Her Spy to Have (Spy Games Book 1) Read Online Free
Author: Paula Altenburg
under what was unquestionably an unofficial house arrest.
She wrapped the towel around her hips so she wouldn’t feel quite so naked. Either she was under arrest or she wasn’t. There was only one way to find out. She crossed the wet grass between the pool and the deck, and while the children mobbed their father, thrust out her hand to his guest.
“Mr. Downing,” she said. “We meet again.”
* * *
It turned out that Isabelle Beausejour had hidden layers. He didn’t recall her being quite so…attractive.
The entire package appealed to him, he decided, once the initial shock wore off. On the surface, there was nothing remarkable about her, but there was nothing displeasing, either. Average height, average features, average coloring. Brown hair, brown eyes. If she were a bird, she’d be a pretty little wood thrush. The toned body was what caught him off guard. So did the navel jewelry.
He’d asked Peter to check her references and find her work. He’d told him nothing more than that. To say he hadn’t been pleased when he’d first heard the news that Peter and Cheryl had hired Isabelle was an understatement of colossal proportions. She was a smart girl. They might as well have hung a sign around her neck that read I’M UNDER SURVEILLANCE. He’d felt sorry for her predicament, yes, but not sorry enough to want her around his own family.
His brother-in-law hadn’t ended up as his riding’s Member of Parliament by missing opportunities, however. He’d viewed the situation through a different filter.
“I checked her references, just like you asked. I had the RCMP run a background check, too. Hell, they even consulted Interpol, given how much she’s traveled. When someone with excellent references, who’s well-traveled and speaks four languages fluently, with no criminal record, lands on my doorstep needing a job when I need a nanny, I’m not slamming the door in her face. It’s a win all around.”
The RCMP and Interpol, and therefore Peter, didn’t know she’d tried to sell her passport, though. Garrett had gotten an RCMP officer friend to pick her up at the airport on his own time, and take her passport from her, because he didn’t want word to get out that CSIS had any interest in her. Neither body knew how deeply involved in organized crime her father, Marc Leon Beausejour, had become. He was only a small fish in a big, murky, cesspool of a pond, true, but hopefully, he’d lead CSIS to bigger catch.
Garrett’s greatest concern right now was how much involvement Beausejour’s daughter might have with organized crime too, and any potential danger she brought to his family. He’d searched Interpol’s databases himself and found nothing on her. Peter’s reports claimed she’d been an exemplary employee to date. The children liked her. She never went out alone, although distance and a lack of a driver’s license no doubt accounted for that. She was quiet, and for the most part, did very little to draw attention to herself. When the children went to bed, she watched television or read books in her private suite. She had a preference for Russian literature. Cheryl had loaned her a laptop and Garrett had been monitoring her online activities for weeks. She’d contacted no one, not even friends. There appeared to be no significant other in her life.
So here he was, about to spend a month of vacation visiting his sister and digging for dirt, because Bangkok had been a bust. He’d found the Thai maintenance company that had been brokering the stolen weapons systems, but the only clear Canadian link appeared to be Isabelle’s father, and he hadn’t shown up for his last scheduled meeting with them. It was as if Beausejour had dropped off the face of the earth. If he was alive he had to be somewhere in Europe, where he could move across borders without having to present a passport. CSIS had already investigated the possibility he held more than one, and under different names, but no database
She wrapped the towel around her hips so she wouldn’t feel quite so naked. Either she was under arrest or she wasn’t. There was only one way to find out. She crossed the wet grass between the pool and the deck, and while the children mobbed their father, thrust out her hand to his guest.
“Mr. Downing,” she said. “We meet again.”
* * *
It turned out that Isabelle Beausejour had hidden layers. He didn’t recall her being quite so…attractive.
The entire package appealed to him, he decided, once the initial shock wore off. On the surface, there was nothing remarkable about her, but there was nothing displeasing, either. Average height, average features, average coloring. Brown hair, brown eyes. If she were a bird, she’d be a pretty little wood thrush. The toned body was what caught him off guard. So did the navel jewelry.
He’d asked Peter to check her references and find her work. He’d told him nothing more than that. To say he hadn’t been pleased when he’d first heard the news that Peter and Cheryl had hired Isabelle was an understatement of colossal proportions. She was a smart girl. They might as well have hung a sign around her neck that read I’M UNDER SURVEILLANCE. He’d felt sorry for her predicament, yes, but not sorry enough to want her around his own family.
His brother-in-law hadn’t ended up as his riding’s Member of Parliament by missing opportunities, however. He’d viewed the situation through a different filter.
“I checked her references, just like you asked. I had the RCMP run a background check, too. Hell, they even consulted Interpol, given how much she’s traveled. When someone with excellent references, who’s well-traveled and speaks four languages fluently, with no criminal record, lands on my doorstep needing a job when I need a nanny, I’m not slamming the door in her face. It’s a win all around.”
The RCMP and Interpol, and therefore Peter, didn’t know she’d tried to sell her passport, though. Garrett had gotten an RCMP officer friend to pick her up at the airport on his own time, and take her passport from her, because he didn’t want word to get out that CSIS had any interest in her. Neither body knew how deeply involved in organized crime her father, Marc Leon Beausejour, had become. He was only a small fish in a big, murky, cesspool of a pond, true, but hopefully, he’d lead CSIS to bigger catch.
Garrett’s greatest concern right now was how much involvement Beausejour’s daughter might have with organized crime too, and any potential danger she brought to his family. He’d searched Interpol’s databases himself and found nothing on her. Peter’s reports claimed she’d been an exemplary employee to date. The children liked her. She never went out alone, although distance and a lack of a driver’s license no doubt accounted for that. She was quiet, and for the most part, did very little to draw attention to herself. When the children went to bed, she watched television or read books in her private suite. She had a preference for Russian literature. Cheryl had loaned her a laptop and Garrett had been monitoring her online activities for weeks. She’d contacted no one, not even friends. There appeared to be no significant other in her life.
So here he was, about to spend a month of vacation visiting his sister and digging for dirt, because Bangkok had been a bust. He’d found the Thai maintenance company that had been brokering the stolen weapons systems, but the only clear Canadian link appeared to be Isabelle’s father, and he hadn’t shown up for his last scheduled meeting with them. It was as if Beausejour had dropped off the face of the earth. If he was alive he had to be somewhere in Europe, where he could move across borders without having to present a passport. CSIS had already investigated the possibility he held more than one, and under different names, but no database
Readers choose
J. P. Sumner
J.T. Alblood
Maria-Claire Payne
Donald Hanzel
Mary Carter
Jana DeLeon
Mingmei Yip
Tom Piccirilli
Barbara McMahon