The Spy I Loved, by Dusty Miller.

Not exactly as pictured.

Constance 'Dusty' Miller




Liam hadn’t realized there was a dimmer switch. He was just examining a velvet painting of some big-eyed children on the living room wall when the lights dropped and he turned to look. 

Wow. 

Lindsey stood in the arch, and his jaw dropped. 

She was wearing high-heeled shoes, sheer black stockings with a line up the back, a garter belt, also in black, and a thin, sheer teddy with a high neckline. Her breasts were just a nice B-cup, riding firm and high, with puffy nipples that would be pink when he got them out into the light. 

Around her neck was a silk bow and she had dangly black hoop earrings in some kind of polished stone segments. 

With her lips parted and her eyes locked on his, she sashayed into the room, turning and striking a pose. She had him cornered. She circled in, inexorably. There was no place to run and no way to hide. Not once he’d seen it. There wasn’t much he could do except sit down on the single upholstered armchair as she bent forward, face inches from his. 

The look in her eyes was wild, angry, abandoned. 

“Lindsey—” 

“Shut up.” 

“This is a real bad idea—honestly. You’re upset, you’ve been through a rough time—” 

“This is not how it ends, Liam Kimball.”


End of excerpt.


It’s a calculated risk for the Canadian Security and Intelligence Service in the classic game of spy-versus-spy. In a game where there are no rules, sometimes even no clear objectives, it’s a question of who gets there first—and who gets hurt.

The Spy I Loved is now available from Amazon.

Shit! I almost forgot. The book is free for a limited time at Smashwords.

 

Excerpt: The Spy I Loved, Constance 'Dusty' Miller.

Constance 'Dusty' Miller



(Editor's Note: this is an excerpt from a work in progress, The Spy I Loved.)

With twenty-four cabins, all of them occupied, Lindsey’s attention was fully engaged. If there was something vaguely disturbing about the two dark foreign men getting into a boat shortly after Liam had gone up the river, it escaped her. The men were in Cabin Eleven. It was right across from his in the crazy hodgepodge that was The Pines. They didn’t look much different from anyone else. Just like anyone else, the one on the back was hunched over the motor. The one in front sat facing the rear, his pale face standing out against the green windbreaker. The only thing was that it had a hood. Most of them did as the weather was notoriously fickle and fishermen were out in all weathers.

Dale floated about from dawn until late, between the dock and the store. Mark worked straight days, six days a week all summer long. Mark or Dale fixed anything that was broken, within reason, which saved them from calling in expensive service people from town. Mark, nearing forty now, a perennial bachelor and scrupulously polite with Lindsey at all times, had somehow managed to never become a part of the family.

Lindsey had the impression Dale simply wasn’t capable anymore, and yet living in a shitty little apartment in Sudbury all winter just encouraged him to drink. They had tried that and she was sort of grateful when he said he didn’t want to do it again. The camp was the only real home he’d had in decades, and he saw no reason to put down firmer roots in any town. What few friends he had were around here. For Dale, to go to the coffee shop once a week, Sunday mornings regular as clockwork, was a kind of social life. But even he had reluctantly agreed that having Mark around in the winter would be a help and it was better if Dale wasn’t left alone.

Dale’s first little heart attack three years ago had been a godsend. He had woken up and realized that he really did need another man to help run the place. There would be someone there in an emergency. Dale knew that Lindsey must ultimately leave. She wondered if he had even missed her, and yet he must—he must. He simply didn’t know how to say it. To say it would be to confront that ultimate goodbye. That would be the day when she packed her bags for good, threw out a lot of childish stuff and then walked out of his life for all intents and purposes. Dale probably assumed she’d just get a job as a substitute teacher or something and stay in Espanola…

Never.

The guests were a distraction from all of that other world, that private world.

There were Japanese businessmen in Cabin Four. They were pretty easy to read. So far they had rented about half of the rather tacky porn videos on hand, in a dingy back room with an ‘Adults Only’ sign above the door. When they saw her coming and going, they would spurt Japanese back and forth. 

Nothing shocked her anymore. She took their money and handed over the receipt for the DVDs and that was all she cared.

She had her story, and she figured everyone else did too. Some were merely more interesting than others.

Hopefully hers would turn out as well as any.

Don’t expect too much—

Cabin Eight was a trio of young married couples, and they hadn’t been seen since check-in. It wasn’t all that different from a bunch of undoubtedly married Japanese businessmen, away from their docile little wives and rice-paper houses, drinking scotch with the boss and pretending they really cared about trout and small-mouth bass.

What you really want is a promotion.

A title, and a plastic sign on the door.

Suck-holing around a bad boss was the life for them.

No price was too high.

They were so bored they spent their time drinking and watching bad porn.

She tried to avoid obvious mental pictures of wedded bliss, the quiet and confident companionship, exhibited in at least one friend’s marriage,

When she took a good look at some of her other friends’ choices, it was easy to be contemptuous. 

Contemptuous for what little they had settled for. What was terrifying was how quickly some of them had settled down for the long haul, dishes and laundry and diapers, kids, kids, kids, and ultimately, a long twilight followed by death. Their menial jobs would eventually kill the men, most of whom did not enjoy a long and golden retirement. Sometimes it seemed the whole town was like that—the whole world as she had known it.

Toronto had been an education in more ways than one. Toronto was a glittering paradise, with a million desperately lonely, isolated people. They all lived close together and in the same place.

Most of them at least had somebody.

Soon, two more years, she would have no one—she’d be just starting off.

So far she had avoided all that. Not that there weren’t longings, even temptations. There was always that distant purpose—to get her degree in History and get the hell out of Dodge City as Dale called it.

