Finally, he lowered the camera and stared at the white caps, a distant look in his eyes, like he was in a different place and time. “We traveled a lot. Of course, I didn’t know why until I was much older.” He put the camera away and zipped the bag, then pulled out a picnic basket stored under one of the seats.
“Any strawberry tarts in there?” I asked, teasing, referring to our first date in Paris. We’d experienced only moments of a normal date before his brother ruined it with open fire in an effort to warn Malcolm to stay away from me.
“Not quite,” he said, his voice on the edge of breaking into a laugh.
We sat on a blanket, our backs against the padded bench, and shared Malcolm’s snack of grapes, bread, cheese and crackers. He cracked open two beers and handed me one. I sipped, the cold beer coating my parched throat. I pressed for more answers.
“What’s your favorite memory, outside of training to throw knives and shoot a gun?”
“Lots of games,” he said. “My dad would create games of logic for Will and I to play against each other. He wanted us to feel that competitive edge and be able to reason out all the sides of an issue before making a move.”
“Hmm. Training in the form of games. Sounds fun.” I waited and then said, “Not.”
He laughed, his dimples flashing. “Okay, Miss Only Child. Let me guess. You spent your time playing Scrabble or going for family walks in the park.” He waited and then said, “Boring.”
I punched him. “Hey. Scrabble’s fun.” I laughed, but it trailed off, leaving me hollow on the inside. I thought about the last time we’d played a game as a family. Or taken a walk. It had been years.
He squeezed my hand. “Sorry. Maybe we should talk about something else.”
But our easy conversation dwindled. His thumb traced over my hand, and my pulse jumped. I missed this. Just being together. Talking. Laughing. Being friends. The week or so of training hadn’t left much time. “Do you ever think what your life would be like if your family weren’t in their line of work?”
“Sure.”
“Do you think we’d be together?” I swallowed my nerves. “Would you want to be with me?” The words choked in my throat. I not only missed our friendship, I missed him. Everything about him. His smile. His charcoal-flecked eyes. His touch. The way his face lit up when he looked at me. My heart missed him.
He didn’t answer my question. His eyes captured mine, the charcoal flecks darkening. Instinctively, I reached up and traced my fingers across his lips, wishing I could lean in all the way to press mine to his.
“What do you want, Savvy?” he asked, guarded.
I let my hand drop and swayed forward. “I was lying to myself when I thought I could do this without you, I mean, without us, being together.” I spoke softly. “I’ve missed you.”
He closed the gap, our faces, our lips, inches apart.
“Sometimes I just want to forget,” I said, my heart at a constant flutter.
“I can help you with that.”
And then we were kissing. He pulled me closer, one hand entwined in my hair while the other pulled down the strap of my sundress. The breeze tickled my back while Malcolm’s lips played with the skin on my neck. We forgot about time, lost in each other, both leaving behind our struggles. The boat rocked when a group of jet skis passed, but we didn’t look. Another sailboat must’ve passed and men whistled and cheered. We ignored them.
But somewhere between the whispered apologies and kisses, Malcolm’s back stiffened and he pulled away.
“What?” I had him back for a moment but the mask slid over his face again and I could feel him slipping away.
His hands skimmed my arms and his voice lowered. “I don’t know if I could ever be everything you need me to be.” He looked at me, his jaw firm. “And I don’t want to put you in danger by association of my family and what we are, or have you caught in the middle.”
I held my breath, not wanting to hear his next words.
He cupped my face with his hands and kissed me one last time. “My family will always find a way to drag me back into their lives. This time, it was through you.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t thought about that. Will had used my relationship with Malcolm to bring him home and back to the family business, and it had worked.
He closed up the basket and stored it under the seat. He unfurled the sails, and I wrapped the blanket around me as we headed back to shore.
Inside, my hopes and dreams deflated at his words. I couldn’t speak or my voice would crack and the tears I furiously blinked away would fall. He didn’t think our relationship could weather our family’s hatred for each other.
