Free Vision Impossible by Victoria Laurie

laughter overtook him.
    Dutch inhaled deeply and got control of himself. “Could have been worse,” he said.
    “How exactly?”
    “Both ladies could have popped out.”
    It took me a second to understand what he was talking about, but then with a gasp I looked down and noticed that my left one had come out for air. “Oh, for Christ’s sake!” I cried, tugging at the bra and the cashmere sweater. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    “I did!” he swore. “I told you to tuck yourself back in, remember?”
    I growled and turned away, absolutely mortified, and that’s when I caught a glimpse of myself in the polished brass sides of the elevator. “Oh! This is no use. I look ridiculous!”
    Dutch considered me carefully. “Let’s get into the condo and discuss it, okay?”
    I made a face at him, but then the doors opened and we entered a lovely entryway. The minute the doors shut, I opened my mouth to argue that this disguise would likely fool no one, but before I could get a word out, I saw Dutch raise a finger to his lips and cast me a warning look.
    I held perfectly still and watched him walk around the condo holding out a small device he’d dug out of his inside pocket, and all the while he was saying things like, “That dumb-ass decorator! This was not the look I approved!” He walked slowly and carefully around the condo, holding up the gizmo, pausing every once in a while to comment on a picture or lamp. When he was done, he eyed me carefully, and pointed to a small nook by the door where hooks were set up to hold coats. He mouthed, “Stay still” when I was in place, and then he went on a rampage, smashing all the things he’d commented on one by one in the spacious living room, the utilitarian kitchen, and what I assumed was the master bedroom.
    When he was done, he looked at me with satisfaction.
    I looked at him like he done lost his mind.
    He grinned. “Bugs,” he said, and understanding blossomed in my mind.
    “Whoa,” I said, eyeing the mess. “That’s a lot of surveillance.”
    I helped Dutch sweep up the mess and, sure enough, in between the broken shards of glass and porcelain were small silver disks and bits of wire.
    When we had finished cleaning up the mess, I began pulling out the pins holding up my hair and eyed the wig sitting on the arm of the sofa with meaning. “Can we talk about this disguise thing?”
    Dutch sighed. “I had my doubts when they mentioned the identity they had in mind for you. I’ve been studying Des Vries for six days, and I knew you’d have trouble pulling off the dumb-bimbo thing.”
    “Should I take that as a compliment?”
    Dutch moved over to wrap me in his arms and kiss the bridge of my nose. “Definitely.”
    “So what do we do?”
    He stepped away and moved to his attaché. Opening it, he pulled out a thick file and flipped through some of the pages. “Des Vries has had a string of personal assistants over the years. Always the same type. A pretty young brunette fresh out of college and naive about the monster they were about to go to work for. None of his assistants ever lasted longer than a few weeks. My feeling is he got handsy and they got out, but there is room in Des Vries’s world for someone like that, and bringing you in as my assistant wouldn’t be out of character for him.”
    I felt a bit of my temper flare. “Why the heck didn’t the CIA give me that cover initially?”
    Dutch grimaced. “They may have thought you were a little too mature for the role.”
    “That’s a nice way of saying I’m too old,” I snapped.
    Dutch’s mouth quirked again. “I thought ‘mature’ might be safer.”
    I sighed dramatically. “Okay, so can we call Agent Frostbite and get some clearance for this new identity?”
    Lickety-split Dutch had his cell out and made the call.
    It took some arguing on his part—the CIA definitely wasn’t into changing covers for me so quickly—but Dutch never let up and eventually Frost relented.
    Once he’d hung