Models and Super Spies Ch. 11

Chapter 11: F-A-N-T-A-5-I-A

Ilena Petronov had been looking forward to a night with Alexander Mishin. Like old times, back when she'd first come to work for the man as a live in mistress. She knew men like Alexander were incapable of settling down with just one woman, but that didn't stop her from dreaming.

She'd grown increasingly worried for the man, despite his assurances that everything was going to all right. She'd suspected that Erin Small wasn't on the straight and narrow; she'd never liked the supermodel-turned-club-owner. But a prostitution ring? A blackmail list that could ruin Hollywood? And now the CIA was involved?!

Ilena wasn't stupid. She knew Alex was a lot more than a simple businessman. Anyone who hired a housekeeper with the requirement of being proficient in surveillance equipment had a lot more below the surface than he let on. This intrigue just went deeper than she suspected even Alex was prepared for.

The plan had been for her to attend the gala as a rich, Russian socialite and buy him at whatever cost. The two of them would follow Liz Hawkins and her party, track the data feeds wherever they were, and pinpoint the location of the blackmail list. It would be easy. After that, they'd spend the rest of the night together, roleplaying out the situation of auctioned and auction-winner.

But then Alexander had to go and let his hormones take control. Just as she thought she could outbid the sassy blonde, her employer went and scratched his jaw. Plan B was in full effect. Roy would follow the information. Ilena would back off and let the young playboy have his fun.

Back in Russia, Ilena's father had owned a private security company. Despite her father's concerns about letting his only daughter get mixed up in the intrigue of the spy world, she'd learned everything she could about what he did. She'd learned about security systems and the jargon of spies. She'd learned how to not be tailed, and how to tail without being seen. And most useful of all, she'd learned to trust her instincts.

On that fateful night following the gala, Ilena's instincts were screaming not to trust the blonde who'd been bidding on Alexander.

She'd found Roy and relayed to him that they were on Plan B, then followed her employer and the newcomer.

They'd left quickly, but the limo took the scenic route back to Mishin's mansion. Ilena was sick to her stomach with anxiety. That suspicious feeling she'd developed as the short-haired blonde bid Alexander's price tag up grew worse with each passing moment, but she'd remained cautious, giving them a few moments of leeway as they pulled into the Mishin estate.

By the time Ilena had arrived, the front door was still open and she could make out shadows inside the doorframe. "Why?" she'd heard her employer ask. Quietly, Ilena had extracted a foldable asp from her purse.

She hadn't liked the woman's laugh. "You're redundant, Mishin my dear. I'm afraid you've outlived your usefulness." Ilena had extended the asp without a sound.

"God, it's such a pity to lose such a fabulous male specimen." Ilena had been able to get close enough to see the near naked woman straddling Alex's prone body. Fucking him. And she'd seen the needle in her hand, wavering above them.

"Look, we can talk about this." It had been so strange to hear fear in Alexander Mishin's voice.

"No more talking." The blonde assassin actually got off on it. "Oh, baby, YES!" The needle had danced higher; Alex's breath had caught, a scream barely held in check.

"Oh baby, no," Ilena had shrieked. Moving like a pouncing lioness, she'd stepped into the house and had cracked the blonde's wrist with the tip of the portable cudgel. Before the needle even had a chance to skitter across the floor, Ilena had swung again. Right across the bitch's head.

"Took you long enough!" Alexander had joked in Russian. Ilena just rolled her eyes as they cleaned up the mess, stuffed the would-be assassin into Alexander's Range Rover, and got the hell out of Beverly Hills.

***

"Ilena, darling, you need some sleep." Alexander's soft voice sounded tired as well. She blinked, her mind coming back to the present. She was driving a "borrowed" Lincoln Towncar, driving it back to LA. She'd barely slept in the past 24 hours. Not since the morning before the gala.

Keeping her hands on the wheel, she looked over at Alexander. He was resting his head between the shoulder of his seat and the door jam, his unshaven scruff looking more ragged than normal. "So do you."

"I guess neither of us will be doing much of that for a while, eh?" He smiled at her weakly. "Pull in here. To the picnic grounds."

The rest stop on the outskirts of the city wasn't exactly empty, but it was anonymous enough. She navigated around the main building where travelers had stopped for a dinner of Burger King and Cinnebon.