He was probably right.
Seventeen
Two days later, I sat in my chair, like a steel rod had been shoved along my spine. If I slouched the tiniest bit, the cane rapped on the floor and that cane scared the hell out of me. At Janelle’s instructions, I tilted my head just so and plastered on a smile. My emotions were tucked away in a secret place that I could visit when I wanted, but for the most part I stayed away from that place because I couldn’t bear to think about what could’ve been.
Edith sat in an overstuffed chair in the corner of the room, her cane at the ready, while Janelle sat directly across from me at a tiny glass table in a sunroom. Light poured through the skylights and windows, creating a happy glow. Potted ferns and exotic plants crowded the walls and corners of the room. A serving tray lay on a table laden with cucumber sandwiches, fruit salad and tiny cookies. And I’d thought I’d seen all the rooms in the house.
Janelle spoke in soft tones, elegance draped on her like a fancy woman’s scarf bought from Paris. Instead of telling me to act, she was showing me and expecting me to respond. I felt kinda silly.
“Have you enjoyed the weather recently?” she asked, her teacup poised between her fingers.
“Um.” All I could think about were my midnight sprints in the rain the past few nights.
The cane rapped on the floor.
I sat even straighter if that was possible. “Why yes, it has been rather wet.”
“What kind of nonsense is that?” Edith called out. “Wet?”
“Well, except when I’m inside and then it’s quite dry.” I pinched a sandwich between my fingers and a cucumber plopped to the floor.
Janelle rubbed her temples. Edith mumbled and grumbled about dumping me in the Mediterranean, which seemed to be her constant threat.
“Okay, dear,” Janelle said. “Never mind about the sandwich. Pretend you’re sitting with a friend, chatting casually about school. Don’t think of this as a performance.” She tapped her chin. “Think of this as survival.”
Huh?
“You slip at these luncheons or dinner parties,” a fake smile crept onto her face and her eyes turned cold and heartless, “and it could mean your life and in your case that could also mean the life of your mother and father because without you they have no protection from us.”
My hand trembled and the tea sloshed around in my cup. The emotions from my hidden place leaked out and reminded me of all I’d lost and the anger I felt against this family who controlled my life. Even though I’d accepted Will’s deal, he’d played me like a lovesick fool.
“Oh, yes.” Janelle sipped from her iced tea. “Emotion will happen. Messy heartbreaking emotion that makes you want to crumble and cry right there on the spot. Because if your enemy has done research, he’ll know who you are, he’ll know your weak spots, your Achilles’ heel. He’ll use that and purposefully jab into those soft spots with his words. Because if you’re unnerved, he can best you. You’ll screw up. And that’s what he wants.”
The cane rapped. “Start again.”
Janelle crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. “What brought you to Athens? I see you’re not a native.”
“Well, you see,” I paused, desperately seeking for the right words. “I’m here on summer vacation.”
The cane rapped and Edith snorted. “It’s spr
ing.”
I hunched over. “I can’t do this.”
Janelle reached across the table and held my hand, not grimacing at my sweaty palms. “Yes, you can do this. You must.” She pulled her hand away. “So what brings you to Athens?”
I hesitated, crippled with fear at the stupid words I might utter. For a brief second, I closed my eyes and breathed deep, searching for something to say. “I’m visiting my uncle.”
Janelle’s eyes lighted with approval. “What does your uncle do? Maybe I’ve heard of him.”
I laughed even though it sounded a bit forced. “I’ve been trying to figure that out myself. He keeps his business private.” And this was the truth. I was visiting them for a brief stay and I couldn’t break through to their secrets for the life of me. Maybe that was what I needed to do. Take my truths and twist it for the situation with vague answers that don’t reveal a thing. Easier said than done.
“What about holding silverware and that kind of stuff?” I asked, twisting my napkin in my lap.
Janelle waved her hand. “No time. Small etiquette mistakes will slip by unnoticed but a show of nerves by bumbling your speech will be the death of you.”
