Page 23 of Agency

Because the man on the left? The man on the left was the same man from the hotel lounge last night. The one I’d kissed Morgan in order to hide my face and avoid being remembered.

Eyes breaking from mine and traveling down the rest of me, he nodded.

Not in recognition, though. No, I knew that nod. That was a nod of desire. A nod of approval–approval of the kind oftravel amenitieshis boss could afford, and which he wished he could, too.

The other security guard? I knew him, too, but only from the dossier my agency had provided. I’d seen his photo and had read his short bio, and I could have picked him out of a crowd. But, other than that? Well, his name might as well have been Adam.

Both men towered over me with their bulk, and the looks on their faces were deadly serious.

Make no mistake, though. There were probably much more deadly aspects to them than just their looks, and they were probably more fully equipped than with just their EMF wand and stern demeanors. I’d be willing to bet gold bricks they both had sidearms hidden within their suit coats, and that substantial backup was a phone call–or maybe only a shout–away.

“Ms. Jameson,” the one I’d seen in person said, his English thickly accented. “May my associate look through your bag?”

Ohhhhh, my last name. Or, at least what they believed was my last name. They had been talking to the modeling agency. Or, at least, the person they thought worked for the modeling agency, but really worked for mine.

Trust me, secure communication was complicated, especially when cell phone hacking was involved.

“My bag?” I asked, feigning exasperation. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Procedures are in place for a reason.” He gestured to his partner. “Please.”

“Um, sure.” I passed my clutch over to his partner, sighed in frustration. “If you insist.”

“We do,” the original speaker continued, raising the EMF wand. “Simple precaution, I assure you. May I?”

“Oh, by all means. I love wands.”

Eyes flickering to mine, he began to wave the wand over me, starting at the waist.

“This one of those magic vibrating ones?” I asked. “Or does it only have the one function?”

A buzz sounded as he passed the wand over my head, and his eyes narrowed.

“Sorry,” I said. “Believe it, or not, I have a metal plate in my head. Car accident as a kid.” That actually wasn’t a lie. I’d since had another relatively serious car accident that put me in the hospital for a few days, just after I’d started working for my current employers. But that one hadn’t had left any lasting evidence.

Regardless of how long ago I’d received that medical necessity, though, I still tended to pop both these little wand things and metal detectors.

The security guard’s eyes remained focused on mine.

“Need me to remove my earrings? Will that help?”

“Dah.”

Russian. Right. I released the clasps and took out each earring, passed them over to him. He wanded me again as his partner in security removed a granola bar from my clutch and began to examine the packaging.

“My blood sugar gets low after a date,” I said. “Hypoglycemic, according to my doctor. Makes me a little hangry.”

“Arakhisovyy,” the guard said, eyes flickering first to me, then to his partner as he held my granola bar as if he were a cop, and the bar was an eight ball of coke.

“Excuse me?” I asked, even though I understood his Russian perfectly.

“Peanuts, Ms. Jameson,” the wand-wielder said as he inspected my earrings with the device, didn’t get abeep-beep-beepresponse like he had when they were attached to my earlobes. “Boss is allergic. Gets paranoid. Stays out here with us, okay?”

“Oh,” I said, trying not to roll my eyes as the wand returned to my head, produced the same results as before, but nowsansearrings. “Sure, sure. Not a deal breaker. Can I pick it up after? I might be a little peckish.”

The security guard with the wand snorted. “Dah. After.” He returned my earrings, and I placed them back in my ears.

Next, I took back my clutch, minus the offending peanut-laden granola bar. “Well?” I asked as I glanced back and forth between the two men. “Now, may I get to my appointment?”