Spy Girl (Spy Girl #1)

“The son of Malcolm Prescott,” Ari says. “Prescott Industries’ self-made billionaire. His conglomerates rebuild after a war, and he’s a big contributor to President Hillford’s campaign.”


Kate Two does a little clap. “Correct, Ari, you’ve been studying.”

I wonder why I haven’t been allowed to study.

“Also at the table will be Peter’s college buddy, Daniel Spear.”

“Son of Vice President Spear,” I add. At least I know something. Although it’s really not that spectacular. Every woman in America—and most other countries—would recognize the gold-medal winning Olympic swimmer with his blinding white teeth, piercing blue eyes, crooked grin, and a body made of steel—based on his latest men’s fitness magazine cover, which may have been tossed around my dorm room and drooled over. Kate One smiles at me, so I continue. “They are our entry into Montrovian society, I take it?”

“Yes, your mission for tonight is to make friends with Peter and invite him to join you for a week of partying. Daniel is an acquaintance of the Prince. Although, he isn’t likely to go to Montrovia, knowing him can’t hurt. It all depends on the two of you. Are you charming and believable enough to pull this off?”

Ari glances in my direction, sizing me up.

“Have you scheduled some time for Huntley and I to get to know each other before the event?” Ari asks the Kates.

“We’re on a tight schedule, but you’ll be alone from five until you leave for the event at promptly seven p.m. You can use that time as you see fit.” Kate Two smirks, and I know she’s thinking of exactly how she’d choose to use that time if she were me.

I stifle a smile. Good. Ari’s hotness is good for our mission.

But he’s totally not my type. I can already tell he’s way too uptight.

The Vice President’s son, on the other hand, has dated everyone from pop stars to the local stripper. He’s much more my type. Fast, carefree, and easy. Ari looks like he requires care and feeding. High maintenance with a capital H. The kind of guy who would annoy the crap out of me.

Which I’m told brothers usually do.





X X X





Ari and I don’t have time to chat as planned. Between spa appointments and tailoring, we’re barely ready in time. Fortunately, while I was getting my toes, nails, and hair done, I was able to read more about Montrovia on my phone. I studied the country’s history, maps of the capital, blueprints of the castle, and the folklore. I’ve memorized the shops, read up on the Formula One drivers, and even found a cool article on all the secret passageways in the castle as well as learned the ghost of a former king is said to haunt the stables.

We arrive at the event by chauffeured limousine. The museum is bathed in a soft pink light. A red carpet creeps up the stairs. Hollywood stars, music industry moguls, models, billionaires, politicians, socialites, professional athletes, and artists all come together to support one of the country’s greatest institutions. A place I could spend days in with all its history. But most of the people are here to be seen. It’s a splashy and glitzy event that kicks off the summer season.

The fact that on my first covert mission I will be photographed seems odd to me. Spies are taught to remain nameless and faceless. One of our most important classes at Blackwood was how to avoid being photographed on all the surveillance cameras around the world—your head down, a scarf, a hood, the tilt of your head.

“Maybe we should avoid the red carpet hoopla and sneak in through the kitchen, Ari.”

He holds out his elbow. “We’re going in the front and establishing our cover.”

“Aren’t you worried about how this will affect future missions?”

“I think this is our future mission.”

“You think we will die?”

“No. I think if we succeed, there will be many more missions together. It’s brilliant, really. Being undercover in plain sight. So smile for the cameras.”

I wrap my hand around his elbow and allow him to escort me up the stairs. We smile and pose for the cameras when told to, and as we enter the reception, there are already numerous people. A waiter presents us with a tray of champagne, and we each take a glass.

“To us,” Ari says raising his flute. “And to our great country.”





We are allowed to roam the museum and mingle before the event. Somehow, people already know who Ari and I are and offer us condolences on our father’s passing.

Mostly, these seem to be the politicians.

“Ari, don’t you find it a little odd that people know us and know who our father was when you and I met less than nine hours ago?”

“When were you told about our mission?” he asks me.

“Nine hours ago, when were you?”

“Three weeks ago. The day after he passed.”

“What do you know about him?”

“Not much, but I know his company worked with the government on numerous projects. He was a brilliant inventor, but a recluse for the past few years. We inherited his estate, as well. You should see the place. He has a research facility that is second to none.”