A Spy Like Me (27 page)

“Shh. Don’t try and talk,” he murmured.

“Don’t kill me.”

He didn’t say anything. My head rolled side
to side as he walked. I flashed in and out of awareness. Next I
knew, a bridge appeared next to me, and a jolt of pain stabbed my
leg. Steps. I smelled the tangy waters of the Seine. He lowered me
to the stony ground. My eyes fluttered wider.

“Don’t try to escape,” he said.

I tried to call out for help, but my voice
came out hoarse and raspy. He pulled out a knife, and Dad’s words
rolled through me.
Fake it until it’s real.
Okay. I was
brave. I was a fearless warrior who would never give up. Call me,
ninja.

With a quick kick of my good leg, I made sure
my jab landed right in Malcolm’s gut. He struggled against the
momentum and fell backward. I tried to scramble to my feet, but
excruciating pain caused spots to tango in front of me. I shook it
off and took a deep breath. I’d crawl away if I had to.

He grabbed my foot. I screamed and kicked him
off. Three seconds later, his arms wrapped around me. The
floodgates opened and I beat against him with my fists.

“I know. I know all about you.” My words came
out a sob. “I know Jolie hired you to spy on my family because some
crazy person burned circles on his door, and he thought that meant
someone was going to kill him. But I’m not sure why because he’s
just a pastry chef and makes the best croissants, and then I
realized those same circles were on my door so someone must be
trying to kill me too or my mom and it must be you.”

I took in a ragged breath as my body heaved,
tears running, nose sniffling.

“I need to remove the clothing so we can see
if the bullet is in your leg.” He laid me down gently. “Don’t
move.”

My eyes widened. Bullet?

“Yes, you heroically jumped in front of a
bullet to save Jolie. Why, I have no idea.” With short, jerky
movements he rubbed a cloth over his knife.

“I was going to shoot him,” I whispered. “But
I didn’t.” My leg. The gut-wrenching pain made me want to puke.

“You took the bullet most likely meant for
Jolie.”

I didn’t plan on saving Jolie like that, just
cause a distraction so the creeps couldn’t get a clear shot.
Material ripped as Malcolm’s knife cut through my right pant leg.
The leather from the most expensive pair of pants I owned fell to
the ground. A shadow fell over us and a familiar voice tickled my
ears.

“Hey, isn’t that why you called me?”

Peyton. Peyton? Malcolm handed him the
knife.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I shouted.

My life had become a funhouse full of
mirrors. Peyton grinned a normal, nice, warming smile. Gone was the
swaggering, cocky jerk who had participated in Spy Games.

“Hey there, darling. Bet you never expected
to see me again.” He poised the knife above my leg. “I have to dig
around a bit. This might hurt.”

I pushed back and tried to squirm away.

“He’s here to help.” Malcolm gripped my arms
so I couldn’t move. “Let him. He’s much better at this than
me.”

I held my breath. Pain like a thousand
fireworks exploded in my leg.

“You’re lucky. The bullet wasn’t in too far.
This will sting.”

He dabbed some kind of liquid fire on me that
I swear burned a hole through my leg.

“What the hell?” The pain seared my skin, and
I felt like the fiery flames of hell were punishing me for my
lies.

“I’m cleaning it. Hold on. I’m almost done.”
Peyton focused on my leg, his hands gentle but confident. He
unrolled a bandage and wound it around my leg. I flinched.

“Why? I don’t understand.”

My world had gone topsy-turvy. In my world,
Peyton had packed and gone back to the States. In my world, Peyton
and Malcolm weren’t buddies who called each other in a pinch.

Peyton smiled at me again but spoke to
Malcolm.

“Man, you can’t stay here long. The police
are crawling all over the city.” He slapped Malcolm on the back.
“Good luck.” Then he turned back to me. “Sorry about all that fuss
and trouble I caused you. Nothing personal.”

Warmth hung like a halo around Peyton. He
winked and then disappeared up the stairs. He was not the same man
from Spy Games. Or he’d had me completely fooled.

“Guess you want some answers, huh?” The knife
still lay at Malcolm’s side.

“That would be nice.” My leg throbbed but I
clenched my teeth because I needed the truth.