Bartholomew barged into the room. “Did I hear something about death?” Then he noticed me. “Are you two giving her a hard time? You know what Will said.”
Janelle smiled, stood, and gracefully approached her husband. “Of course, we’re giving her a hard time, dear. That’s what we do, right?”
He winked at me. “Let me know if you need any info. Edith is a sucker for love, and my wife here loves a challenge. That would be you.” He pointed to Edith. “Are you behaving yourself, Mother?”
“Of course.”
Edith had it down pat. The confident answers. The lies. The image. She emphasized and took advantage of her ornery nature and her age. Janelle was a middle-aged mom who could sweet talk a cactus into giving up its needles. Both of them, inside, were tough. They had to be. I had to be.
“I’ll be in my office. I’ll catch you at dinner.” He kissed Janelle and squeezed her butt. Not what I wanted to see.
She swatted his hand away, then patted her hair. “Are we set for our dinner plans this weekend?”
Bartholomew nodded. “Everything is set.”
They closed the conversation. I didn’t feel rejected that I wasn’t invited. I saw opportunity. To sneak inside the office and look again for clues, something that betrayed their plans.
Eighteen
A few days passed as I waited for the weekend and the opportunity to snoop, but it felt like forever. I followed the same meticulous routine over and over of running in the morning and at night. Only one other midnight run but I was beginning to adjust to those. I'd get up, run, then fall back into bed and sleep. I maintained a strict diet of only healthy food, except when I sneaked down to the kitchen in the middle of the night for cookies and lemon bars.
I took out my frustration and poured it into training. It was all business. I started every morning exhausted and I ended each day exhausted. And just like them, I learned to keep my private thoughts and emotions, my heartache, my fear and anger, tucked away inside where only I could access them. No longer were they written on my face like a child's messy sidewalk chalk drawing.
After just the past couple weeks, I was stronger. When I made a muscle in the mirror, a little bump formed. My whole body was more toned and ready. For what? I wasn’t sure. They weren’t telling me anything. And something was brewing. I could tell by the stormy looks that crossed Bartholomew’s face at odd moments of the day when he thought no one was looking. Edith attacked her knitting like a dog with a raw bone, making some god-awful puke green sweater. And Janelle baked up more cookies and treats then the family needed for a year. Oh, yeah, something was up. And they weren’t telling me a thing.
I quickly learned that Malcolm’s family was more than fun and games. In fact, there hadn’t been much joking since that first breakfast together. Who knew what went on after I collapsed on my bed at night? They probably sharpened their collection of knives hidden away in some secret closet or they practiced torture techniques using kitchen tools. But I couldn’t complain. They kept their end of the bargain. My family was safe. I was safe. And Constance was safe. No poison in the whole-wheat pancakes Will offered one morning. And I was being trained to protect myself.
The weekend finally came. The whole family went out for dinner. Even though they were gone, it took quite a bit of pacing outside Bartholomew's office to gather the courage to even open the door. The afternoon light was fast fading, and I wanted to get inside before I'd have to use a flashlight. Even though I hadn’t seen evidence of henchman, I suspected that was due to their skill in keeping with the shadows. They were sure to suspect a bobbing light inside the most important room in the house, and I didn't want to find out what they'd do to intruders. Even if I was a houseguest.
With a hand on the knob, I listened to the quiet. It was unnerving not hearing Edith complain or the pans rattling in the kitchen or Bartholomew's booming voice. But this was my time. I might not get another chance.
I gripped the doorknob and opened the heavy oak door. The moon shining through the glass doors that opened into the garden spotlighted Bartholomew’s desk. What was I looking for? A file or a locked cabinet? A photo? Something. But they were too smart to leave evidence lying around. I ran my fingers around the bottom of his desk in search of a lever. I opened his desk drawers but found nothing but office supplies. There was nothing but damn office supplies.
