Page 12 of Taming Achilles

“No, that’s fresh.” Detected Delgado clicked off the black light. She let out a low, chagrined sigh. “I believe you, Miss Fox.”

“It’s Lady Fox,” I corrected her, just to be petty. Geordie chuckled.

“We’re on American soil. We don’t acknowledge those titles here, Miss Fox,” she retorted with a sideways glance. Bitch. I want to slit her throat. “You’ll need to stay elsewhere for a few days. Is that manageable?”

“Aye,” Geordie answered for me, stepping to my side so that I had to peer around his shoulder to see the detectives. “She’ll stay with me.”

“Will you be able to provide her security?” Detective Delgado asked him, ignoring me now, since I obviously wasn’t in control of my own agency. You’d think a woman in her position wouldn’t treat another woman this way.

“Aye,” Geordie said, with a nod, crossing his arms. I didn’t miss the slight lick of her lips as she stared at his biceps as they bulged, even through his tuxedo jacket. “Get your things, Pip. I’ll take you to mine.”

“But, aren’t you staying with …” I was suddenly afraid. “Won’t they … with …”

The boys always stayed in the same penthouse. Callum’s. I doubted that Cal and his wife would appreciate that. Not on this day, of all days.

“I should stay somewhere else.” I said, knowing that I was distanced from any school friends. Even ones I had been close to. It was an occupational reality. Only Chloe ever forgave me, but she had a genuine love for me that was truer than any sister. I never deserved her.

“Cal left for his honeymoon,” Geordie answered without me needing to complete my sentence. “The other lads are off God knows where. I’ve got the place to myself. No worries.”

I nodded, turning to my closet, and walking toward it as if I was walking toward a noose.

Being alone with Geordie? That was a terrible idea. I wanted it so badly, but knew the risks. I wanted to confess all my secrets to the man. It was the magnetism and power he had over me, like I was just a puppet he twisted and turned at his pleasure. I had almost given in to him once, almost revealed everything. The spying, the work … I had desperately wanted to reach out and tell him everything.

“Go on,” Geordie interrupted my thoughts and gestured me towards the closet. “Pack a bag. We’ll be right out here”.

I went, shutting the closet door behind me and quietly turning the lock with the barest click.

I went for the Burberry, brown and white checked weekender bag, pulling it from the island and laying it atop open. I opened the little door behind the dresses, and stepped inside, going to the safe. I pulled out my two favourites: A Swiss passport, declaring me Amalie Maillard, and an American passport where I was Ashley Jones. I took two burner phones. One for my handler, one for my American contact. All of it went into a locked makeup box the size of a tool box, hidden under endless packs of foundation, in a false bottom. I locked the laptop, disconnected it from any cables and grabbed the pistol. I grabbed a stack of cash in multiple currencies and wound it into knee-socks and dropped my loot into the bag.

Then I found three sets of lingerie - in white, of course - two sets of jeans, four t-shirts, and a pair of shorts because this was California. Things were liable to be as hot as the devil’s bullocks no matter what time of year it was. Of course, I grabbed some hair products, a straightener and blow dryer, and my favourite lily-scented perfume. I threw in a cardigan, sandals, flats and a pair of heels. Then the toiletries, makeup… by the end of my packing the bag that had seemed roomy was bursting at the seams.

I busied myself with putting my hair up in an unflattering ponytail. Because I was about to go somewhere with George Campbell and I refused to appear like I was happy about it. Even as my heart flipped in my chest.

How could I keep my secrets now? No one came into my apartment. No one except Chloe. Because she had always suspected something was happening with me, but had blindly never asked.

Chapter 5

Geordie

She was here. In my space. In my territory. And she looked about as comfortable as a woman about to undergo a mammogram.

The thought made my eyes bounce to her tits. I forced myself to raise them to her blue eyes before I could get lost in the memories of her taste. How those nipples were sweet in my mouth as I suckled them until she screamed in lustful agony.

“I can’t afford you,” she said, suddenly.

“Come again?”

“I don’t have the money to pay your fees, so I should go.”

I was stunned.

“Come again?” I asked.

“I have no money,” she said, emphasising every word. “I have been cut off, disowned, put out on the streets, voluntarily orphaned, cast out! Is that clear enough?”

Her cheeks were glowing red. She was embarrassed.

“Why?” I asked.

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