The International Assassin A Sexy Times Crime Thriller (6 page)

The fact I found Nick attractive merely further suggested I have some strange fetish for men in the intelligence service, although had he been fifty, bald and fat I doubt he would have appealed so much. I hoped he didn’t know the full truth that I had gone around committing murder at Johnny’s behest without so much as a contract or flash of ID. 

He would think I was some sort of maniac.

I put aside the thought of a romp in the hay-barn with the delightful Nick Salinger and remembered the more pressing problem that Johnny - the shameless bastard, had stolen all my money. I was broke. Not just ‘
get a media job and a flat in Fulham
’ broke but ‘
piss pot poor haven’t got the bus fare home
’ broke. I had three options. 

One
, put my hands up to things and serve out my time. 

Two
, ring Daddy and hope he didn’t send me to Utah rehab for the rest of my days. 

Three
, accept the offer of Nick Salinger who was at least a genuine employee of H.M government and not some bullshit pick-up artist on a con-trip.

I decided to take Option three - Nick Salinger. 

Not just because I didn’t want to go to prison and become the wings toilet bitch or do an equally horrific stretch in Utah rehab but because I really rather liked him and being his damsel in distress had a certain charm. At the very least I would get to shag him silly which after the past twenty-four hours of unpleasantness and the fact I wouldn’t be able to offset the misery with a shopping trip to
Lanvin
would be the only prospect of cheering me up.

And God only knows what had happened to poor Foxy.

Chapter 5

WHEN THE
lesbian WPC returned to ply me with more offerings from hells kitchen I informed her I would like to take my statutory phone call. She took me to the phone and I dialled the number on Nick Salinger’s business card.

“Hello?” said Nick.

“Hi,” I replied. “So I’ve thought about your offer.”

“And?”

‘I’ve decided to accept.”

“Okay. Great.”

“So what now?”

“I’ll get the paperwork done and try and get you released.”

“Well if you could hurry up I’d be terribly grateful.”

“See you later,” he replied.

I was returned once more to my cell.  After an hour or so the detective arrived with a displeased look on his face.

“It seems you have some influential friends,” he said disappointed that I wasn’t going to be banged up for life. 

I smiled at him as he gestured me out of the cell and then followed him to the front desk where Nick Salinger was filling out paperwork.

“She’s all yours now,” the detective told him. “Good luck.”

I hugged Nick and gave him a kiss on the cheek to the disapproving look of the detective and desk-jockey paper monkey.

“He won’t need luck,” I told them with a cheeky wink.

Nick handed the papers over and the desk jockey handed him the bag with the pistol in it.

“You’re free to go,” they told me. “Stay out of trouble,”

Nick gestured me to the door and we went outside.

“You’re my new hero now,” I told Nick. He didn’t respond. 

He was clearly the strong silent type. 

How
exciting
.

He led me over to a black Supercharged Range Rover Sport that had been tuned by Overfinch. At least he had a nice car. He unlocked the doors with the remote and opened the door for me.

“Aren’t you just the perfect gentleman,” I purred at him.

“That depends on the lady,” he responded.

“Do tell me more…” I said as I climbed in. 

Nick closed the door behind me and got in the drivers side. I was in a good mood and probably would have leapt on him and man-raped him at that point but since I hadn’t had a shower or brushed my teeth and felt an utter scrubber I didn’t want to spoil a first impression. Nick fired up the throaty V8 and we finally departed Hackney. 

“Nice car,” I told him.

“Thank you,” he replied.

“Does it have an ejector seat?”

“No.”

“Rocket launchers?”

“No.”

“Laser guided machine guns?”

“No.”

“Invisible camouflage?”

“No.”

“Smoke screen?”

“No.”

“What does it have?”

“Its got electric windows, air-con, sat-nav and a CD player.”

“So it’s just a normal Range Rover then?”

“Not entirely. It’s B6 armoured.”

“Am I in danger?”

“Only from me,” he told me with a cheeky smile.

