Live and Let Spy by Elizabeth Cage Page B

anywhere to be found.
    â€œDon’t tell me she took it with her,” she muttered, flinging open every drawer in sight. She could have sworn Fake Anka didn’t have any bags with her when she left.
    â€œOkay, baby, be here.” She yanked open the bottom desk drawer. There, underneath a tattered Euro edition of Vogue , was the elusive PC.
    â€œGotcha.”
    She hit the on/off button. As the familiar “ding” sounded Theresa smiled from the pure rush of adrenaline she felt. She felt like that chick from The Matrix —brainy, brazen, and babelicious.
    â€œInternet, where are you . . . there you are,” she said, double clicking on its accompanying icon. Her motions were fast-forward and precise now. She was in the zone.
    â€œOkay, decoder, make me proud.” She inserted her flash drive into the computer. A wordy prompt poppedup on-screen. Theresa clicked “find password” and the decoder went to work. Hundreds of password combinations filled the screen in seconds.
    â€œWhat’s it going to be?” Theresa wondered. “Egomaniac? Prima donna? Impostorina?”
    But no. The magic word was pirouette .
    â€œGotcha, part deux  !” She replaced the decoder with a blank flash drive to copy the hard drive. The computer went to work, and Theresa leaned back to take a deep breath.
    Just as the doorknob rattled.
    She whirled around and gasped at the sound.
    Indeed, the knob was rattling back and forth. Theresa’s blood ran cold.
    Someone was coming in.
    And she, smart girl that she was, forgot to lock the door behind her .
    â€œOh, pretzels .”
    Theresa knew she had only one option. Her clammy hands frantically groped for the stun-gun key chain. And her eyes closed as she anticipated the absolute worst.
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    Depression set in as Jo went over the memos Ewan had asked her to type. She thought perhaps she might pick up some vital information from them. But no such luck. Reading the memos had been exciting for the first five seconds, but the thrill had long since vanished.
    â€œDear Sir, I must decline your dinner invitation,” she read aloud as she typed away, rolling her eyes at the sheer inanity of it all. But after she printed the first letter, she decided to make a copy of it on her hard drive.
    â€œYou never know. . . .”
    On the way to Ewan’s office Jo spotted Mitchell von Strauss approaching. He looked exactly the same as he had in the video—tall, silver haired, and distinguished. She noted his serious expression as he slipped into his office and quickly shut the door.
    â€œIn the flesh at last,” she whispered, slightly bummed about not scoring a personal intro. All in due time, she told herself. All in due time.
    Jo was surprised to find Ewan at his desk. She smiled and entered without knocking.
    â€œI thought you were out globe-trotting,” she purred, dropping the completed memos on his desk.
    He smiled at the sight of her. “Unfortunately work must intrude.” His eyes scanned her up and down as he put the memos aside. “You’re a lifesaver, Selma.”
    Jo blushed despite herself. “Don’t mention it,” she said, trying to keep her tone in that happy medium between professional and playful. “If you need anything else, you know where to find me.”
    â€œThat I do,” Ewan said, grinning wider.
    She nodded and turned on her stilettos to exit without another word. But as Jo strolled out the door she felt Ewan’s gaze upon her, watching her every step.
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    Theresa secured a vise grip on her stun gun.
    The dressing room door slooowly inched open, creaking eerily the entire way.
    Theresa fought off the urge to yell or scream or crawl under the desk and hide. She had to stand tall. Stay calm.
    Yeah, right, she thought. Easier said than done.
    A male head became visible through the partiallyopened