Kiss And Kill (Episode One): Kiss and Kill, #1

By AJ Diaz

Jane Hawk meets Alias in this classic spy thriller about a young woman, a highly-trained operative, who believes she can make the stars align for herself.

Virginia has lost everything. And she's willing to lose the little she has left, even her own life, to make things right.

 

From a plane crash to running from an atavistic tribe in the Amazon jungle to narrow escapes in the Egyptian sands, this story is a classic spy thriller meets adventure.

 

THRILLER!

 

This is the story of a character who wants something with all of her shattered heart. And she's willing to die trying. This makes her intense, crazy, interesting, frightening.

 

Frightened.

 

And of course there is the man who steps into her life and offers a different pathway, perhaps.

 

But, like all good and even great human beings, she is torn.

 

Ripped.

 

And this is EPISODE ONE of that story.

 

More episodes coming soon...

• Language: English
• Publisher: AJ Diaz
• Release date: Apr 29, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224169597

Book preview

KISS AND KILL

EPISODE ONE

EPISODE ONE

ONE

SHE KNEW SHE was born to die.

Not yet, though.

Which was why she stabbed the guy in the throat. Blood squirted out all over her hand, all over the small mirror. She kicked the flush pedal on the toilet to cover the noise of the man groaning into her other hand. She was smothering it well enough.

This was the only bathroom in the plane and she had to deliver the guests’ drinks in a minute before they got suspicious and came looking.

Basically, blood everywhere wasn’t helping her situation.

She looked down and saw it on her chest, the bare part, rolling down over the chain of her necklace that held her heart-shaped locket and touching the line of her dress.

She’d figured there would be killing. She was surprised it had started so soon. They’d only reached thirty thousand feet five minutes ago.

Which was when it had started:

Moving down the centerline of the plane, light glimpsed in through many of the open windows, pressing through as if it were trying to make an XRAY. A result of the lightning that was currently inhabiting and exhibiting itself from within the heavy clouds.

Virginia wondered about weather conditions as she moved down the line.

Taking drink orders.

Wondered how the pilots had secured FLIGHT STATUS GO when the clouds were this dark and heavy. Then again, they were flying over South America. Fewer restrictions than the other America.

The seats on the private jet, a 737 and nothing to be ashamed of, were arranged like cars on a train. Four seats here. Three there. Some faced each other. Others swiveled. Others reclined. There was one or two private booths. A custom commission, the interior was highly detailed: plain colors, hints of and dashes of velvet in the trims and curtains and seatbelt flourishes.

Virginia glided past the first set of guests.

Was going to begin taking orders at the far end.

When the man stopped her. He was seated alone, had been reading from a program of some kind. Who are you, darling?

Virginia Hart.

He looked her up and down.

But who are you, like a stripper? A hooker? Vulgar tone, dripping in vulgar. Vulgar eyes. Hard-packed skin concealing a hard-packed soul.

Virginia looked down at her clothes, indicating, then back at the man. I’m a stewardess.

The guy raised his eyebrows, amused. Five hundred dollars says you’re not.

Five hundred? That’s all you think I’m worth, Virginia said in an amused and playful tone of voice. She wasn’t amused. But it wouldn’t hurt to let him think she was.

Wouldn’t hurt her mission.

Virginia let the man’s body crumple down into the corner of the bathroom.

She made sure the door was locked. The toilet had finished flushing. The guy was dead. No sound issued from his rapidly-settling corpse. He still held the gun in his hand, finger through the trigger guard. She’d tried her best not to kill him. Her first reaction had been to put him to sleep, but he’d taken out the gun.

Taking a small step away from the dead body, in the tightness of this small bathroom, she wondered, for the first time, why the bathroom was so small. The rest of the plane was dressed to the nines, even the tens.

She’d heard it was a great plane to fly. She’d only flown Gulfstreams and Cessnas. She liked flying. It was intriguing. Took one’s mind off of things.

Like hiding a dead body.

Maybe she could leave the body here for a time.

That seemed to be her only option.

The front of her dress was soaked in blood. So was her skin. She turned her head, looked in the mirror—well, in the part of the mirror not covered in blood. There was a spray of blood across her forehead, a little in her hair. She had to find a change of clothes and wash off.

This was an interesting situation.

She’d been in worse, she told herself.

I can pay more than my earlier offer, the man had said, and then lightning poured through the window, backlighting his slicked back hair, the tiny hairs around the rim of his ears, his tenacious attitude.

His name was George Reynolds. Virginia knew his name, his status, his business dealings, his lot in life. She was never slack when it came to reconnaissance. She’d even been in his home.

Currently, this plane housed some of the worst warlords and criminals, cartel leaders and drug pushers, sex traffickers and conmen. Ten of them. And their bodyguards, each required a personal bodyguard. Virginia had, as well, researched the bodyguards.

Being here among the worst of the worst, Virginia felt oddly fine.

George Reynolds had been in business more than twenty years. And if following one’s vices kept one on the attractive side, George proved it. He looked fine for a man in his fifties. Regal, even. Or perhaps that was because he lived in a mansion in Mexico City. A servant or a maid or a prostitute provided for his every beck and call and whim and passion. And innocent people paid for his murderous imaginations. And guilty people.

Virginia had visited his mansion, unofficially, of course.

She’d even been in his master suite.

She’d witnessed him kill one of his prostitutes. She wasn’t pleasing him quite right, or she’d said the wrong thing. His hairpin trigger had fired. Literally. He shot her from off the top of his balcony. And presumably servants stood ready on the ground floor to collect and dispose of the body. And presumably it wouldn’t haunt them for the rest of their lives like it haunted her to have seen—to know there were men (and women) in the world like George Reynolds.

Virginia had wanted to kill him then, but it would have jeopardized her mission. She needed him so that she could get to here. And she needed to be here.

How much? Virginia asked.

Thunder lulled, making her response sound that much more sexy.

Coquettish always, Virginia had the looks and the quality of movement that could attract any man. In training, they showed the women going into undercover work Audrey Hepburn, Marilyn Monroe, and Grace Kelly films. The art of seduction was a required (and intensive) course.

Virginia naturally had the graceful, light movement of Grace Kelly. She never had to learn. It didn’t hurt that she was only twenty-seven, the youngest person in the agency working in the field.

Name a price, he said.

What’s your name, mister?

Mr. Reynolds to you.

"I’m just playing with you, Mr. Reynolds. I really am a stewardess. But, it’s flattering to know what you think." Hand to her chest as she offered the disclaimer.

The man was still holding that amused expression. He chewed on nothing for a moment, then smiled. Virginia had seen the smile. He was aroused. He wanted her.

How much, though?—was the question. His interest could be useful or counterproductive. Not that she’d ever do anything with him. It was just that, lust and elusive promise are useful in matters of manipulation. Virginia weighed the options in her mind. She decided to walk away.

He didn’t say a word, but she could feel him staring at her as she walked past.

She took