Heart of an Assassin (Circle of Spies)

by Laura Pauling

  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.

  “Would you like a lemon bar, Savvy?” Edith rubbed her fingers over the top of her cane. “We know how much you like them.”

  “Um, no thanks. I'll pass,” I said a little too quickly, my words sounding breathy. From my shaky words to my trembling fingers, I might as well plead guilty. Did they know what I’d been up to? Infiltrating their secret files?

  Edith spoke. “No really. We know you're dying to.”

  Janelle hid her smile.

  “Hush.” Bartholomew scolded but I saw the corners of his mouth turn up. He cleared his throat and straightened his back. Any humor left his expression, and his eyebrows drew together and his lips pressed into a straight line.

  Edith cleared her throat in a loud and intentional way. “Savvy, you are on trial for stealing lemon bars.”

  I glanced at the steel in Edith’s eyes, and the firm set of Bartholomew’s jaw. Sweat broke out on my forehead. I prayed to the spy gods they didn’t know I’d broken into his secret room.

  “That's right you should be scared,” Edith stated.

  Bartholomew coughed. “I'm the judge. I'll make the comments.”

  But Edith wasn't done. “You should just thank your lucky lemon bars that Will wasn’t a part of our plan. He'd have sliced your throat in the middle of the night without blinking an eye. No questions asked.”

  I swallowed down fear but it lodged in my throat. My eyes darted between all of them, searching for a bit of empathy, but my gaze slammed up against a stone cold wall.

  “Squirm away,” Edith said with a grin like the Cheshire cat. “Last week, lemon bars were missing and the remaining ones carefully rearranged. There’s only one person in this house who eats lemon bars.”

  “And that’s Edith,” Bartholomew stated.

  Edith gave me a rather pointed look with a disapproving scowl. “No one else eats lemon bars without my permission. Especially company.”

  “What did you expect?” My words were clipped as anger overtook my fear. “I’ve been eating nothing but raw grains and veggies.” Seriously. I was almost one hundred percent positive that if I’d been allowed some normal food, like cupcakes or cookies, I wouldn’t have even glanced at the lemon bars. Or, at least, only taken a bite.

  Bartholomew nodded. “We can understand to a certain degree. But rules are rules.”

  “Enough with the lemon bars.” Edith narrowed her eyes. “Anything else you'd like to admit to?”

  This was a trap. I knew it. And maybe if I threw myself at their feet and begged for mercy, they’d let me off with a warning. But I couldn’t do it. The stubborn side rose up, the part that resented their family and their role in my family not being together and happy. “No.”

  “Wrong answer. Continue, Bartholomew.”

  “Last week Edith devised a plan. A time when we'd leave you in the house alone. A test you might say.” He shook his head. “And sadly, you didn't pass. You were just sneaking out of my office,” Bartholomew said, directing his comment to me. “And that is the only piece of evidence needed to conclude your guilt.”

  “No one enters the secret room,” Edith said, her eyes flashing victory as if she loved this moment of going in for the kill and humiliating me.

  “Very true.” Janelle shook her head and kept her eyes down, focusing on the patterns in the granite countertop.

  Bartholomew stood and paced. “Instead of executing you on the spot and dumping your body in the Mediterranean, we've decided to up the mission you must perform in exchange for your stay with us. An addendum to the contract between you and Will. Honey?”

  Janelle took over. “Now there are two missions you must complete. Edith?”

  She rapped her cane against the floor in final judgment. “And we've moved up the date. Tomorrow, your training ends and your mission begins.” Her voice sounded like tiny rock fragments blocked her throat. “And no more lemon bars.”

  The hope in my chest wilted and the prickles of fear reached down and encircled my heart, making it extremely hard to breathe. How could I not have seen their set up? The devious way in which Bartholomew let it slip a few days ago that they were going out for an evening. I fell for it like a complete sucker. Somehow I didn’t feel anywhere close to ready for any kind of mission they might throw at me. Crap. What had I done?

  The next morning I awoke after a terrible night spent tossing and turning. I pulled the pillow over my head, trying to ignore the growing pit in my stomach and the fear that over time I'd become one of them. A part of me regretted not running away with Malcolm when I had the chance.

  “Good morning!” Janelle chirped as she burst through the door.

  I sensed the flash of light as she opened my shade. I groaned and pulled the pillow over my head.

  “Figures,” said Edith. “We bring her breakfast in bed and she complains. I knew it. Ingrate.”

  “Huh?” I scrambled to the surface and threw my pillow aside. A T.V. tray stood next to my bed with several plates of food. Blueberry pancakes drizzled with syrup. Scrambled eggs. Bacon. Orange juice and hot chocolate. I got lost in the swirling steam.

  “I don't get it. What happened to unsweetened oatmeal and apple slices?”

  A big smile spread across Janelle's face. “Your first mission is this afternoon. Training is over.”

  I squinted at the sunlight, my eyes still not adjusted. “Did you run this past Will? I mean, I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  “Will, schmill,” Edith stated. “He's not God's gift as he thinks.”

  “Oh, shush,” Janelle said, glancing around as if Will was listening. “Our family wouldn't be what it is without him. Don't forget that.”

  Edith snorted. “I can't forget it. He reminds me all the time.”

  Janelle focused on me. “Will arrived early this morning. He’s just fine with it.”

  Will? Was home? Any safety I’d felt with this family dissolved. Had he left behind a trail of dead bodies on his travels? I sank my fork into the pancakes, forcing my appetite back. “Thank you.”

  “Well, dear. It's a tradition.” She hummed as she laid out several fancy sundresses for me to wear.

  “Yeah, tradition all right,” Edith said. “The one in the most danger gets the biggest breakfast because it could be their last.”

  I choked on a piece of bacon.

  After breakfast Janelle fussed over me like I was her daughter attending prom. I couldn't even remember the last time my mom brought me breakfast in bed or called me pretty.

  “What's wrong, dear
?” Janelle ran a brush through my hair. “You seem sad.”

  I plastered on a smile. “I'm fine.”

  I pushed those sad feelings back where they belonged in my secret hidden place I'd developed since living with them. I was getting pretty good at this and that scared me the most.

  “Why don't you try on the dresses and we'll see which one fits best.”

  “The bra. Give her bra.” The cane tapped on the floor.

  A bra?

  “That's right,” Edith said. “Women need to use their God-given tools to distract their enemy. It could save your life.”

  Somehow I couldn't quite imagine that but I didn't argue. I spent the next hour or so trying on dresses. It was a delicate balance between what looked best on me but wouldn’t attract too much attention. My secret mission was to remain a secret. Even from me.

  Twenty

  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.

  Twenty-one

  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.