Mr. Nice Spy - Softcover

Buch 2 von 2: My Spy

Smith, Tiana

 
9780593550328: Mr. Nice Spy
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0593550323 ISBN 13: 9780593550328
Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group, 2024

Inhaltsangabe

When a pyrotechnic engineer discovers her biological father is an international criminal, she must work with a sexy CIA agent to take him down in this thrilling adventure rom-com.

Andee Paxton knows she’s good at her job as a fireworks designer. What she doesn’t know is that her biological father is Holt, a dangerous arms dealer who has escaped prison. And now he’s searching for his long-lost daughter-dearest.

After the CIA surprises her with this news, they drop another bombshell: they want to use Andee as bait to capture Holt once and for all. But before the CIA can even attempt to spring their trap, she’s kidnapped along with the very hot Officer Adam Chan—all because they were too busy flirting to worry about silly things like “safety protocol.”

A fake relationship—for their protection, of course—and just a few explosions bring Andee and Chan closer, but there’s more than their growing connection at stake. If Holt’s plan succeeds, the world will be brought to its knees. Andee and Chan must rely on each other to stop him…or else everything (including their feelings for each other) might just blow up in their faces.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Tiana Smith is a web designer turned novelist who grew up in the Rocky Mountains. She graduated from Westminster University with double degrees in Honors and English with a focus in creative writing. In her spare time she’s learning sign language with her hard of hearing husband and she volunteers with special needs individuals attending the bi-weekly activities for Utah County’s SNAP program.

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Chapter One

I've always had a knack for blowing stuff up.

My friends' phones. My temper. My love life.

But where I really excel is explosive pyrotechnics of a physical nature. On an epic scale. When things start looking dim, that's when I like to light up the darkness with things that go boom.

I double-checked my calculations, then triple-checked them just because I didn't feel like losing any fingers today. When I was completely sure I'd mixed the right quantities of sulfur, potassium nitrate, and the other combustible chemicals to the shells I'd been putting together in secret for the past month, I put on my protective gear.

Of course, I'd started planning this all at the paper stage. Then the computer. Now it was finally time to see whether all my planning amounted to anything. Whether it'd be the stuff dreams were made of . . . or whether it'd quite literally blow up in my face.

By the time I'd finished putting on my conductive shoes to limit sparks, I couldn't remember why I'd thought any of this was a good idea.

I could lose my job because of this.

My shirt chafed at my neck, and I wasn't sure whether my knees could support my weight. Sure, I liked the idea of being a rebel. Until the time came to light the fuse.

If I were in a heist movie, I'd be the crew member who planned the whole thing but stayed behind the curtain, eager for the bad guys to get what was coming to them, but ultimately unable to physically stand up to them in any way. Actually, never mind. I'd obviously be the detonation expert, called in to blow stuff up. They never had to confront the bad guys either.

The point was, I didn't like it when it was my reputation on the line. I didn't want to get in trouble. I just wanted to watch the night sky light up.

Eventually I couldn't put it off any longer. I killed the lights so darkness enveloped the room. Silence wrapped around me-the suffocating kind that made all my internal thoughts too loud. Before I could think about it, I hit the button that signaled the machine to light the cake fuse. I was safely behind a clear fireproof window, along with my audience of coworkers, who would get to watch my attempt live to see whether it was a success or failure.

As a pyrotechnic engineer, aka fireworks designer, I'd had my fair share of them. The phrase "crash and burn" got pretty literal around here. But I rarely took on a project in secret and never against the express order of my boss.

Today was full of firsts for me.

The cake fuse-a single fuse that lit several fireworks in a sequence-was out of my control now. Everyone behind the glass could see the entirety of the design I'd been working on, albeit on a much smaller scale. Our testing facility in Virginia was large, but it wasn't like we produced full-scale fireworks for everyone in the vicinity to get a free fireworks show every night. Sure, they might like it at first, but then the noise complaints would roll in. No, we worked in an enclosed protective bunker that let us record things like the smoke whiteout levels, the decibel noise level, and more. But because we could calculate the apex and hang without needing to physically produce it, we could make smaller fireworks here in the bunker that still gave us an accurate idea of how they'd react in the wild.

