My hands grew sweaty and my heart pounded. I leaned against the wall because my legs could barely hold me. I imagined the monks in dark robes surrounding the boat, or Will, Malcolm’s brother, a step away from boarding, a sniper rifle or sharpened knife in hand. What if they’d already gotten to Malcolm? He could be splayed out on the dock, leaking blood into the sea from a knife to his side, while I sat here.
I crept toward the door.
Another loud thunk.
I stifled a scream. Biting down on the inside of my cheek, I nudged open the door with my foot and prayed the hinges were oiled. Thankfully, no creaks. The cooler night air seeped through the opening and sent goose bumps down my arms.
Instead of another clunk, I heard a scuffle of footsteps on the dock. The thuds of fists. Muted groans. I managed to inch forward and dared to poke my head out.
Malcolm wrestled on the docks with a man dressed in dark clothes. They jabbed and ducked. Their fight ebbed and flowed as they both tried to get in a good hit. If it weren’t for the white of his eyes and the gleam of the knife, the attacker would be hard to see. I blinked. A knife? Nausea swept through me, and my legs almost gave way.
The attacker took Malcolm out with one swipe of his leg and then the knife was at his throat. With a maneuver that could only come from years of training, Malcolm grabbed the man’s arm and twisted, knocking the long bladed knife across the docks. Only feet away from me.
Their bodies entwined. First one on top, then the other. The knife glistened on the docks, calling to me. The muffled sounds of the fight faded, and it was just me and the knife. I stepped onto the dock and inched forward with one eye on the fight. The attacker threw Malcolm against the dock, and his head dangled over the side. With one twist his neck could be broken. My hand snaked out and grabbed the handle of the knife.
“Enough!” I yelled, brandishing my weapon. Energy surged through me rippling through my limbs. My hand shook and the knife wavered.
Malcolm struggled and his legs twitched under the attacker’s body. The man’s hands were around Malcolm’s throat.
“Stop!” I yelled, my voice rising to a scream.
The attacker stopped and turned back. He saw the knife and jumped to his feet. Malcolm scrambled up, breathing heavy, his hands massaging his neck. They were puppets and I was the one holding the strings. My arms strained under the weight of the rather large knife, but it created the desired effect. Malcolm moved toward me, but with one warning glance from the attacker, he stopped.
My arm dropped and the knife dangled, barely in my grip. Even without seeing his olive-skinned face, curly hair and chocolate eyes, I knew. Adamos, the monk I’d saved from the catacombs in Paris. But I couldn’t have the people closest to me fighting.
When we first arrived in Greece, he’d refused to see any doctors or lodge any formal complaints about his hostage situation, so Mom and I spent the first couple months helping him recover. Okay, Mom did most of the work. I just hung out and distracted him with idle teen chatter. Slowly over the past months, he’d become my fast friend, my only confidant.
Adamos stepped toward me.
I whipped the knife back up, ready for action, so they’d take me seriously. My voice became a growl. “This stops here and now. I will not have you two killing each other off.”
Malcolm stepped back, his right eyebrow raised. “You know this creep?”
I flashed him a wry grin. “The Greek bodyguard? Remember?”
“You were serious?” Malcolm asked, giving Adamos a sideways glance of suspicion mixed with a little bit of respect.
“I don’t joke anymore, not when it comes to my life or the lives of my family and friends.” I thought about Aimee safe with her grandfather, and safe from Malcolm’s family.
Adamos moved a bit closer. “We need to talk.”
“Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of him.” I held the knife higher.
Adamos hesitated, his eyes piercing through to the hidden part of me, the part I didn’t show anyone but him lately. The faint light from Malcolm’s boat outlined Adamos’s face, his strong nose and set jaw. His head tilted in question and I wished I’d mentioned my crush on my mortal enemy before now. The three-way tension between all of us increased.
Finally, with stiff movements, Adamos bowed. “I will be watching.” He gently loosened the knife from my grip and tucked it into his clothing. After flashing a warning look at Malcolm, he left the scene. Soon he was nothing but a flicker of a shadow and then he disappeared completely.
