. In 1990, when Tyka was six, the Ukrainian parliament had just begun ruling, and the country was on the verge of civil war. Her mother had been a spy and collected valuable information from diplomats in the French government; then she had become a double agent. Thinking she was safe, she returned with her daughter to Ukraine. But when a new parliament began to rule, certain documents were unearthed that implicated her; she was to be persecuted, rightfully, as a traitor to the Ukrainian government. Thankfully, she had contacts in the Ukrainian Secret Service who alerted her to get out. She knew if she could get back to France, they would be granted asylum.
They traveled out of Ukraine and to a safe air base through a series of ancient
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