Over the Top Secret - BONUS SCENE
Chapter 4.5 (AKA Trouble With a Capital T)
👀 FOR GIGGLER EYES ONLY!
Hey, my lovely Giggler!
I’m super grateful to have you as a newsletter subscriber. To show my appreciation, I’m excited to share with you a bonus scene I wrote from Over the Top Secret. This is an unlisted T.O.P.S.E.C.R.E.T. file, exclusively available to you as my newsletter subscriber! Please don’t let it fall into the possession of any Evil Villains…
This scene occurs just after Julie passes out on the desert floor (between chapters 4 and 5) and is written from Eric’s perspective. If you haven’t finished the book, I recommend doing so before reading this scene. (It’ll make much more sense!)
Paid subscribers: listen to the audio version of this chapter in The Giggler Podcast here!
As she lies there on the desert floor, knocked out cold by the mere thought of me stabbing her with my stick (heads out of the gutters, ladies), I shake my head at the irony of it all.
It doesn’t make sense. How could this weirdo be the mystery woman who triggered Simon’s test? I ignore the questions gnawing at the back of my brain in favor of moving forward with my mission. If there’s one thing that slows an agent down, it’s asking too many questions. Something Julie, here, seems to be quite fond of.
Another example of how unfit for T.O.P.S.E.C.R.E.T. employment she really is.
Gritting my teeth, I struggle to lift her over my shoulder. She’s twitching randomly, and her torso is a good foot and a half larger than it’d be if she weren’t wearing a damn fur coat. I set her back down with a grunt and unzip her outermost layer, wrestling the material down her lanky limbs.
Inflexible. Another point against her.
Beneath her coat lies a fluffy winter vest. I take that off, too, revealing a wool sweater, covering a cashmere pullover followed by a thick layer of long johns. How many Goddamn layers of clothing is she wearing? I groan and continue working her down to a more manageable weight.
Simon must have made a mistake with his algorithms for the first time in history because there’s no way Miss Screams A Lot and Can’t Stop Asking Questions is a better fit for The McGuffin than a professionally trained T.O.P.S.E.C.R.E.T. agent- better than me.
Simon made a mistake, and I’m going to bring his pain-in-the-ass experiment back to HQ so he can fix it.
When I finally get her down to her base layer, I reach for Julie’s waist to hoist her over my shoulder and recoil at the touch. Her pink long-sleeved shirt is almost entirely sopping wet from sweat stains. Looks like someone can’t handle free-falling.
Another point against her.
Jesus, she’s sweaty. I’m not about to drag this chick around the desert by her sweaty armpits. I pull the neckline of her shirt away from her skin to confirm she’s wearing a bra. Check. Also, what’s with the eighty’s fanny pack?
With a roll of my eyes, I rid her of the fashion faux pas and carefully remove her drenched cotton shirt (relax, I’m not a pervert), dropping it to the dirty desert floor with a plop and replacing it with the perfectly dry V-neck off my back (told you).
I take a look at my handiwork. Without the pit stains, Julie doesn’t look too bad. Her frizzy hair is actually kinda cute. In a nerdy sort of way, minus the twigs, leaves, and dirt. And if you ignore the drooling, she’s almost attractive. I find myself thinking that even if she were to become the new McGuffin, I wouldn’t mind seeing her around the halls at headquarters.
Then I laugh because that’s never going to happen.
As I shrug my leather jacket back on, part of me wonders how Julie would react to the sight of me shirtless. She’d probably pass out all over again. I snort at the thought. She may be feisty, but my instincts tell me she’s never been with a man before. Not to mention this man.
Now a good ten pounds lighter, I easily fling Julie over my shoulder and firmly plant my hand on her ass to keep her from wriggling too much. Just when I’m about to give her a point for having a perky butt, she farts.
Cripes.
I take back everything I thought. There’s no way she’s becoming part of the T.O.P.S.E.C.R.E.T. team. I’m going to bring her back to HQ, Simon will do his little tests, and then everyone will see just how wrong this whole situation is. Julie wouldn’t last ten minutes as a T.O.P.S.E.C.R.E.T. agent, let alone as The McGuffin.
For the next few minutes, the only sounds around us for miles are the shuffling of my feet on the desert floor and the random murmurs coming from Julie slung behind my back.
If only she had waited a few more hours to trigger Simon’s test. The Director would have had to send a different agent to retrieve her because I would have already been knee-deep in clear-blue waters and margaritas on my highest-ranking mission yet. I was more than ready to catch my top-tier Evil Villain, whose lair was in The Bahamas, no less, and whose sexy assistant, known for wearing nothing but a string bikini, was most definitely in need of some seducing. It was going to be the perfect mission. Everything I’d ever dreamt of as an agent.