I held my breath as the spark lit up the fuse, its neon-orange flare winding along the cord like the bead of sweat going down my spine.

Please work, please work.

The spark hit the base of the first shell, and my gaze shot up, away from the wrappings, into the empty air above it. I'd started with a brocade waterfall, but what made my firework special was adding the newer ghost color-changing effect.

I stood so close that my nose was pressed against the glass. When the firework went off, the lights and sound hit me almost simultaneously, my whole body taking in everything at once.

It. Was. Glorious.

For once in my life, everything happened exactly like I'd planned it. At the peak of the apex, the waterfall rolled out like a blanket, the delicate streamers cresting over the edge, its colors starting to shift from red to blue and incandescent white. The top corner crackled as it shifted with red and white bursts, the rest extending out in even lines that stretched toward the ground-displaying a perfect American flag unfurling as it went.

And they'd said it couldn't be done. That there wasn't enough time before the president's inauguration and we'd need to figure something else out for the finale so, Andee, would you just drop it already?

I turned, expecting to see the congratulatory faces of my coworkers.

What I got instead was pinched expressions and sour attitudes.

Okay, so maybe I'd gone behind everyone's backs to work on this. And maybe the creative director had told me in no uncertain terms that we needed to focus our attention elsewhere. But it wasn't like I'd neglected my other duties. I'd been a good little worker bee, only chipping away on my pet project when everyone else had gone home for the night. Besides, couldn't they see that this was better than our original plan? That this was the type of fireworks display that made history and was worth working a few extra hours even if we had to change a few things for the finale?

They started stripping off their protective wear in silence, a few of them muttering, "Congratulations, Superstar," as they passed me on the way to one of the many doors. First rule of fire safety-always make sure there are multiple exits in case of an explosion.

I ignored the Superstar jabs. I refused to take the bait, looking past their faces for my creative director's.

Just once, I wished they'd call me by my name, especially when I was really doing them a favor, if you thought about it. No one wanted to watch a subpar fireworks show at something as important as a presidential inauguration. But I knew that was asking too much from people who had called me Superstar nonstop ever since I let it slip I was related to one. Add that to the fact that they considered me to be an overachiever, and well . . . honestly, I didn't think half of them even knew my real name. Sometimes I felt like shouting, "It's Andee Paxton, by the way," after their retreating forms, but then they'd know their bullying got to me. I wasn't about to give them the satisfaction.

My creative director shuffled over while I was removing my conductive shoes, hands in his pockets.

"Well," Rob said. "Looks like you did it."

It wasn't a reprimand, but it wasn't a compliment either. It should have been a compliment. I'd just pulled off the impossible. Something that had never been done before and would bring notoriety and credibility to the firm. Well, even more credibility. We were already the premier fireworks display company in the nation, hence why we worked prestigious events like presidential inaugurations and New Year's Eve ball drops televised worldwide. The reason I'd called my mom in the middle of her work meeting to tell her the good news when I'd gotten this job and the reason I worked twelve-hour days to prove I belonged.

If I had to guess, maybe Rob didn't like a junior designer stepping on his toes. Because why else was he acting like such a wet blanket?

"It's late and I want to go home." Rob scrubbed a hand across his face. "We'll talk about this on Monday."

He walked away without another word, leaving me to wonder whether I'd still have a job after the weekend. Those remaining followed soon after him, until it was only Karina and me left in the bunker. I started walking back to my office, hoping she'd take the hint.

She didn't.

Karina matched me stride for stride, keeping up with my pace even as I rounded a corner so fast I practically gave myself whiplash coming around the other...

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Verlag
Penguin Publishing Group
Erscheinungsdatum
2024
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0593550323
ISBN 13 
9780593550328
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
368
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
gpsr@libri.de
gpsr@libri.de

Friedensallee 273
Hamburg
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Deutschland