Free Sweet Reward by Christy Reece

years old, she went through the apartment and checked the closets. Thankfully, there weren’t that many and they were extremely shallow. The largest of them could barely hold a teenager, let alone two grown men.
    With that ritual completed, she dug out her cellphone from her purse and made the call she’d been dreading since she had learned that she was coming to Paris. She needed to let her parents know she was in Europe.
    Informing them that she was in another country was the only promise she’d made to them. That way, when there was “trouble”—and to her parents, there was always “trouble”—her father could be prepared to call his contacts and smooth out the problems.
    There had only been that one incident, and it had been years ago. Still, it had earned her the title of troublemaker of the family. To be fair, being called out of a meeting at the White House and told that your daughter had just kicked the balls of a prime minister and was now sitting in jail had probably not been the best news a parent could receive. The fact that the bastard had grabbed her breast and made a very vulgar remark had been no excuse. At an early age, she’d learned how to get out of such a predicament. One second before her foot went between his legs, she had considered that alternative. However, the kick was so much more effective and final.Once she had been released from jail, she’d never had to be around the creep again.
    That had been the first real indication to her parents that she wasn’t the same person she’d once been. The psychologist had called it a total personality reversal. Mia had called it finally getting a life.
    The phone barely got through one ring before her mother, Phoebe Maxwell, answered with “Mia, what’s wrong?”
    The typical greeting barely registered. “Just wanted to let you know I’m in Europe.”
    In the heartbeat of silence that followed, Mia heard a thousand questions. However, her mother only said, “That’s wonderful, darling. Then you’ll be able to come for your sister’s birthday, won’t you?”
    “No, Mom, I can’t. I’m on a job.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous, Mia. We rarely see you anymore. The least you can do is come visit us when you’re in town.”
    “Mom, I’m in Paris, you’re in Rome. That’s not exactly next door.”
    “It’s closer than Chicago.”
    “Maybe when the job is over, I can come for a quick visit. I’m not making any promises.”
    “Of course you’re not, Mia. We stopped expecting those years ago.”
    As much as she wanted to deny the sting, it was there. She knew she was a major disappointment to her parents. The reminder wasn’t necessary, but her mom was excellent at those tiny little jabs.
    “How’re Dad and Nadia?”
    “They’re doing well. You’re father’s still considering retirement, and your sister is in Switzerland with some friends.”
    Her father, Quinton Maxwell, was an American diplomatand had been considering retirement for as long as Mia could remember. He would never retire unless forced at gunpoint—and perhaps with a machete too.
    And Nadia, her sister, was the perfect diplomat’s daughter, beautiful and outgoing—an asset to her parents, not a hindrance or embarrassment. Mia had never bothered to tell them any different. They saw Nadia the way they wanted to see her.
    Since she didn’t want any questions from her mother she couldn’t answer, she stayed with safe subjects: How’s the weather? What happened at the last embassy party? Who’s engaged, divorcing, or having an affair?
    Her mother was the soul of propriety, but she also loved to gossip. Since she had few people she could share secrets with, Mia was often her sounding board. Slipping in an earphone, Mia unzipped her luggage and, while making the appropriate listening noises, unpacked her bags.
    Half an hour later, Phoebe had finally run out of gossip and Mia was completely unpacked. Multitasking at its best.
    “Well, darling, I must fly. Call and