A couple dog-owners were letting their pets do their business in the park, but otherwise, Liz was the only person there. The diminutive agent had reverted back to red hair that was currently pulled back into a high ponytail. She waited with her arms crossed, leaning on a picnic bench.

When Alexander got out of the car, the redhead's face lit up. Ilena watched with a tinge of jealousy as Liz threw her arms around Alexander and kissed him hard. She was used to the parade of women in and out of her employer's life, but it never got any easier.

"Well, hello to you," Alexander said as Liz broke the kiss. "What was that for?"

"I thought you were dead!"

The cocky Russian let out a short laugh. "It's going to take a hell of a lot more to get rid of me than a pretty pair of tits."

Both women rolled their eyes. "So did you learn anything from the assassin?" the agent asked, back to business.

"You mean this 'Emily Lester'? At first, she wasn't very helpful. But Ilena there… talked her into it." In addition to spycraft, Ilena had picked up on a few interrogation techniques over the years. Emily wasn't actually trained very rigorously, so getting her to talk had been fairly easy.

"Is she…" Liz hesitated, not wanting to ask what they'd done with the blonde.

Alex rescued her, shaking his head. "No, but she won't be troubling anyone for a while. We can deal with her when this is all over." Liz opened her mouth, probably to ask for more details, before he went on. "And this'll all be over very soon. Tonight, even. Vincent Silva's apparently planning to frame Trey tonight. At the Green Fairy Lounge."

Liz nodded thoughtfully. "Where part of Erin's list is being stored."

"Part of?"

"Apparently, Erin's database isn't in just one location, but three. The Green Fairy Lounge, Condo, and aboard the Solstice. They're linked in some way, none good without the other two. Also, there's an emergency fail-safe. If she suspects any one of the lists are endangered, she can draw them in."

Alexander scratched his unshaven face as he listened. "OK, now things are starting to make sense. Whatever's supposed to go down in that absinthe bar was going to make it easier for Silva to get at the list. Now I know why."

"She catches wind of our operation there and pulls the trigger on the fail-safe," Liz added excitedly.

"And Silva must know where they're all going," he finished.

"So it's easy. We stop Trey from even showing up." Ilena listened quietly, letting the two puzzle it out. She knew that wasn't a good plan, and Liz realized it only a moment after she'd suggested it. "But that could raise suspicions. I also have no clue where the fuck he is."

"Well, we know where he's going to be tonight."

Liz nodded. "Can you get me in undercover?" she asked.

"I'm way ahead of you. I've already called and made the arrangements with the club manager there. She's expecting Erin to be sending over a new girl to help with a private party tonight."

"My cover's a hooker?"

Alexander grinned. "I think you can handle it." Judging from the stormy look in Liz's green eyes, Ilena wondered if she was going to slap him. "No, you'll be a waitress, although I'm not sure you'll just be taking drink orders."

"When am I expected?"

The handsome entrepreneur glanced at his watch. "In about an hour. Think you can make it?"

She kissed him again and nodded. "I can. Thanks, Alex. Where are you going now?"

"I have to teach a supermodel some manners," he joked. "I'll be in touch. We'll rendezvous tomorrow."

***

Liz was instructed to enter the Green Fairy Lounge from the back, where an impatient Asian woman in her early 40s tapped the face of her watch. "You're late," she said sternly.

"I'm sorry," the redhead said, making an attempt at deference.

The tall woman looked unconvinced. "Come. Most of the party is here already. Do you go by Liz, or Elizabeth?" She led Liz through a short corridor and through the kitchen.

"Elizabeth is fine."

The woman gave a quick nod, leading her into a pretty luxurious dressing room. Three make-up desks lined one wall, opposite a closet lined with green dresses. A couch and a 50-inch flat panel television created a sitting area, presumably when staff was on break. The woman, who still hadn't given her name, crossed over to the closet. The hangers rasped metallically as she rifled through them.

"You're a what? Size 2?" Liz nodded. "OK, put this on." She thrust one of the green uniforms at Liz as she whisked by, rolling out a silver decanter with four spigots. It looked like a fancy coffee dispenser. "Have you ever used one of these?"

Liz looked around for a changing screen to hide behind, but saw nothing. The woman glanced at her, rolled her eyes, and said, "Nothing I haven't seen before. Go on, we don't have much time."