At first, the office seemed like a real place to work: the desk, a photo, office supplies like Staples was a candy store. But something was missing. Other than the family photo there was nothing personal. Like the set up could be in an office decor magazine. They were one step ahead of me. This was a fake office.
So where was the real one? The one with all the hidden papers and scribbled notes that revealed their nasty plans for Constance. I might’ve left my mom behind but I liked to think about it as more of an undercover role. I mean, yes, I was training in exchange for safety but this wouldn’t last forever. At some point the sweet cookie would crumble and we’d go back to being mortal enemies.
Before that happened, before I left, probably running for my life with a family of assassins hot on my trail, I’d find some info on their plans.
I circled the desk and went straight to the fireplace and the panels next to it. I pressed, pushed, pulled.
Nothing.
I ran my fingers along the edges where the panel met the wall, searching for some kind of button or oddly shaped lever. Nothing. I faced the wall and studied every oddly colored brick and grouting around the fireplace.
Something nudged the back of my legs and I jumped.
“Prince!” I rubbed the top of his head as my pulse relaxed. “You scared the crap out of me.”
He tilted his head and looked at me as if puzzled, questioning my decision to spy on his owners.
“You don't get it, Prince. It's complicated and I don't have enough time to explain. But, someday, you and me, we'll take a long walk along the seashore and I'll tell you every bit of my complicated life.”
He flopped to the floor, his large head resting on his paws, and watched me. I moved my attention from the panels to the fireplace. Yes, I went back to my Nancy Drew days. The bricks felt rough under my fingers but I felt each and every one, pressing and pushing. Until I heard a slight click and a door slid open to the right of the fireplace. I sucked in my breath. I was in.
After several glances toward the door and peeks out the window to assure myself the family had not returned, I flicked on my mini flashlight. It barely penetrated the blackness, and I crept inside, with Prince at my heels. I pulled on the string, which turned on a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. It was a little disappointing. I didn't know what I expected but the room was kinda boring. Filing cabinets. And more filing cabinets. A couple of chairs and a small table. That was it. I'd been hoping for an open
file labeled Constance. Not happening.
Prince growled as if warning me to leave. My neck prickled as I slid open the first cabinet. I flipped through the files until I found the G section. And sure enough, the first one was Constance Gerald. Hungry for knowledge on him, I opened it right there.
My eyes widened. The file held every little factoid about his life: birth date, address, weight, height, and eye color. It ran down a list of addresses he'd called home. A date was highlighted in yellow so I ran my finger along the date line. Seemed he came into quite a bit of money a few years ago, quit his job and purchased his current home. Interesting.
One name caught my eye. It was scribbled underneath the highlighting.
Robert Yertsky.
I searched the rest of the file but there was no explanation of his connection to Constance or Will’s family plans on assassinating Constance. Prince barked and jogged from the room. I took that as my sign to go. They were too smart to leave the details of their future crime in the folder in the secret room. I slipped out and pressed the same brick for the door to slide shut. I'd go back to my room and read. I didn't need to tiptoe but for some reason I couldn't help it. Maybe all my midnight trips to gorge on lemon bars had created a bad habit. I flicked the light on in the kitchen. How much time had I spent in the secret room?
“Good evening, Savvy.” Bartholomew stood behind the kitchen counter. His greeting wasn’t the friendly kind of good evening. More like a Darth Vader kind of greeting.
I froze mid-creep, the blood draining from my face and the feeling of ultimate doom flushing my body. Damn. I was losing my touch.
Nineteen
Bartholomew pointed to a chair against the wall. I stumbled over to it, wondering if I should make a break for it. Janelle and Edith gathered around him with stony faces and hands clasped. A plate of lemon bars lay on the kitchen bar.
Edith focused on me with a sickly sweet smile. A heat rash spread like wildfire across my neck. My mouth went instantly dry and I stuck my hands under my legs to hide the trembling. Every few seconds I glanced at the hall, hoping Malcolm would enter.
Heart of an Assassin (Circle of Spies Book 2) Page 8
