Heart of an Assassin (Circle of Spies) (6 page)

With the GPS system on the phone offering its dim light, I headed away from the sea and the narrow streets and into a more residential area filled with beautiful homes. The big white colonial houses rose up around me like pale ghosts in a graveyard. If anyone peered out from behind their curtains, they’d see my phone light bobbing about like a firefly. An easy target. My enemies could see me coming a mile away. Maybe that was the plan. I shivered and glanced back into the darkness, praying Adamos was close behind.

Scattered amongst the fancy southern colonial-like houses were white washed homes with original architecture, well-placed shrubbery and landscaping. They weren’t quite so tall but referred more to the flavor of Athens and the surrounding towns. Still gorgeous.

I glanced at the GPS. I’d arrived. Their home, my new home, fit in with the rest of them, nothing conspicuous that said assassins live here. An outside light shone down on potted plants, and ferns piled around the front door. In the small side yard, water spurted out the mouth of a Greek goddess and splashed into a pool of water.

I hesitated at the bottom step leading to the door. What would I say to Malcolm’s parents? “Hey, you know me, I’m your enemy. Don’t worry Will invited me; and no, I don’t plan on spying on you at all. Don’t worry about it.”

Yeah, somehow I didn’t see any line I could conjure up working well.

A ferocious barking was followed by Prince bounding around the side of the house, teeth bared, slobber flying. Instinctively, I moved my suitcase in front of me and bit back a scream. He bounded across the grass, covering the ground before I could even think to run. He stopped a few feet in front of me, lowered his body close to the ground and growled.

“Nice doggie. Good doggie. Remember me?” I inched back toward the fountain. “I threw you the tennis ball, you jogged through the sand, the sun on your, um, hair or fur whatever is you have. You liked me, I promise. We had an immediate connection.”

He didn’t seem to believe me or remember our bonding because his growl intensified and his eyes stayed focused on me. Why didn’t I think to bring dog biscuits or something?
 

“Come on, Prince. I’m shocked and hurt you don’t remember.” I stepped up onto the edge of the fountain, pulling up my bag after me. “I’m really a cheery sort of gal when you get to know me.” I flashed him a cheesy grin. “Come on, look at my smile. Doesn’t it say, ‘trust me’?”

“Is that how you deal with all your enemies?” Will stepped from the shadows.

Relief flooded me. “Um, can you call off the attack dog?”

Will rubbed his chin in a way that reminded me of Malcolm. His hair no longer flopped about his face but was slicked back and instead of the casual clothes of a California dude he looked more like an uptight banker, or an assassin. He snapped his fingers and Prince whined, but then jogged back to the house. With a wave of his hand, Will motioned me inside. I stepped down from the fountain, my legs shaking, and obeyed. He led me into the house and through the kitchen with gleaming granite countertops and stained wood cupboards, where I couldn’t help but notice the lemon bars.

Will cleared his throat so I dragged myself away from the kitchen and padded down the short hallway. He sighed and looked rather bored, like I was just some kind of inconvenience.

I followed the direction of his pointing fingers into the room and dropped my suitcase. A witty joke I’d thought up on the way over lay on the tip of my tongue ready to ease the tension and bring a smile to his face—like remember not to kill me in the middle of the night—but when I turned around he was gone.

I quickly changed as exhaustion from the day stole over me, and pulled me toward the bed. I shut the door, then grabbed a simple wooden chair from the desk and propped it under the doorknob. I was pretty sure that trick actually worked. Then I curled up under the down comforter with all its softness and just-washed scent and I snuggled into it and tried to fall asleep. But living in a house with my mortal enemies had a way of playing with my mind. Every creak and nighttime rattle was Will ready to infiltrate my room, knife at the ready. Not sure how long I stared at the doorknob, waiting for it to move.

Before I knew it, Prince was scratching at my door, growling. I mumbled and then rolled over, hiding under the sheets.

Someone banged on the door. “Up and at ’em. First day of training. Time for a run.”

I groaned.

“You’ve got two minutes to be outside ready to go.”
 

The clock read 4:30. Holy cow. Dad would be in absolute heaven that I was waking up and running at this god-awful time of the morning. I stumbled about for the light switch, which then blinded me for a few minutes as I zipped open my suitcase and pulled out running shorts and a T-shirt. I shuffled outside and hoped my clothes weren’t inside out or backward.

I breathed in the cool morning air laced with the scent of hyacinth flowers and told myself I could handle this. In the driveway, Will stood shoulder to shoulder with Malcolm, chatting, well, like brothers. If I’d been half asleep before, I was wide awake now, my nervous energy and guilt skyrocketing.

Malcolm wasn’t supposed to know anything about my plans. I’d said my good-byes last night. He’d think everything was a lie.

They didn’t even glance back. Will wore a casual business suit and Malcolm’s workout clothes made my heart pulse faster. I completed several deep knee lunges in the effort to look cool and get my body to a functioning capacity, while my brain tried to process this change of events. Will finally spoke, his words sharp and to the point.
 

“I have business to take care of early this morning. Malcolm,” he couldn’t keep the snideness from tainting his tone, “will be training you today. I’ll be back for breakfast.”

Malcolm winked and said, “Try and keep up.”

“Hi to you too!” I called out, my words dripping sarcasm, angry that Malcolm had somehow known about my plan.

He took off running. I mean like really running, not even a warm up jog, but I didn’t dare complain. I tried to pace myself but it was dark and I didn’t want to lose him so I raced through the streets.

I pictured Mom about to wake up for her morning coffee, blocked any guilt and put the effort into running. The reasons for my screwed-up family ran through my mind. It all came back to Malcolm’s family. The familiar bitter dislike toward them rose in my chest like a panic attack. Somehow I’d have to plaster on a smile and fake it. Then when I’d found evidence, I could return home and Mom would forgive everything. With every slap of my sneaker against the pavement, I convinced myself that was how it would all play out.

We left his neighborhood and eventually entered the narrow streets closer to the sea. Shops were still closed and only our feet echoed instead of the slamming open of doors and the chatting of customers.

Miles passed under my feet, or it felt like miles. I didn’t mind it at first. The crisp air was quite invigorating and my blood started pumping. But he didn’t stop. He kept going and going, arms swinging like a maniac. Invigorating soon turned into sharp cramps and gasping for breath. Malcolm didn’t look back once. With sweat soaking through my tee and dripping down my back, I pushed harder. He couldn’t just leave me behind.

But he did. Two seconds later, his bobbing head disappeared.

I slowed and stopped, hunching over, sucking in air like a wheezing grandma. The streets seemed emptier, the air chilly as my sweat dried. Sounds I didn’t notice when running became sharp and distinct. A shutter from a shop window slamming open in the breeze. A motorcycle buzzing in the distance. Footsteps.

Wait. Footsteps?

I got a second wind and took off after Malcolm. My heart beat fast but not because of my sudden sprint. I ducked down a side street, trying to shake off the creep factor. When I reached the top of a hill, overlooking the Mediterranean, I slowed. My legs were cooked spaghetti and I was ready to collapse. I sank onto the ground and didn’t hold back the sob.

Shoes crunched the gravel near me. I snapped to attention and peered through blurry vision.

“Malcolm?” I croaked, relief sweeping through me.

“Yeah, it’s me.” He sat next to me, arms folded across his chest, a grim look on his face.

Silence wedged between us and I didn’t know where to start. How would I explain my deception and betrayal?

He spoke in this sweet, high lilting voice, mocking me. “I just can’t leave yet, Malcolm. I can’t leave my family. I don’t think we can see each other until this is over.”

I bit my lip, holding back a laugh, because I knew he was serious.

“What were you thinking? Moving in with my family?” he asked, his eyes searching mine for the truth. “Are you crazy?”

“I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, but I figured you’d put a stop to it somehow.”

“Damn right, I would’ve. You don’t know my brother.” He turned so he was directly facing me. “You should’ve just told me the truth.”

I half-smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “How’d you find out?”

“Oh, that one’s easy. Will called me to gloat to say my little girlfriend just made a deal with them and was moving in.”

The air left my chest in one big whoosh. “Jeez. He didn’t wait very long. So much for my plans.”

Malcolm reached over and took my hand in his. My heart fluttered. “That’s why I came back. For you. I couldn’t leave you unprotected in this pack of wolves.”

I wanted to reach over and hug him but I’d effectively told him that our relationship needed to wait. “Thanks.”

He stood and stretched both his arms. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll take it easy on you. You asked for this, you wanted this, you’ll get it.” He nudged my leg with the toe of his sneaker. “Time to go.” Then he took off.

Malcolm showed no mercy during the sprint back. I limped into the house about ten minutes late and then spent too long in the hot shower, the water pelting my sore back and aching leg muscles. After a longing look at my rumpled bed, I headed to the kitchen, hoping Malcolm would be there for introductions.

The smell of coffee brewing made me weak in the knees. I caught a whiff of cinnamon and fantasized about sweet rolls or some Greek dish I’d never heard of, but the closer I got to the kitchen, the slower I walked.

Did his whole family eat breakfast together? What if Will’s father took the opportunity to throw a kitchen knife through my chest? Knowing Will, they would do it all in the name of training. As they leaned over my body, blood seeping from my chest, they’d say, “It was training, Savvy. We wanted to work on your reflexes but you moved too slowly. Sorry.”

For the first time, I wished I’d had time to grab my cache of spy gadgets before Mom whisked me away to Greece. The fern in the hallway would be perfect to place a bug. Or a picture frame with a hidden video cam on the kitchen counter might ease my nerves.

With that thought I stopped at the edge of the hallway, listening. Their voices and laughter melted together, sounding surprisingly happy for assassins.

“Who’s there?” a sharp peppery voice asked.

My mouth went dry and my knees shook. With a sigh and a glance up to heaven at my spy ancestors, I strode into the kitchen with a slight swagger to show the confidence I lacked.

“Finally!” An elderly woman with white hair rapped her knuckles against the table. “You strain your back? You’re walking funny.”

I stopped the swagger. Will or Malcolm weren’t anywhere to be seen. Their mother stood behind the bar flipping fresh French toast onto a plate. Her shoulder-length black hair was streaked with sliver. The red scoop neck shirt told me she dressed nice but wasn’t hoity toity. She smiled and winked at me.

“Welcome, Savvy. I’m Janelle.”

I nodded, relieved to see a smile. “Hi.”

The elderly woman spoke again. “We’ve been waiting.”

I wondered if I could knock her over with one breath. She might look frail but I sensed she was a tower of strength. I’d want her on my side.

Someone mumbled from behind the newspaper and flicked the top right corner as if waving.

“Bartholomew,” Janelle said sternly.

He grumbled again.

Janelle strode over and ruffled his hair. “We have company.” She patted his shoulders. “This is Will and Malcolm’s father.”

“What, oh, um, right.” He folded down the newspaper and studied me with his dark eyes, his eyebrows lowered. He looked like an older version of Malcolm with lines on his forehead and around his eyes and the start of a paunchy belly.

“And be nice.” Janelle went back to the French toast. She pointed at the grandmother. “And that goes for you too, Edith.”

A rumbling noise came from Bartholomew’s throat and he put away the newspaper. “You don’t look much like a mortal enemy.”

The grandmother rapped her knuckles again. “Don’t let her fool you. She foiled your plans in Paris.” She narrowed her eyes. “Looks can be deceiving. We’ll have to keep our eyes on this one.”

I stood paralyzed by the table, taking them all in, shocked at how normal it all felt. French toast. The dad reading the newspaper, just like mine. The crotchety grandmother. What had I expected? For them to juggle knives over a bowl of Frosted Flakes?

“Don’t you talk, girl?” Bartholomew asked.

“Be nice. This is only her first day.” Janelle reminded them.

The grandmother pointed to a chair next to her. “Might as well sit down. Next to me. Easier to see you.” She jabbed her crooked finger at me. “Troublemaker I tell you.”

I stumbled over to the long wooden table. Overwhelmed. That would describe what I was feeling perfectly.

“Um, good morning,” I said with probably a bit too much cheer. What do I say to the family who tried to kill me last year? And might try again at some point in the future.

Bartholomew lifted his arms. “She talks. Finally.”

They all started eating, and I stared at the blank space in front of me. Should I serve myself? Or wait? My stomach growled.

“Sorry, dear.” Janelle laid her napkin in her lap. “Will gave specific orders that you were under training and he was in charge of your diet. You’ll have to wait for him.”

My insides crumbled and I blinked against the burn in my eyes as I stared at the pile of toast oozing with gooey cinnamon sugar. Maple syrup practically flowed from a pewter server. Will bustled into the kitchen. He’d changed into black warm-ups and a wicking shirt. I wasn’t sure what that meant for our after breakfast activities.

“Good morning!” he said with way too much enthusiasm.

“Good morning, dear. I think your guest is famished.”

“Oh she’s made of strong stuff,” he said with his head in the fridge. “A little hunger won’t kill her.”
 

Edith snorted. Bartholomew burst out with a loud guffaw and Janelle giggled like a schoolgirl.

Edith spoke through her laughter, tiny chunks of chewed-up French toast splattering the table. “But we don’t want to starve her to death.”

The whole family burst out, their laughter rippling round the table and filling the kitchen. Bartholomew tried every few seconds to pull himself together but every time he opened his mouth to eat, he started laughing again.

I gripped the chair under the table and smiled through clenched teeth while my cheeks burned. They were joking. About my death.

“Oh, stop.” Janelle struggled to compose herself but her shoulders shook. “This is just wrong. You’ll give this poor girl the wrong impression.”

“I think it’s a little late for that.” Will ran the blender after dumping in yogurt, strawberries and carrots. Then he carried over a glass full of his frothy concoction, a banana, and granola.

I brought it to my lips, then studied the drink a bit closer.

“Oh, please,” Will said. “Poison isn’t my style. You’re safe to eat.” He held up his hands, palms out. “Part of our deal.”

 
I gulped down the health drink and peeled my banana. Seeing this family laugh like a pack of hyenas made me think of Malcolm’s sly smile and his jokes. I totally got him. And it made me think of my family. The last time we ate a meal together and laughed was years ago. My appetite faded.

Bartholomew noticed and his laughter dwindled as if he sensed my mood. He coughed and straightened his back. “Sorry about that episode of bad behavior. Hazard of the business.” He dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin. “So did Will put you through his famous early morning run?”

I nodded. “You could call it that.”

I studied the family around me. These people, laughing and joking together, were assassins? They plotted and planned for months on the best way to kill someone in cold blood?

The bitterness rose again like bile in my throat. They’d kidnapped Adamos and held him prisoner for weeks so I knew they weren’t all giggles and sunshine, but I just couldn’t see it. Not this fun, happy family. Unless it was just part of some act to intimidate me.

Janelle cast a stern motherly look in Will’s direction as he stacked ten pieces of French toast on his plate. “You know I don’t approve of your games. Too early in the morning, and for Malcolm to leave her behind?” She shook her head in disapproval.

“That’s right,” Edith said.

“Well, you know I’m always open to suggestions. But so far, none of you have come up with anything better.” Will popped an overloaded bite into his mouth.

“Bah!” Edith whipped the syrup away from him. “I say you should’ve brought her out to the middle of the Mediterranean and then,” she lowered her voice, “when she least expected it, dumped her overboard. You could’ve held her under for a minute or so. That would put the fear of God in her.”

I choked on my granola.

“Also could’ve killed her,” he said dryly, “but maybe that wouldn’t have been so bad.”

Bartholomew started cackling again but after one look at me, toned it down. “Sorry about that.”

We heard the whistle first and objects crashed through the windows of the house. Black containers rolled across the floor, immediately letting out smoke. The filmy wisps rose, threading between us, blinding our vision.

“Take cover!” roared Bartholomew. “And try not to breathe!”