I sighed and swayed, my legs weak after the adrenaline rush of their fight. Malcolm strode over and guided me into his boat, his hand firm on my back.
“What were you thinking?” he asked, his voice tight with anger. With jerky movements, he pulled the curtain aside and peeked out.
I wiped hair from my face with a shaky hand. “You don’t understand.” Then any remaining walls between us came crashing down. “Adamos is the monk I saved in the catacombs. We’ve helped him recover. He’s been my friend here in Greece when I knew no one. When I walk the streets, I know he has my back. His respect means a lot to me, and I think I just lost it.” My voice wavered, on the verge of cracking. “He knows everything about our families.”
“Fine.” Malcolm sighed, the tension dissipating, then he pulled me into his arms. I breathed in the scent of his shirt: a combination of soap, sweat, and the night air woven together. We stayed like that and I tried to forget about everything else and just soak in that moment, with Malcolm back.
He murmured into my hair. “Let’s run away.”
I stiffened. “What?”
He spoke, his voice low, his face serious. “We could do it. You and me.”
“No way.” I took another step back. “That’s crazy. I can’t just leave. My mom’s here and your family…” The trembling started in the tips of my fingers and slowly spread as the truth hit me like one big tidal wave crashing against shore, tearing up anything in its path. If Malcolm was in Greece, then his family was too. Which meant they knew where to find my mom and me. I had to get out of there, find Adamos and go back home. Maybe Mom would listen to me.
“Just hear me out.” He grabbed my hand. “We could take off until this business with our families has been sorted out. I have ways of leaving so no one will know where we’ve gone. You’d be perfectly safe.” His words were urgent, suggesting he’d thought about this before. “I could take care of everything. And you could still stay in touch with your mom.”
I hesitated. Safe? I’d be perfectly safe? The thought of taking off with Malcolm was tempting, but I thought back to Paris and the times Malcolm had held back the truth. I didn’t fully trust him. I shook my head no. My goal was to glue my family back together, not run. “I can’t. You don’t understand. Your family’s presence in Greece is a direct threat to my life, and my mom’s life. But I can’t just run away.”
Malcolm started to argue, but I held up my hand for him to stop. “I don’t want to hear it.” I strode past him to the door. “I’ve stayed way too long as it is.”
He didn’t try to convince me to stay as I left his boat, and as soon as I was far enough away, I fled into the night and back home. I hoped I hadn’t made the biggest mistake of my life.
Four
The next day, sitting at the coffee shop in the public gardens, Mom and I acted like absolutely nothing was wrong with our lives. I switched back and forth between studying the breakfast menu and tracing imaginary cracks in the table as she did most of the talking. Malcolm’s plan to run away kept pulsing in the back of my mind, teasing me to change my decision. The fact that he wanted me to run away told me I was in danger, but I couldn’t leave Mom.
Was Malcolm’s family keeping an eye on us? Or did they have hired thugs? I’d never asked Malcolm about the specifics of the inner workings of their crime family, so I searched every person, invading their personal space with my eyes, looking for anything that might be a weapon, and studying their body language.
Did they fidget? Or glance my way too often?
Mom drummed her fingers against the side of her teacup. “Would you like anything to eat? Are you hungry?”
“No, not at all,” I said, attempting to keep my voice high and enthusiastic.
Okay so we never exactly chatted like old pals. We couldn’t when she kept too many secrets. She’d evaded any questions about the spy thing going on with our family, insisting she’d been in Paris on a scrapbooking convention when she picked me up.
Whatever. Scrapbooking my ass.
Except now I had my own secrets. Malcolm and possibly the rest of his family, our mortal enemies, a brood of assassins, were in Greece. I definitely didn’t plan on telling her about the constant fluttering in my chest since I’d seen him or my fantasies about running away and kissing him along the shore of the Caribbean, his soft lips pressed against mine.