Perhaps there was a smidgeon of contempt there after all. Or maybe it was jealousy. They were at least having a life. Her monthlies were almost due and that might have had something to do with her mood. The notion that one was responsible for one’s own thoughts and feelings was vile in that it just added to the problem. It was a piling-on of the guilt.

The pain.

The misery.

The thing to do was to focus on the work and push the bitter, lonely thoughts aside.

With all of those cabins strung along their sandy road under the pines, someone was always wanting something, someone always had a problem, and someone always had a question. There was always someone coming and going, always someone in the store, always someone on the dock, either setting out if it was early or coming in if the hour was late.

It was only after a long and busy day that she thought of Liam again.

End of excerpt.


(Yeah, Dusty's been real grumpy lately and we are desperately trying not to mess with her, but her book is very close to being done. -- ed,)


FUCK YOU. HAVE A NICE DAY>DUSTY.

The Spy I Loved. Dusty Miller.

Dusty Miller


(The following is an excerpt from a work in progress. -- ed.)

It was Sunday night, about ten p.m. At this time of year, full darkness came late. When Lindsey stepped out of the store, finally, after a very long day, her body vibrated in physical and emotional exhaustion.

She shivered in the sudden chill, but when she tipped her head back under the wan light of a half a dozen sodium bulbs on their tall standards, her jaw dropped.

The sky was ablaze with colour. 

“Oh!” She looked around, but there was no one there.

That was always the way, wasn’t it?

It was just her and the crickets.

She stood hugging herself for warmth.

No one there.

Off to her right, voices and the snapping of the flames came from a dozen different campfires scattered up and down the hill. People partied, drank, talked or just stared mindlessly into the flames. 

Their bonfires, rarely small, were a source of endless fascination to young and old alike. Blinded by their own interest, they couldn't look up. People dreamt by the fires, she being reminded of something Dale had once said. The old guy could be profound enough when he wanted to be. It just took a couple of stiff ones.

The trouble was, that this was the here and the now, this was not a story—and she had no one to share it with. This was an experience, perhaps even a potentially mystical one. If only the right person were there.

With her heart sinking a little, she lowered her eyes and turned her head. She could always go up and party. Sit by the fire and talk. She’d be welcome pretty much everywhere. With someone or other. 

They were all pretty nice folks…guests, really.

Cabin Seven, the vagaries of fate and the course of development being what they were, wasn’t too far off. It was the second one in on the beach side of the road. The lights were still on inside, and just as the thought came, she saw his head and shoulders in the kitchen window. He was face-down slightly, probably washing up at the kitchen sink.

She bit her lip.

The aurora borealis didn’t often come in summer, and the display, stretching from horizon to horizon, was totally spectacular.

She had nothing to lose.

With the resolve to at least give it a try, she put her head down. Marching up the gravel road, around the corner and onto his front porch, she raised her hand. Looking right and left, her uncle Dale or Mark were nowhere in sight. This was a good thing, although one or two guests were visible strolling along on their little road, they didn’t matter nearly so much.

Taking a breath, Lindsey thought of her first line, and then gave a couple of gentle raps.

“Frank? Can I call you back later?” His words came, dimly caught through the thin walls of the cabin.

She could hear Liam moving around in there. He most likely took a quick look through the peephole. 

The front light came on above her. The latch snapped and then her eyes were flooded with warm amber light and he was right there.

He wore the earpiece and the thin extension microphone of a hands-off telephone system. It occurred to her that he might have been working. She had no real idea of what he did for a living.

After all…they barely knew each other.

Like the proper fool she was, in spite of some initial planning, she blurted out the first thing that came into her head.

“What’s that wonderful smell?”

Liam Kimball grinned. Shirtless, his hair was slightly disheveled and he was barefoot. His hand came up and he pushed his hair down, somewhat at least. There were one or two tufts still running rampant.

He didn’t often have this kind of effect on women, but it was something she had been unable to hide. 

Crikey, she couldn’t have been a day over eighteen or nineteen. It was making him feel distinctly old, possibly even grubby. Maybe even a little bit dirty.

All of this at the age of twenty-seven.

All of this before he’d even really had a drink.

With this one, you were sort of cautious about taking a real good look at her.

“Ah. What a wonderful question. I admire enthusiasm, incidentally.” Reaching out, he took her hand.

Liam Kimball pulled a slightly-bemused and unresisting Lindsey into his comfortable, albeit temporary new lair. He closed the door behind her, trying not to over-linger on her protuberant nipples or the pert belly-button revealed below her cut-off, hot pink tank top.

Lindsey had very nice shoulders, he observed.

“I’m glad you asked that. It’s my own concoction. Not three, not four, nor even five peppercorns. Mine is what I call six peppercorn gravy…”

He wasn’t kidding either.

“Man does not live by fish alone.” He’d done something with beef, judging by the lingering aroma.

She stood there with an odd look on her face as he beamed paternally, face a little flushed. She caught the smell of alcohol. It was discernable although he was far from out of control. A man like Liam would rarely be out of control, she thought, chin up and looking on that cautiously optimistic male face.

She couldn’t help but look around.

Her eyes widened slightly, then she did her best to ignore a small automatic pistol on the kitchen table, in the middle of being stripped down to its constituent parts for cleaning and re-oiling…she closed her mouth firmly. There was a computer, screen glowing blue, and various bits of electronic equipment, of a kind she wasn’t immediately familiar with but it might have been a fish-finder…??? 

There was something forbidding about the black glass eye on the front end of it. The side was open, and it was trailing coloured cables and wires all over the table top.

This was probably a good time to mention the northern lights.

Her mouth was opening to speak.

He turned around to head for the kitchen and that’s when she saw the scar.

(End of excerpt.)

Anyways, we hope to have our first novel done by the middle of March...knock on wood.