“Oooh. So where do we start?”

“Your place.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“Yes. We know everything there is to know about you now.”

“I bet you don’t.”

“I bet we do.”

“Well, I bet you don’t know what colour knickers I’m wearing.”

“That’s not really the purpose of the Intelligence Service.”

“There you go, you don’t know everything,” I said. 

He was quiet for a moment.

“What colour knickers are you wearing?” he asked curious.

“You
naughty
boy,” I winked at him. “What makes you think I’m wearing any…” I added with a suggestive pout. 

He smiled and shook his head.

We arrived in Cadogan Gardens outside my apartment. I was hugely relieved because more than anything I just wanted to lie in a bubble bath for about two hours and put my pyjamas on. There was an estate agents board nailed to the front railings - which surprised me since I wasn’t aware any of my neighbours were planning to move.

“This is me. You’ve been so delightful I might even cook you dinner,” I said.

Nick opened the door for me and I led him into the hallway.

“Nice place,” he remarked admiring the décor.

“I think so.” 

We went to the lift. Even though I only lived on the first floor having been in my Loubi heels for two days solid I didn’t feel like enduring the pain of the stairs. I took out my keys and tried to open the door but the key would not turn in the lock.

“You have the right key?” Nick asked as I struggled with the lock.

“Of course,” I told him then I noticed the shiny new Yale that had clearly been replaced from the original, much more worn one. “Someone’s changed the lock. Who would do that?”

“Johnny?” suggested Nick.

I gave the door a push but it was no use, it was firmly shut.

“Can’t you kick it in or something?” I asked him.

He shook his head.

“We don’t do that. Besides it’s solid oak. You’d need a elephant to take it down.”

Nick took out some sort of Swiss army knife of lock picks and fiddled with it then put it in the lock, twisted it a little and opened the door.

“Remind me to never break up with you,” I told him. “You’d just be able to keep coming back to steal my underwear.”

“What makes you think I would want to steal your underwear?”

“You look the sort of guy who likes to keep a girls knickers in his glove-box.”

“Really?”

“Don’t you?”

“No.”

“Oh. How disappointing.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Only if they are my knickers.”

“Well make sure they are clean. I’m not a Japanese salary man.”

We went into the apartment and I immediately noticed all the hallways furniture and art was missing.

“I’ve been burgled!” I told Nick and went through the living room.

To my utter horror and shock the entire room was completely empty down to the light bulbs. All my years of collecting furnishings and art had been cleared out in less than two days. I went through to my bedroom which was equally empty and threw open my wardrobe.

My entire collection of clothes and even worse - my priceless collection of sixty pairs of Loubi’s, most of which were limited editions were gone with the exception of my modified asteroid heels which I had killed Vladimir with.

Nick came to join me. It was obvious this was more than a burglary. This was Johnny. The ruthless bastard had cleaned out my entire apartment.

“It’s your apartment up for sale. I called. The agent is coming over,” Nick told me.

I couldn’t even find the words. I wasn’t angry at this point. Just horrified and distraught that everything in my entire home was gone. I burst into tears and forgetting for a moment the fact I smelt like a vagrant I turned to Nick and plunged my face into his chest and wrapped my arms around him as tightly as I could. He wrapped his arms around me and stroked my hair, which was comforting.

“I can’t believe he has done this! All my bloody shoes!” I sobbed pitifully.

Nick took my face between his hands and wiped the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs.

“Hey, come on. It’s only stuff. We’re going to get all this sorted out and then just think how much fun you are going to have buying it all over again,” he told me softly.

I could have married him on the spot at that point, the best thing you can ever tell a girl who devotes a large proportion of her time to retail therapy on the sudden loss of her prized trinkets is to look on the bright side of life by being able to do it all over again. I nodded. He was right. Johnny would pay for his treachery with his life while I would spend the next two years in retail nirvana. I managed a small smile to let Nick know his words were appreciated then gave him the much more delightful reward of his first passionate kiss which seemed to surprise him.