Cursing herself for acting bashful in front of this woman, she quickly stripped down to her bra and panties as she was lectured on the correct way to administer absinthe from what was a glorified water cooler. When she reached for the dress, the woman stopped and shook her head. "Strip all the way, deary. The girls downstairs don't wear anything but the dresses."

She couldn't be serious, Liz thought. Judging from the shortness of the dress on its hanger, it wasn't going to give her much modesty. Still, she could hardly complain on such short notice. The woman poured out two glasses of absinthe as the redhead dropped her bra and panties onto the rest of her discarded clothing. The woman gave her an approving nod, and Liz was proud of herself for not covering up.

Just as she'd suspected, the green dress was tiny. The under-layer was made of green silk that clung to her curves in ways that went beyond mere suggestion. It swept so low it barely covered her nipples, and was short enough that she'd come dangerously close to exposing herself if she were to bend over. Her modesty was only marginally saved by the gossamer slip of green lace that fit over the tight silk; it was still snug, but was designed to shift across her curves in ephemeral sensuality.

"Now the rules," the woman explained, handing her a glass of the absinthe. "You do whatever is asked of you. If someone wants you to pour them a drink, you do it. If someone wants a back massage, you give it to them. If someone wants you to suck on their cock, I don't want to see hesitation."

Liz's breath caught. She hadn't quite expected this, although she should have known. She'd been sent over here as "one of Erin's girls."

"Will that be a problem?" The woman took a sip of the absinthe. Liz did the same, tasting the heavy bite of alcohol beneath the licorice flavor.

"Of course not."

"Wonderful. And I don't think I need to remind you, but everything that goes on in that room stays there. Here at the Green Fairy Lounge, we pride ourselves on our service as well as our discreetness."

"Of course." The woman pointed to a shoe rack. Liz felt the arches of her feet hurt just looking at them. "I know what's expected of me." Somehow, she found a bit of energy behind her voice.

"I hope so. Now drink up, we're already late."

Again, Liz was led through the behindthe-scene corridors of the lounge. She could hear the low-dub synths on the other side of the wall, as well as the soft din of laughter and conversation. It took the redhead a few paces to get used to what must have been five-inch heels; the early signs of intoxication didn't help matters, either (and just after one small glass of that stuff!).

They descended a carpeted flight of stairs, pushed through a beveled pair of dark, wooden doors, and suddenly she was standing in the back of the Green Fairy's lower lounge.

Liz had seen pictures of the upstairs lounge: all exposed brick and post-modern minimalism. The small, basement lounge continued the theme. More a collection of nooks and alcoves created by exposed-brick arches, it reminded Liz of the chic version of a mid-century bomb shelter, although instead of raid sirens providing the ambient sound, that airy yet persistent techno beat set the mood.

They emerged into the back most room, part of the tight area acting as the bar, the other as a server stand. An incredibly attractive woman with dark brown hair and light mocha skin smiled at her as she loaded a tray up with an absinthe fountain.

"Miss," she said with the hint of a British accent.

"Jasmine, this is Elizabeth. She'll be helping you and Bri tonight."

"Welcome," Jasmine smiled. She was beautiful, Liz thought, with exotic, almond-shaped eyes and brilliant white teeth. "If you would, please grab four glasses there and follow me out." Definitely a British accent.

The girl – most likely of Middle Eastern descent – walked practiced and proud on her tall heels. Liz did her best to imitate her as they navigated through the narrow corridors. She wore the same dress Liz sported, although it looked even more scandalous on her long legs.

"Ah, yesss…" a woman sighed. Liz's ears perked up, but when she glanced in the direction of the unmistakable sound of pleasure, all she saw was the ruffling of a green, diaphanous curtain across one of the hidden alcoves. Shadows hid the rest. Jasmine's deep brown eyes sparkled when she saw Liz looking. "That would be Brianna."

Two well-dressed black guys were relaxing around a large, antique absinthe fountain – clearly more for decoration than use anymore – in the largest of the alcoves, although it was still only wide enough to hold the low sitting table and the padded booth bench. Liz flicked her grey eyes over decorative fountain; that was her objective. Inside, Erin hid the data server. One third of her blackmail database.

"Well, well, another beautiful girl joins us. Who might you be, honey?" The man talking had a booming voice, but his commanding aura went beyond just that. He wore a crisp, pin-striped suit and a matching bowler cap, reminding her of a thinner version of the late Biggie Small.