“Peyton is a friend of the family. I called
him in to distract and lead you away from Jolie.” He bit his lip.
“And to threaten you, so I could save you and earn your trust.”

His answer clicked, and Peyton’s uncalled-for
rage and drama made sense. But how and why Malcolm knew Peyton
dropped to the bottom of my list of questions. I tried to inch away
from him without him realizing it.

“You just tried to kill Jolie. And shot
me.”

“No. I didn’t.” His face showed no emotion as
he finished adding extra tape to my leg.

“I saw you.” My words grated and tension
throbbed between us.

He’d used me. He’d pretended to romance me
just to spy on my family. He’d lied to me when he knew where Aimee
was the whole time and then he tried to act like the hero in
“searching” for her. Lies. All of it.

But in another time, another year, another
life, maybe in a regular high school in the middle of Pennsylvania
somewhere, in the midst of cheerleaders and chem labs and Spanish
tests, we might’ve been friends. Maybe we would’ve dated and gone
to the movies or for ice cream. We would’ve had a normal first
kiss. He wouldn’t be a hit man. I wouldn’t be a
homeschooled-wannabe-spy who screws everything up.

“That was my brother. As the mime.”

He lifted my head and sloshed water down my
throat. It streamed along the sides of my face. With the bottom of
his shirt, he wiped off any frosting from my skin. Brother? And
then it clicked. The mime I’d seen on our date at the Parc des
Buttes. And at the Extravaganza.

I wanted answers, needed answers. But the
whole day was crashing down on me, pulling me into sleep. I
mumbled, “The monk, he told me, he said I was in trouble, something
about fire, and secret clubs, ancient names or people.” My thoughts
swirled together and turned into a blurry haze. “Malcolm?”

“What?”

I shook myself awake. Sleep would come later.
“Who are you?”

Malcolm didn’t answer me but sat with his
arms resting on his knees. His gaze lingered on the rippling water.
“When did your mom first contact you?”

“Pfft. I don’t know what you’re talking
about.”

He turned toward me, and my heart
squeezed—out of fear or attraction I wasn’t sure.

“I know all about your family,” he said.

I laughed and not in a jokey sort of way,
then winced as pain shot through my leg.

“I don’t know anything about yours.”
Except that his brother likes to dress like a mime and kill
people.

“You don’t want to know.” He looked
bitter.

I guess I wasn’t the only one with a
dysfunctional family. He reached into an inside pocket and pulled
out a small flask.

“This might help with the pain.”

My heart completed a set of short, staccato
beats. Was this some sort of cathartic release he was experiencing?
Tell me the truth, heal me, and then kill me?

“Malcolm.” He knew. I could see it in his
eyes. It was time. “Just tell me the truth.”

He opened the flask and handed it to me. I
tipped my head back and the liquid scorched my throat and burned in
my chest. He inched closer to me.

“Do you know anything about your mom’s
work?”

“Not really. She’s a scrapbooker.” I highly
doubted that was true. Mom worked a lot, spent late nights locked
away in her office, and frequently left on trips.

He took a swig. “Tell me about her.”

“She’s one more person who’s not what they
seem.” After taking another sip, my body already felt the effects.
“What do you know about my mom?”

And then he gave the typical cryptic
response. “I wish I could tell you, but that would only put you in
danger.”

“Right.” I stared at his profile, his strong
jaw line, desperately wanting to believe he cared and was telling
the truth, but I was seeing only the tip of Malcolm. “I don’t know
where to find my mom. How can I protect myself if I don’t know
what’s going on or why people are after me?”

He turned his gray-flecked eyes on me and
really looked at me, as if he could see past all of my charades and
self-defense. A battle raged on his face. He clearly didn’t know
how much to tell me.

“Our families are enemies. They have been for
centuries. My family takes care of future leaders or politicians
that will lead our world away from a united front, those people who
will cause damage to our world.”

I gulped. Take care of? I was pretty sure he
meant take care of permanently. “What about my family?”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Yes.” I think. I mean how bad could it be?
Right?

“Your family, your mom’s side of the family,
will do anything to protect those persons in danger. Regardless of
their criminal activity or moral bent, your mom believes in the
sanctity of life.”