She blew on her tea and steam swirled. I hugged my mug, clueless as to why she dragged me to the gardens. We’d already had “conversations” about Paris and how Malcolm’s family had used a fake death threat on Jolie Pouffant—the magnificent pastry chef—to lure Mom out of hiding. But she’d shut down on the subject before the words were out of my mouth, which didn’t leave much for us to talk about.
“So…” And that was all I could find to say.
“Have you been keeping up with your online schooling?” Mom asked, glancing to the right and then at her watch.
“Um, sure,” I mumbled, and then out of curiosity, I said, “Actually, I stopped the courses back in Paris.”
“That’s wonderful,” she murmured and absently sipped her tea.
That was what I thought; she wasn’t really paying attention. The awkward silence wedged between us and I moved on to people watching. A heavyset man strode toward us, dressed up in a tie and cravat with a fancy walking stick. Who dresses like that anymore? Was it a disguise? I gripped my coffee, hoping it was still hot enough to cause damage or make a distraction so I could get in a good kick.
“Marisa!” His voice boomed across the coffee shop startling a group of scavenger pigeons.
Mom shot up from the chair and smoothed her hair. “Constance, so glad you could meet us.”
I almost snorted coffee through my nose. Constance? And Mom had invited him? She was sneakier than I thought.
He waved a hand. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Ready for a walk through the gardens?”
“Yes.” Mom’s voice was breathless. She turned to me. “This is my daughter, Savvy.”
“Ah yes, Savvy. I’ve heard so much about you. Charmed.” He stuck out his hand to shake but I ignored the gesture.
“Savvy,” Mom said with warning in her voice, “Constance and I met the other week at a bird lovers meet-up.
“Birds?” Yeah, right. Mom had never loved birds. I narrowed my eyes and studied him. He appeared innocent enough with the hawk-like nose, the tiny bird pins on his vest, and the binoculars around his neck. Was Mom spying on him? Maybe protecting him from certain assassins we knew? Hmm. I’d have to keep an eye on the situation.
“Shall we?” Constance held his arm out to my mom and she slipped her arm through his like they were on a date.
We strolled through dirt paths in between flowering bushes, their red and yellow petals reflecting the bright sun and attracting the honeybees. Tall gangly palm trees offered little to no shade. We walked through a tunnel-like thing with flowers and plants growing on the framed wooden structure above us. We crossed a bridge over a manmade duck pond. Constance pointed out birds like the Eurasian Collared Dove, the Great Tit—I sniggered—and the short-toed Treecreepers. Mom acted enraptured by his whole spiel. I kept wishing Adamos would rescue me. Couldn’t he see I was in mortal danger of being bored to death? Or maybe after last night, he’d given up on me.
“What about the Acropolis in Athens?” I asked. “That would be fun to check out sometime.” I’d been here five months and hadn’t seen it yet.
Constance raised his voice in exclamation over a Spotted Flycatcher, his hands waving in excitement like a toddler on the merry-go-round.
Every time I made a suggestion about where to go in the park—like the ancient ruins—Constance steered us in the opposite direction. Mom didn’t seem to have much control over the outing either, which I was sure drove a control freak like her crazy.
I’d had enough. Maybe I was a control freak too. “I have to use the bathroom.”
“Can it wait, honey?” Mom asked, not even looking at me but hanging on birdman’s every word.
“Not really. I’m about to pee my pants. The coffee caught up to me.”
Constance flashed me a look of complete disdain. Like talking about normal bodily functions was beneath him. Mom pulled out a map of the gardens. Immediately, birdman pulled it from her hands.
“I’ll show you the restroom on our way past the duck pond. It’s the best place to see the magpies.” He didn’t wait for my answer but hooked Mom’s arm in his again and walked away.
“Actually,” I spoke up, “I’m seventeen and can manage to find the bathroom on my own. I’ll catch up to you later.”
But Constance had started up a constant stream of chatter and my voice went unheard. Mom laughed in a fake sort of way at what was most likely his lame bird jokes. Her laugh pierced what was left of my ability to put up with this jerk, so I left, quite pleased with my moment of rebellion. The bathrooms couldn’t be that hard to find without a map.
