Spy Girl (Spy Girl #1)

The Prince studies the photo. Clearly it’s her, and clearly she is beautiful. And that dress. He reads the caption: Huntley Von Allister dazzles in a pink gown with an open midriff from the Michael Kors Collection.

The gown, if you can technically call it that, features a long skirt slung low on her hips in a glittering pink fabric. A matching band of fabric covers her breasts and another circles her neck.

“So, she was at the casino but didn’t come to my party?” the Prince asks, looking bewildered.

“Apparently so, sir. If it’s any consolation, her brother showed up.”

“Why didn’t she?”

“I’m told it’s because she was winning an obscene amount at the roulette table.”

“Which kind?”

“French European. She garnered a fair amount of attention from Casino security.” He tosses a stack of photos at the Prince.

“I’ll bet she did.” He rifles through them. “She’s beaming, gorgeous, and looks fiercely competitive. You can see the seriousness in her eyes. The security camera was positioned as such to take beautiful photos of her.” Towards the end of the stack he notices a tall, good-looking man kissing her in celebration.

Then escorting her out of the casino, they leave together.

He lays the photos down with a bit of a huff. “Who is the guy?”

“Wesley Windsor, British playboy.”

“Royal?”

Juan looks at his notes. “Seventeenth in line for the throne. Grandson of the Queen’s daughter.”

He studies the photos some more. “It’s almost as if she knew where the cameras were and knew I would see these photographs.”

Juan chuckles. “Just for you, huh? The photos were made from the surveillance videos.”

“Can I please get a Bloody Mary?” the Prince says, causing a staff member to scurry away.

“Hangover, sir? You’d think by now you would have learned,” Juan teases.

“Mierda.”

“Now now, Lorenzo,” the Queen scolds, joining the pair at the table. She picks up a photo. “Very pretty. Is she a suspected terrorist or something?”

“Why would you think that?” Lorenzo asks.

“There are an awful lot of photos of one girl.” His mother laughs. “Although, she does look pretty spectacular in that dress.”

Juan replies with a grin. “Well, we can’t be too careful, Your Highness. You know the chatter our clandestine forces have been hearing.”

“You’d think they’d have better things to do than research a pretty girl who looks harmless.”

“If you were trying to kill your son, wouldn’t you hire someone who looks like she does to do it?”

The Queen shakes her head. “An assassin wouldn’t wear pink.” She looks closer and tilts her head. “I’ve seen this girl before. Just the other day. Where was it?” She taps her finger against her chin, thinking. “I know,” she says, grabbing her iPad and typing. “Here it is!” She turns the screen toward the Prince.

He sees another photo of Huntley Von Allister looking stunning, wearing a red gown and dancing at the Smithsonian Institution gala with someone he knows.





X X X





I wake up to the sounds of the ocean only to have it be overrun with rap music—a loud, angry Detroit version—blaring from the courtyard.

I step out onto the Juliet balcony that overlooks the villa’s courtyard and see Ari shirtless by the pool, doing yoga. I study his form as he calmly holds a plank pose, his muscles tight for a long while before his arms finally start to shake. He holds the pose for a few more beats then pops up, sprints across the courtyard, and beats the crap out of a portable punching bag—his odd workout a combination of zen and badass.

I study my brother some more. I was right. He’s fully fit, toned, and perfectly muscled. He should be shirtless more often.

I close the door, shutting out the noise, and walk out into the living portion of my suite to find the file I asked for yesterday on my table along with a continental breakfast.

I pluck up the file, pour myself a glass of orange juice, wrap a napkin around a chocolate croissant, and make my way out to the veranda overlooking the Montrovian harbor.

I savor a bite of the croissant before opening the file. Inside is just a single sheet of paper.

Aristotle, or Ari, is apparently his real name. Real last name: Bradford.

Mother passed away from breast cancer when Ari was young. His father was a four-star general stationed at the Pentagon, who died in a traffic accident when Ari was eighteen. Ari followed in his father’s footsteps and joined the Army, where they discovered talents in weaponry and hand-to-hand combat. He was quickly sent to train and then earned a spot as the youngest member of an elite unit. He holds the Army’s long-range sniper record and is their boxing champion. He’s earned numerous medals of honor, one specifically for saving his unit’s leader when bad intelligence caused a shit storm of a firefight.

I can see why they chose him for this mission. Not only is he qualified, but with his family all gone, it would be easy to change his birth records and create adoption papers. And wham, bam, Ari is the long lost son of a billionaire.