"Samuel Smith, I presume," Liz smiled. "You can call me Elizabeth."

"Well, Elizabeth, why don't you join us for a round." His voice was dominant, a true alpha male. And where that sort of thing turned her on coming from a man like Alexander Mishin, it set her on edge coming from a dangerous man like this. "You can show me how to work that thing." He nodded his head at Jasmine, who was setting a smaller fountain on the table between the guys. As she bent at the waist, her dark chocolate nipples slipped briefly into view.

Liz put on a brave face. She was one of Erin's girls, after all. "Show you how to work Jasmine?" she teased as she settled into Samuel Smith's lap.

"Now that's a fun thought," the black man chuckled, hooking one arm around her waist while the other began caressing her creamy thigh. "Maybe after we get a little bit more… lubricated." His hand slid up the inside of her leg. Her breath caught. "First, show me how to drink that green shit."

Making sure to remain seated on Samuel, she leaned forward and demonstrated what the hostess had just done for her. She felt his hands skim across her buttocks, barely covered by the thin dress. Again, her breath caught. Getting out of this mess was going to be an uphill battle.

***

Removing her rings was the hardest part of Alicia Kennedy's preparation. Sure, she'd done it countless times before for so many modeling shoots, but this was different. This time she wasn't pandering to the camera. She was pandering to another man. A man who expected sex.

The blonde model checked herself out in the mirror one last time on her way out. The short, black dress elongated her glossy legs. Atop four-inch stilettos, she hoped her date was tall. Tweaking her gracefully sloped nose, which was still numb from the coke, she took a deep breath and turned to the door.

"You can do this, girl." Alicia flipped her wavy, blonde locks over her shoulder as she gave herself a parting glance in the mirror. Fuck, this dress was short, she laughed.

She'd come a long way. A couple months ago, she was practically a no body. A dime-a-dozen model. The kind of girl that got married (which she'd done), modeled a bit (which she'd also mastered), and finally retired to live a "normal" life. But ever since leaving her small town home in Washington State, she'd known she wasn't cut out for that normal life.

Kids, a home with a yard and an herb garden? Some kind of fuel-efficient station wagon or minivan? Trey and her had talked about it, but she never could see herself doing that.

What was funny was that while Trey seemed all for that kind of settled life, Alicia always got the feeling that he was trying to convince himself, as much as her. He seemed perfectly cut out of it, after all. At least, if you read his file. She'd worried that his unspoken hesitation was because of her, and that worry had only made her try even harder to buy into the mundane dream.

As it turned out, Alicia's instincts were correct, just not for the reasons she'd feared. Turned out, he was a fucking spy! How the fuck had she missed that?!

The elevator doors chimed open just as she'd begun to work herself into a huff. Showtime, she supposed. Shoulders back, purse at her side, she exited like she was emerging onto the runway.

Smiling just twenty paces away was Vince. Holding a white rose. Alicia blinked, waiting for the illusion to disappear. Erin had said her date would be holding a rose. Why was Vince here? Why…

"You look beautiful," he said, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. He smelled good. Manly. Her nostrils filled with the heady scent of his aftershave. He'd trimmed his salt-and-pepper goatee since the night before. He'd cleaned up, wearing a black suit and a pink shirt and tie.

"You look beautiful yourself," she laughed in disbelief. Was he really rescuing her? Again? "What are you—"

He shook his head quickly. Urgently. She cut off her question quickly. They were being taped. Must be. He was one of the men who'd gotten inside Erin's organization? He was working undercover? Maybe that explained the brunette the morning before. She suddenly felt so stupid.

"Where are we going first?" she asked, hoping whatever mics were recording them mistook her earlier question for this one.

He smiled broadly. "LA Prime," he responded. It was the restaurant they'd gone to just a few weeks before, when it was Alicia who'd asked him out on a date. And after that, she remembered, was the ballet. He'd set this all up!

"I love that place," she responded demurely, slipping her hand into his arm. "Very smooth," she whispered.

He beamed down at her. "And I guarantee you're going to love this evening."

***

As Trey followed the smartly dress blonde out to the cabstand, he was unable to keep his eyes off her body. The dark, pencil skirt clung to the curves of her pert ass and narrow hips, and a high slit up the back gave him quite a tease as her long legs swished in and out of view.