“That’s the spirit,” he told me quite bashfully. 

I don’t think he was used to being romantically assaulted by pretty girls. It would be a delightful new experience for him, I would see to it. I dropped my bottom lip into a pout and frowned as I looked around my naked room.

“Well I can’t cook you dinner now. Or make you coffee. Or seduce you and take you to bed.”

“That’s not a bad thing.”

“It bloody is.”

“I don’t want to be rude. But you need to take a shower,” he said politely.

“I know. I was planning two hours in a bubble bath with you giving me a back massage. So much for that. I bet the bastard has even stolen my rubber duck.”

I looked around and frowned.

“Where’s Foxy?”

“Who?”

“My baby. I thought you said you knew everything?”

“You have a child?”

“No, my
baby
. Foxy. My long crested Chihuahua,” I said as I realised Johnny had clearly had him away as well.  

God only knows what the brute had done to Foxy. Let him loose on the street, taken him to Battersea, sold him to a Korean fast food outlet or, God forbid, given the poor darling to that bitch Charlotte.

Dejected I returned to Nick who stood behind me and wrapped his arms around me to comfort me. I sighed.

“Well if poor Foxy is gone you are going to have to give me a real baby now. You realise that?”

“We just met!” he said in surprise not sure if I was joking or not.

“What does that matter? You said you already knew everything about me. In which case you should already be in love with me.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I don’t expect I will ever know anything about you given your line of work. Look at how Johnny turned out.”

Nick cradled me in his arms.

“I’m not Johnny.”

“Thank God for that. He’s a thieving dog-napping shoe- stealing bastard.”

“So you can ask me anything.”

“Really?”

“Anything.”

“Okay. Are you married?”

“No.”

“Are you gay?”

“No.”

“Do you take a shower every day?”

“Yes. Twice a day.”

“Do you wear clean underpants every day?”

“Yes.”

“Are you capable of having a sustainable long-term relationship without cheating?”

“Yes.”

I paused for a moment.

“Can you make me happy?”

Nick waited before answering.

“I can’t promise I can make you happy always but I know I would do anything I could to try and make you happy.”

That was a good answer. He was honest. In reality he would probably make me cry a lot, hate him some days and mostly annoy me. That’s the standard operating procedure for all men. But any man who claims he can make you happy is a liar. What you want is a man who can try and make you happy to the best of his limited abilities given his gender deficiencies and inability to understand the heart of a woman.

“That’s good enough.”

“Did I pass?”

“You passed. We get married next week.”

He laughed.

“You think I’m joking. At my age finding a decent bachelor is hard, you have to hang on to them when you find one. You’re rare enough that I could auction you at Sothebys,” I said.

“You might need to do that given your financial predicament.”

“No chance. You’re priceless. I’m locking you in my bedroom and never letting you out.”

The estate agent suddenly appeared and looked at us.

“How did you get in here?” he asked.

“I used my key! It is my apartment,” I said instinctively. “Well – never mind. Who the bloody hell are you?”

“I’m Bertie. The agent. You must be Mr. Smith I presume. The gentleman who called me? How did you get in?”

“I told you! It’s my bloody apartment! Where do you get it off putting it on the market you bloody pirate!” I said to him annoyed.

The agent frowned and checked the paperwork on his clipboard.

“I think there must have been some mistake. We took agents instructions from a gentleman. A Mr. Van Sant. He provided all the proper credentials.”

He rifled through his folder.

“You’re telling me Johnny put my apartment up for sale? Where’s all my furniture?”

“He asked us to instruct a house clearance firm. They emptied the place this morning.”

 “If you really want to have sex with me then you’ll make him talk,” I whispered in Nick’s ear.

Nick didn’t need asking twice. He let me go, walked over and grabbed the clipboard off Bertie roughly. He was so macho it gave me goosebumps.

“I say old chap, steady on!” Bertie said in surprise.