But my dreams were killed when I received a call from The Director briefing me on the Project McGuffin news. My P.I.L.O.T. was re-routed to John Wayne Airport, and my mission was handed off to another T.O.P.S.E.C.R.E.T. agent, most likely Agent 56, which still irks me to the core. I’d punched the leather seat in front of me on the private jet, imagining it was Agent 56 (who is still a genderless silhouette in my mind) before reluctantly accepting my new mission.
Skimming the digital file sent to me on my new target, I was introduced to Julie Richardson, mystery woman extraordinaire and the only human to have ever successfully triggered Simon’s impossible message. I was filled with intrigue at the thought of what Julie might be like. Though her file told me all the basics (goody-two-shoes, barely has any friends, no real-world experience besides what was required of her to pass certain classes), I figured the woman to trigger a T.O.P.S.E.C.R.E.T. message must be hiding something amazing. Something dangerous. She was a dark and sexy lady in my imagination.
Then I met the real-life Julie Richardson, an unpredictable pain in the ass, and my life went from sky-high to rock bottom in a matter of minutes. Literally.
On top of that, Greyson had to show up. Not that it isn’t entirely enjoyable kicking his ass every time we face off. The good news is Greyson’s a dunce. Even though the hulking giant’s employer knew precisely where to send Greyson to intercept a T.O.P.S.E.C.R.E.T. pickup, the idiot couldn’t put two and two together. For God’s sake, he was staring Julie right in the face and didn’t even consider that she, the most out-of-place person on that plane, was what his employer was after. Instead of getting the girl, Greyson got my foot in his ass and a whole lot of hurt.
My specialty.
Julie lets out a spasm that almost sends me to the ground. I forcefully reposition her on my shoulder and continue on with a grunt, cursing Agent 56 for wading through crystal-clear ocean water with my bikini-clad seductress right about now.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I see the boulder. It’s just like any other large boulder, except in a certain angle of the light, I can make out the T.O.P.S.E.C.R.E.T. logo etched into the surface of the rock. I press a small crack in the rock’s exterior, and it opens into a sleek, modern-looking telephone speaker with a number pad. I type in my agent code, and a crisp dial tone rings out, followed by a woman’s computer voice. I like to imagine she’s my sexy T.O.P.S.E.C.R.E.T. assistant.
“Agent Eric Shaw,” she says.
“Hello, love,” I say back to the rock.
“Press one for emergency first aid. Press two to contact headquarters. Press three for a fresh set of clothes. Press four to call the P.I.L.O.T. Press five—”
Computer Woman is silenced when I press three and four. A moment later, the side of the boulder pops open, and a robotic metal hand extends out. The hand carries a silver tray with a fresh set of clothes, moist towelettes, and a travel-sized oral cleansing kit (mint mouthwash, mint toothpaste, mint floss, and toothbrush).
The relief in my sigh surprises me.
I let Julie down somewhat gently, and she grunts when her back hits the rock. I watch to make sure she doesn’t wake up. Julie twitches, and her head falls forward, but after that, she doesn’t move. A lizard crawls up her arm, onto her face, and into her hair. It stares at me for a moment before continuing onto the rock.
No chance she’s waking up.
I press another combination of buttons, and an awning folds out over us, covering the area in shade.
“Julie, Julie, Julie,” I mutter, wiping the cold towel over my face and body. Even her name sounds out of place for a secret agent. I throw the towelette on the ground, but it hits Julie in the face. She snorts and groggily wakes up.
“Whaa?” She smacks her lips together.
Shit.
I grab my jacket from the floor and rifle through the pockets for the syringe to knock her out, but it isn’t there! Julie sits upright, and her head presses something in the boulder. Another screen is revealed, followed by a beeping noise and the computer lady’s voice.
“Please confirm coordinates before launching.”
Julie looks up, eyes still blurry, “Huh?” and her head taps something else on the screen.
My computer assistant continues, “Launching missile in ten… nine… eight…”
I dart to the screen and type another code into the keypad. The counting stops, and the computer voice says, “Launch canceled.”
Julie brings a hand to her head. “Where am I?” she slurs. Her movement reveals the green syringe hiding by her side. (The sneaky bastard must have fallen out of my pocket when I set her down.) I grab the needle and jab it into Julie’s exposed neck without hesitation. She lets out a confused half-screech before crumpling to the floor.
Jesus Christ.
I wait a good two minutes before considering her tranquilized. When her features aren’t all scrunched up from screaming at me or asking questions, she looks almost angelic.
I shake my head and let out a breath.
Julie Richardson is trouble. With a capital T.
In accordance with T.O.P.S.E.C.R.E.T. confidentiality requirements, this message will self-destruct in ten… nine… eight… seven… six… five… four… three… two… one…
💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥
