Heart of an Assassin (Circle of Spies) (9 page)

After we settled on a dress, a long gorgeous number that swirled down near my calves, made of a sheeny sparkly blue material, we moved on to my hair.

“What do you think, Edith?” Janelle asked. “The hot rollers or up?”

“Definitely up. Show off that gorgeous neck and bring out her eyes.”

Janelle made me sit on the bed. She plunked down a huge bag filled with clips, pins, barrettes and combs. Tirelessly, she twisted, primped, pruned, clipped and pinned. Then she moved on to the make-up.

“This is my specialty, dear. I can still send Bartholomew into a tizzy with the right balance of eye shadow and lipstick.”

As Janelle tweezed and brushed, I dreaded looking in the mirror. What if I looked like a clown?

“Step on it, Janelle. We have lots more to cover than make-up.”

“Okay, okay, I'm done.” She pulled out a mirror.

I gasped. That was me? The elegant, beautiful girl, no woman, with sparkles tinting her eyelids and cheekbones. I didn't recognize the person I was turning into. Dad would be so proud. He’d want to waltz me around the room while Mom took pictures. At least in my fantasies. “Wow, you are good.”

Edith waved off my remark. “Don't build her ego up more than it already it is.”

We moved into the sunroom next. They ran down a list of dos and don'ts about buffet manners and eating. I shouldn't eat too much but I should eat something. Make sure to have a drink in my hand so I could either beg off to go to the bathroom or accidentally spill it if I needed a quick exit. Try to stay invisible. Flit around the room, nod, say hello, agree with conversation. Do just enough so that I fit in but not enough that people remember me.

“Maybe you should tell me about the mission now?” I suggested as nicely as I could.

“Sorry, dear. I talked with Will this morning. You won't know anything until minutes before.”

“But, but, I need to be prepared!” How could I form some kind of plan without knowing the details?

“Ha!” The word burst from Edith's mouth. “You lost that privilege when you violated our trust.”

“Oh.” The mirage of this whole dress-up day faded. I couldn't forget that this family, these women were my mortal enemies. They were dressing me up to send me out, without a concern in the world. They didn't care about me. At all.

“We might've told you, dear, but we can't risk you leaving and telling your mother. We don't want to put you in the position of choosing us over your mother. And we really don't want to kill you.”

“Speak for yourself,” Edith said.

“Oh, shush. Stop being so insensitive.”

They reminded me a little bit of Adamos in that I couldn't pull anything over on him. I stayed lost in my thoughts about what lay ahead of me. I didn't know which was worse: knowing or not knowing.

“Dancing!” Edith rapped her cane on the floor.

Janelle pressed both hands to the sides of her face. “Oh my, how could we forget about the dancing!”

“Dancing?” I asked. “I thought this was an afternoon tea?”

Janelle rushed about the room, pulling furniture to the right and left to leave space. “Yes, but the host loves to dance. Often at his luncheons, he'll have a dance or two. You must know at least the waltz.”

“Your mom didn't happen to teach you any moves on the floor along with how to spy, did she?” asked Edith.

“No. Mom didn't teach me anything.” The words slipped out with the emotion attached before I could stop them.

A tense silence followed my admission, until Edith spoke. “That’s just like a spy, cold and heartless. Not surprised at all.”

Janelle fumbled with the CDs. “All I can find are Bartholomew's old Harry Chapin music. That won't do at all.”

“I can hum,” Edith said, settling into her chair for a show.

“It'll have to do.” Janelle took my hands and wrapped one hand around my waist and held the other. She tried counting and leading but kept stepping on my toes. “I'm sorry. I'm not used to this. Too bad Malcolm isn't here. He's the best dancer out of all of us.”

“What are you saying about me?” Malcolm said, striding into the room.

The air around him seemed charged with electricity. He walked with a swagger, his shoulders straighter. In the days since Will had left on business, Malcolm had grown into a new person, more confident and comfortable with his family. And despite the fact that we weren’t together right now and maybe not forever, I smiled.

Janelle clapped her hands together. “Perfect timing.” She stepped aside and swept her arm out as if presenting me for his approval.

His eyes narrowed as he studied my face and then they dropped to my body. They swept down the low-cut front, the material that hugged my waist and the flowing bodice. “She’ll do.”

A slight shiver traveled down the length of my back. His dark jeans and white button-up shirt complimented his hair and reflected his dark eyes. My heart flip-flopped. A slight flush spread across my cheeks, and he tilted his head and smirked.

Malcolm connected his iPod to a dock. “Really, Mother. You must catch up on the latest technology.”

“I know plenty.”

He laughed. “Knowing how to load and operate a bazooka doesn't count.”

And with that the music started. His hand pressed against the small of my back and he clasped my hand in his. Tingles shot through my fingers and spread across my skin. I swayed forward and breathed in his scent, wishing we were on a date and not preparing for a spy mission. He led me around the room, the music matching our steps. I tried not to step on his toes or bang into shins.

“Relax,” he whispered. “Just follow my lead.”

“I can’t dance!” I hissed in his ear.

“You’ll do just fine.” He smiled while keeping his head in the correct position.

Malcolm swept me around the floor and after the first few times I got the hang of it. Either that or he led extremely well. The music stopped and Malcolm hesitated before pulling away. His eyes rested on mine, and a window opened to his soul. For a brief moment, the emotions that he kept so tightly guarded showed. I saw the real Malcolm, the boy, the man, vulnerable and open, the one who wasn't the assassin. He cared about me, regardless of what he said about being friends.

“How'd I do?” I whispered.

He didn't answer, his hand still clasped in mine. The next song started and he led me around the floor again. My dress swirled around my legs, the air kissed my heated face, and Malcolm pulled me closer to him. His heart beat through his shirt and against my chest. The music rose to a crescendo and then dropped. Malcolm dipped me, his face inches from mine and I got lost in the charcoal flecks in his eyes.

“Is she ready?” Will’s question permeated the room, sending an icy dagger between Malcolm and me.

Malcolm whipped me back up and squeezed my hand. “She’s ready.”

Will strode forward and sized me up, his face and body language emanating disapproval, then he focused on his brother. “I’ll need you to take her to the luncheon. I need to report to father. Can you handle that little brother? Without messing up?”

Malcolm saluted in mock submission. “Sure thing, bro.”

And my heart skipped with joy.

Malcolm and I arrived at the afternoon tea. All I could say was afternoon tea my ass. Afternoon teas don't have an orchestra the size of my hometown in Pennsylvania or one hundred waiters circling with platters of food, or ice sculptures decorating the lawn. Seriously.

“I thought this was a tea?” I whispered as Malcolm led me down the bluestone walkway.
 

“You don't run in the right circles. Trust me, this is nothing.”

Hmpf. What did he think? I was some sort of highfalutin’ southern belle with myriads of friends in high places? Hardly. And he knew it. He knew my history down to the size of my underwear and that I liked rainbow fuzzy socks instead of cotton anklets. I was sure his family knew more about me than I knew about myself.

A waiter came by serving champagne. I was about to decline, but then remembered Janelle's advice about always having a drink in my hand and not eating too much. I held onto the glass like it was my best friend, pretending to sip it.

Many different groups of people approached Malcolm. He clearly was the man to know. Men spoke in low voices to him. Older women pinched his cheeks and chatted about Edith. Young women floated by, wiggling their hips and casting me haughty looks and then smiling as soon as Malcolm turned his attention on them.

I smiled and nodded, not engaging in too much conversation while scouting the place. I might not know my mission but I'd be prepared. I found potential hiding places behind sculpted hedges. I found a weapon in the sword on an ice sculpture. I found two different exits: through the main driveway and out through a break in the hedges on the side lawn. There were two main entrances to the house/mansion—one through magnificent French doors and another on the side where the waiters kept flooding out with more food.

Next I observed the guests. They all kinda blurred together, the men in their tuxes and the women in their fancy dresses and cloying perfume. At one point, I managed to catch Malcolm during a pause between the flocks of people that were drawn to him.

“You certainly are popular,” I said into his ear.

He looked at me with an odd expression, one of surprise and admiration mixed together. “You really have no idea, do you?”

“About what?” Panic seized my stomach and I glanced around. Were there terrorists surrounding me? Were the waiters really monks in disguise and I didn't know it? “Tell me.”

He stepped close so his lips brushed my ear. “How beautiful you are.”

“Yeah, right.” I laughed almost snorting out the tiny sip of champagne I'd taken.

“Especially when you're just being you.” Malcolm leaned close once again. “They're flocking to me, to get a closer look at you.”

I had a hard time believing that so as the heat burned in my cheeks, I babbled out some words, trying to make light of it. “So much for blending into the crowd.”

“Mother did much too good a job with you.”

He suddenly stiffened and gripped my arm as an older attractive man with black wavy hair strode toward us. He held his head high and the arrogant look in his eyes told me this man was used to getting what he wanted. The orchestra started a slow number and my fingers tapped the rhythm of the waltz. Malcolm’s hold on my arm grew tighter.

“You're hurting me.”

Malcolm’s smile grew, but I recognized it as fake, a total act.

The man stuck out his hand. “Dear friend, how nice of you to come. And who is this lovely woman by your side?”

Instantly the man gave me the creeps, the way he made sure our eyes made direct contact, the way he touched my arm as he shook hands with Malcolm, the way he smiled while talking, which looked totally stupid. Sometimes, a girl has to follow her instinct and mine was telling me that this guy was no good.

“Come now, introduce us before I lose my chance to spin her across the dance floor.”

“Actually, she and I were just heading in that direction.”

Malcolm moved his hand to my lower back and pushed me forward, leaving the creepo in the dust. Once on the floor, he took the lead and we moved as one. Kinda. More like he didn't grimace when I took the wrong step or moved in the wrong direction.

“Who was that?” Malcolm’s gaze flicked back and forth between the crowds and me. “Hey! Who's the creep?” I repeated.

“Shh. Just dance.” Malcolm spun me, my skirt swirling.

When the waltz ended, he kept me close and moved into another slow dance as the orchestra stayed with the same pace. He placed his cheek against mine, his breathing a bit faster than usual.

I felt safe, which was nice. Then he spoke, shattering any pretense of a lovely afternoon tea.

“That man was Robert Yertsky, friend of Constance. He’s one of the most dangerous men in the country. For some reason, he set his sight on you.”

“Ew. He's way too old,” I said jokingly, but the name struck a chord. His name had been on Constance’s file in the secret room. What was their connection?

“That doesn't matter to someone like him. This will make your mission even harder. Understand? It's imperative you don't waste time. When I leave, enter the house immediately, find his office and take pictures of anything on his desk, anything suspicious or personal.”

Malcolm paused as a couple moved within hearing range. He traced his hand down my back and kissed the soft skin near my ear. His hips swayed against mine as he pressed me closer. He steered me away and withdrew, leaving me a little bit breathless.

I tried to get the words out. “But what if—”

“There are no what ifs. You get in, you get out. I'll be waiting down the street in the car.”

I grabbed the sleeve of tux. “But why just pictures? Is someone going to swoop in after me and do the real work?” I made the slight motion of drawing my hand across my neck.

Malcolm pressed his lips together. “Robert hired us to take care of Constance and we’re investigating both sides.”

I mouthed the word “Oh” and winked at him. “Gotcha.”

I took advantage of the precious few seconds before he’d leave me. I walked my fingers up his chest. “You know, just in case I die or something, could you tell me anything about my mom?”

Malcolm turned his back to another couple and slowly moved us closer to the entrance of the house. “From the little I know, your mom and Will have dealt with each other in the past, but if she hasn't told you about their relationship, then I doubt Will would either.”

His words and the little bit of truth they contained lingered, and I couldn’t shake them off. Mom knew Will? Personally? Had she struck some kind of deal with him too? At that point, we'd reached the end of the dance floor. He spun me once more. His hand brushed across the top of the exposed skin of my chest—thanks to the miracle bra.

“There is a miniature camera on the inside of your bra. I just dropped it into a tiny pocket. Take as many pictures of papers or anything you can find on Constance. Good luck.”

Then he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

I stood alone, my body still tingling from his touch and the insta-fear his words had produced. Go inside. Find office. Take pictures. Leave.

Simple.

Simple until creepo spotted and bee lined toward me.