Free Live and Let Spy by Elizabeth Cage

these papers for Mr. von Strauss,” Jo said, exactly as she’d rehearsed.
    â€œWith the door practically closed?” the secretary asked warily.
    â€œOh, did the door close behind me?” Jo recited from memory. “Must have been a draft.”
    â€œI’ll make sure he gets the papers, then,” the secretary promised, ceremoniously motioning her out.
    â€œThanks a mil,” Jo purred, smiling in victory. But before she allowed herself to feel too cocky, she had one more stop: Ewan’s office.
    The coast appeared to be clear.
    She plopped more papers down on his immaculate desk and placed a hand on his state-of-the-art telephone.
    â€œJust what do you think you’re doing?”
    Jo spun around at the voice.
    Ewan stood in the doorway, eyes narrow and deadly.
    Jo’s blood ran stone cold.
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    â€œI’ll never be able to enjoy paint by numbers again,” Theresa mumbled to herself as she applied a large stroke to the moat of Prince Siegfried’s castle.
    â€œWhat?” Hannah asked, a few feet to her left.
    â€œNothing,” Theresa replied. The fumes and the mundane repetition of her painting duties were just getting to be too much. Theresa was so over it. But after a few more strokes Theresa experienced an instant attitude adjustment.
    A door slammed. Feet stomped.
    Anka had stormed out of her dressing room.
    And she was headed directly Theresa’s way.
    â€œHave either of you seen my purse?” Fake Anka demanded. “It was in my dressing room, but now I can’t find it.”
    Was it Theresa’s imagination, or did Anka just put extra emphasis on the words dressing room ?
    Both she and Hannah shook their heads no.
    She knows I was in there, Theresa figured. She has to.
    â€œWell, somebody must have taken it,” Fake Anka hissed, staring down Theresa and Hannah coldly before storming off.
    â€œSomebody forgot to take her happy pill this morning,” Hannah said, scowling.
    She doesn’t know the half of it, Theresa thought.
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    â€œUh, Ewan, I’m just dropping off these papers for you,” Jo blurted, snatching the papers from his desk and waving them in front of his gorgeous face. “Your assistant wasn’t in. . . .”
    â€œWhat were you doing with the phone?” he asked suspiciously.
    â€œThe phone?” she asked, oozing little-girl innocence.
    But even under her best wide-eyed gaze Ewan’s expression didn’t soften. “Yes, the phone,” he snapped impatiently.
    â€œI was . . . I was going to leave you a personal voicemail,” she purred, turning on her flirtatious charm full force. “And I didn’t want to do it from my cubicle—you know, where everybody could hear.”
    Ewan’s expression froze for a moment, then softened. He cocked an eyebrow. “A personal voice mail?”
    â€œYeah,” she replied sweetly. “To see if you wanted to get together sometime after work. I wasn’t sure how proper it was because I’m an intern. But I figured it was a great way to learn. You know, I’d just love to pick your brain.”
    Ewan soaked up the attention like a sponge. “Well,” he said, smiling, “that can certainly be arranged. In fact, tonight there’s this gallery opening downtown. You should join me.”
    â€œThat sounds great. What time?”
    â€œSeven o’clock,” he said, eyes sparkling. “Should be lots of fun.”
    â€œYeah, lots of fun,” she said cheerily, both excited and terrified. She’d never forget what had happened to her in London when she got too close to the enemy.
    She’d almost lost her life.
    Beauty is only skin deep, she reminded herself. That was one lesson she’d never forget.
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    Knock-knock-knock. Theresa rapped on Fake Anka’s door, three times fast.
    The