Spy Girl (Spy Girl #1)

“That’s quite the dress,” Ari says, as I hold up the dreamy golden masterpiece. Under the gown are a pair of Jimmy Choo sandals and a complementary clutch.

“I had it on when we met. Well, actually, I was looking at ties when we met, but then he came over to the women’s side and introduced himself when I was standing in front of the mirror in this.

“Must have made an impression. Do you think this will work? Getting close to him? I feel like being close to him might only allow us to protect him. To react to an attempt.”

“My orders were a little different than yours,” I confess.

“How so?”

“I was told to get close to and protect him.” I don’t mention the part about killing the bad guys.

“So I’m the sleuth, and you’re the bodyguard?”

I shrug. “Maybe. But I think you’re right. We have to figure out who’s behind this. I feel like we aren’t making any progress.”

“I wish we could have interrogated the gunmen,” Ari says. “Maybe we could have gotten some clues.”

“The fact that a group hasn’t claimed them by now leads me to believe we can rule out the major terrorist groups.” I open the other box to find a demure pink crepe dress with an Alexander McQueen label.

“Terrorist organizations are infiltrating all areas of the world. It could be a smaller group,” Ari counters. “What’s in the last box?”

“Oh! It’s a hat!” I place it on my head and stand in front of the mirror over my desk. “Look at the beautiful sweeping brim. And the roses and feathers are so pretty!”

“You’re going to look like royalty in that,” he teases. “I think the Prince fancies you.”

I roll my eyes. “He probably sends invites and dresses to lots of girls.”

He holds up a card. “Did you not see the note in the hat box?”

“No. What does it say?”

“I’m honored to custom design your millinery for the Queen’s Garden Party. Best, Anna Remaldi.” Ari sets the hat down and pulls out his phone, clicking buttons. “It says here that Anna is the Royal milliner for the Queen of Montrovia.”

“Wow. Okay, maybe he does fancy me a bit. But that’s the goal, right?”

“Yes, it is. So at the Garden Party, let’s try to spend more time with the cousins. We need to figure out if they are threats or targets.”

“And I want to find out more about the gunmen. Who they were. Who they were working for.”

“You think they’re mercenaries not terrorists?” he considers.

“I think we have to consider that possibility. What if there is something bigger at play here? Most terror happens in protest. Some is simply to disrupt the governments they are against. The biggest terror group now says their ultimate goal is to overthrow governments of unstable, heavily Muslim nations and establish their own state.” I pause. “Which doesn’t really fit Montrovia. I read that about ninety percent of the country is Roman Catholic.”

“But it’s a jewel of great wealth.”

“So where does the Terra thing fit in?” I wonder.

“I think terra sounds a lot like terror.”

Our server taps on the door and enters with a tray of food.

“Looks like it’s time to eat,” Ari says. “I expect Allie will be up to join you soon. An invitation to the party was delivered for her and Peter as well.”





A short time later, Allie is at my door.

“You awake?” she whispers.

“We’re out on the terrace. Come join us.”

She’s still wrapped in a robe and looks like she just woke up.

“Did you get an invitation to the Queen’s Garden Party?” she asks.

“We did.”

“What are you going to wear?”

“The Prince sent me an outfit and a hat.”

“I looked online to see what Kate Middleton wears when she goes to these sorts of things in Britain. Usually a proper suit or a tailored dress and always a hat. I have a floral dress that will work, but no hat. Do you think they wear them here?”

“Yes, they do. What color is your dress? I have a hat you could borrow. Or we could send the boys out to shop.”

Ari groans. “I think since I’m finished with breakfast, I’ll leave the fashion to you ladies and go have a pint with Peter.”

“Oh, he’d love that,” Allie says. “I’ll get my dress and be right back.”

I finish my meal and take a deep breath. I had hoped to do some yoga and work out, but now I’m going to have to hustle to be ready in time. I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t show up fashionably late to the Queen’s party.

I consider sending her son a text thanking him for the gifts, but decide it’s better for the mission to keep him wondering if I’ll show up.

“Here’s my dress,” Allie says, returning. “What do you think?” She’s holding it up to herself. “Too short?”

“It almost comes to your knee. I think it will work. And the black background with the floral pattern is both modern and traditional.” I have no idea what that even meant. My fashion decisions usually revolve around which black yoga pants make my butt look the best. She nods like I made sense.