We fell silent as I soaked in his words. The
truth. Finally, the truth. My mom wasn’t an assassin. My mom wasn’t
an assassin. My mom wasn’t an assassin. Those words danced in my
head and in my heart, lifting my spirits. She saved people.

“Even though your great grandmother, your
grandmother, and your mom knew my family, my dad, my brother, and
me; we didn’t know who you were. Until now.”

Malcolm grimaced and I took this to be bad
news. Especially for me.

“How’d you find out?”

“We laid a trap.” There was no smirk on his
face this time. “My dad chose a completely innocent man who had
dabbled a bit in criminal activities—but no one we would ever look
at—and we burned the mark into his door. A warning.”

My heart broke at how their trap had affected
Aimee’s life. “Pouffant?”

“Yes.”

“But why did you try and kill him if he was
innocent?”

Not only were they crusaders with a twisted
mission, they were just plain old mean.

“If my brother, Will, wanted Jolie dead, he
would’ve been dead.” He picked at his fingernails and glanced at
me. “He was probably aiming for you before you jumped on Jolie. He
shot at us on our date and at the park too—as a warning to me.”

“Don’t say anymore. I get it.”

When my mom meddled and tried to save Jolie,
they figured out who she was, and then she disappeared from my life
to go into hiding. That’s why she told me to burn the package, to
not get involved. Too late. A crazy laugh bubbled up. The whole
scenario sounded like some unbelievable story that belonged on
Dateline
or something.

“Great. I’ve got people trying to kill—”

He pulled me to him and his mouth covered
mine. I fought him back at first but he wouldn’t let go and my
defenses crumbled. Heat washed over me as his kiss deepened. His
body pressed into mine. I stifled a tiny groan of pain and
pleasure. The vodka had pretty much numbed any feeling in my leg.
His kiss deepened again, and it was better than eating a triple
peanut butter chocolate ice cream cone in Pennsylvania or
skinny-dipping in the creek when it reached 100 degrees.

His kiss softened. He was gentle and loving,
like he cared. His hand grazed my cheek. His past, my past, our
families all faded. It was just me and him. Malcolm and Savvy. Two
teens.

My heart broke a little bit. I don’t even
know why. Maybe because I could add one more person to the list of
people I cared about who would betray me and leave me. One more
person I cared about more than they did me.

His hands slid down my back to the hem of my
shirt. In one suave lift, my shirt was off.

My hands roamed across his chest, exploring.
He tenderly ran his fingers down my arm, and I shivered.

He whispered in my ear, “God help me, you’re
beautiful. Even with frosting in your hair.”

The words sunk in and something broke. The
cracks in my heart that I’d plastered and put Band-aids on tore
open. Emotion flooded out and filled every inch of my body. My face
was wet with tears.

He pulled away and kissed them. “In my line
of work, you can’t care about anyone too much. It can get you
killed.”

“That’s good, because I don’t care about you.
The tears are purely a post-traumatic side effect of getting shot.”
At least I was pretty sure my life wouldn’t end tonight.

Malcolm rubbed his thumbs under my eyes. I
leaned into him for another kiss, not wanting to admit my feelings
or forgive. His soft lips were warm and inviting. He pressed his
mouth against mine harder, and a thrill ran through my insides. He
pushed me back, kissed my cheek, and whispered in my ear.

“Savvy Bent, don’t you ever let anyone hold
you back. You’re the most amazing girl I’ve ever met.”

“I could’ve told you that from our first
date,” I teased. “Or when you first asked—”

He kissed me again, then pulled away, leaving
me breathless.

“You and me. Our families. Just being with me
puts you in danger.” His voice held a note of sadness and
regret.

At that moment, I didn’t care. I pulled him
back to me, needing to feel him against me. I held him tight, close
to me, as if that could fix everything. His warmth spread through
me like wildfire, igniting, growing, burning away the rest of the
fear and tension.

He broke away. “I wish I was half as strong
as you are. I mean it. You’ve made me question everything in my
life. My family. Their line of business. I want to leave it all.
But I can’t. Not yet.”

“We can get past this. Somehow.”

“Not if you want to stay alive.” His face
changed, from soft and passionate to hard and determined. Sirens
grew louder. “And I can’t let you get hurt. I won’t let that
happen.”