One minute I was smiling, relishing my independence and the next thing I knew a blast deafened my ears. I flipped around to see a trashcan exploding. Right next to my mom.
Five
Pieces of coffee cups, banana peels and diapers flew in every direction while debris and dust floated in the air. Most tourists scattered in opposite directions and other snapped pictures with their cell phones and caught live footage of the twisted pieces of plastic.
I rushed toward Mom, but Constance already had his arm around her, leading her away to safety. I followed and sat next to them on the bench, my legs shaking. A bomb? What were the chances of that happening? The spider prickles returned in full force and I swept the scene for anyone suspicious. Was this a random prank played by some rebellious teenager? Or was the bomb planted with someone hidden, waiting nearby, ready to press the button when Mom walked past it?
Mom patted Constance’s arm. “Would you be so kind as to bring us some bottled water?”
“Absolutely,” Constance affirmed. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.” Then he took off at a rapid pace, which I figured would soon leave him huffing and puffing.
As soon as Constance followed the path and was out of her sight, Mom changed from the withering, needy bomb victim to the confident, savvy spy. She snapped her fingers and Adamos appeared from between the nearby palm trees. Not sure how he managed to pull that off.
“Take Savvy home,” she instructed.
“What?” I cried. “No way. I’m not leaving you here.”
Mom grasped my hand. “It’s too dangerous. Adamos will make sure you’re safe at home.”
I yanked my hand away and crossed my arms, refusing to move from the bench. “Something’s going on and I want to help.”
Mom pressed her lips together and doubts flickered across her face. If only she’d let me in and tell me what was going on with Constance: if she truly had fallen in love with bird watching or if he’d been targeted by a certain family we knew.
Mom’s voice wavered. “You really want to know the truth?”
Adamos nodded his approval as if he could hear the debate raging in her head and thought she could trust me.
“Yes!” I scooted closer and leaned forward. “I’m ready for anything. Count me in as part of the team.” I imagined she and I working together, diffusing bombs, flying through the air and saving each other’s lives while James Bond music played.
Mom narrowed her eyes. “I have strong reason to believe that Will and his family have targeted Constance. I’ll give you one chanc
e on an easy mission but one that will be a tremendous help. First, go home and get something to eat. You’ll need nourishment. Then keep an eye on Constance’s house for the evening and record any suspicious activity. Adamos knows where he lives and will accompany you.”
“Seriously?” My excitement deflated. “That’s it?”
Mom lifted my chin with her finger. “We start small and build from there. Okay?”
“Fine,” I grumbled but on the inside I was bursting with excitement. This first mission, this small assignment, could be the start of something much bigger. As in earning my mom’s trust and putting my family back together.
The next hour or so was one big blur. Back at home in the small adobe house Mom had rented, Adamos led me to the fire circle out back. Then he disappeared back inside. The scattered ashes in between the large rocks swayed in the wind until a stronger breeze picked up the gray fluff and carried it away. In these small moments, quiet times when I had a chance to reflect, I couldn’t help but think of Dad. He’d want to be in on this too but Mom had already stated with great emphasis that she didn’t want to drag him into danger. Here was my chance to find some control and question Adamos about Mom.
“Hey!” I called out. “Are you in there?”
“Yes, yes, I’m here. Sorry to worry you.” He placed a tray with a white box on it on the small patio table then sat in the chair next to me.
I focused on the box, my curiosity piquing. Clear wax paper poked out the sides, the kind of wax paper used to separate certain foods, like pastries. Was that dried glaze on the side?
Adamos handed me a glass of water. “Your father is fine. I have someone looking out for him.”
He always seemed to know my thoughts. My throat closed up a bit. I even missed Dad’s burnt mac and cheese and his off key version of Barry Manilow.
Adamos placed his hand over his heart. “We carry the people we love here.” He thumped his chest. “They are always with us even if we can’t look in their eyes, hear their voice, or hold their hand.”
Heart of an Assassin (Circle of Spies) Page 2
