My Life Coach Terry gave me a personal challenge. “Get a pet,” he said. “Become a pack leader.”
You try not falling in love with a spy. They know everything about you without any of the small talk. They’ve seen your dossier, they’ve tapped your phone, they’ve killed and impersonated your best friend for two years to learn everything they possibly can about you from beneath a very convincing rubber mask. […]
Only Perpetua understood what happened to the hog. The deafening rumble of the Harley disturbed the quiet contemplation of the nuns in the Benedictine convent house. Sister Perpetua alone embraced the hog. She knew it seemed wrong to ignore part of her monastic vocation—to revere silence. Instead, she cherished the motorbike’s chanting cadence, the thrill that burned through her body.
I like to be followed. Gives a gal a kick, you know? Spices up the hours in the minivan knowing you got a black sedan with diplomatic plates hot on your tail.
In Paris, so many lies flew through the pneumatic tubes. False intelligence sucked up and spat out. Rumors of uprisings and resistance.
One must be lucky to mingle with the rich and powerful and avoid their snares. I was not so lucky.
I made my first entrance to their circle as just a Shark Girl. The agency fitted me with fins and a set of false teeth. I stood by the pool with an arrangement of Black Sea sashimi and smiled politely at the party guests, most of whom kept their distance with a wary glance.