A Spy Like Me

Forty-eight

  “Oh, but I would.” Malcolm smiled.

  He unsnapped my spy pants and gently pulled them off so as not to hurt my leg. It was too hard to kick my legs again without shooting pain.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  He cleaned up any mess from Peyton wrapping my injury, then brushed my hair out of my face. “You didn’t think I’d forget, did you?”

  Blood rushed to my face. “But, but my leg! Shouldn’t you bring me to a hospital or something?”

  “I’m sure someone will find you soon.”

  “But, but, my dad! He’ll worry. And he’ll hunt you down!”

  “I’ll be gone.” He punched numbers into his phone.

  Fear rose in my throat and clamped down on my vocal chords.

  “I’ll hunt you down!” I threatened.

  “I’ll be disappointed if you don’t.” He leaned forward and pressed his face into my hair, then he dropped his head and tried to kiss me. But I turned away. He started to leave, but I was still desperate for answers. I trembled, trying to build the courage to ask what secretly my heart wanted, needed to know. The words barely made it past the lump in my throat.

  “Am I just an assignment to you?”

  “I sent the package to your mom’s apartment knowing she wasn’t there, hoping to draw her out of hiding, and testing you to see if you would take her place. When you did, it made you look guilty, but as time went on I was convinced of your cluelessness even though others weren’t.”

  “You didn’t answer the question.”

  “Yes, you are, I mean were…” but he couldn’t say the words. Instead, he said, “Savvy. You have to believe me. When I first asked you out, I didn’t know any of this. About our families and the age-old battle. Nothing. By the time my family filled me in, it was too late. But it’s not too late for you. Walk away from all this and forget about me. Live a normal life.” Bitterness settled on his shoulder like a winter wind. “Trust me. Because next time you might not be so lucky.”

  Then he turned and walked away. Probably forever.

  Not long after, the sirens grew louder in the distance.

  Dad must be worried sick, and I couldn’t bear to think about Malcolm and the lasting effects of his words. I glanced at the bandage on my leg. How soon would the vodka wear off? Would I be able to walk home? I had to try.

  I pushed up onto my feet, balancing delicately on my good leg. I couldn’t easily forget that I was in my underwear and bra. I desperately wished I were wearing my new Victoria’s Secret bra, which was folded neatly back in my drawer. It would be near impossible to get home without anyone seeing me. Maybe I’d end up on a YouTube video, get like a million hits, and wind up on TV.

  I limped up the stairs, wincing at every step. The green grass and paths with scattered trees and benches stretched in front of me. Couples held hands while chatting happily and strolling innocently. Families dragged tired kids back to the Metro. Businessmen strode through without even a glance at their famous tower. This was going to be impossible.

  Suck it up.

  I took a deep breath and with my head held high, I half-walked, half-hobbled away from the Eiffel. My hands were still cuffed behind my back. At first the stares, the giggles, the crazy looks, the disgusted eyebrow waves got to me. I tried not to look at anyone and kept my eyes forward, thinking about home. That was my goal.

  Ask for help. Right. Like anyone would believe my story. It wasn’t one I could explain in one sentence. I’d need more like six months.

  I made it to the road and started down the sidewalk. Unless someone was looking for me, it was dark enough that the average driver wouldn’t notice me. The shadows were my friend.

  Cooler air prickled my skin. I thought about summer nights in Pennsylvania after a tough afternoon of pulling weeds. I’d bike down to the creek, shed my clothes, and wade into the ice-cold water. I’d fall backwards, and the current would envelop me and wash off the dirt and grime from the day. I always rose clean, refreshed and ready for more. So here in the streets of Paris, the musical sounds of the most romantic city on earth washed over me, lifting the guilt from not being the perfect daughter, sifting away the anger that somehow Mom was to blame for all of this, and chipping away at the fear I’d never see Malcolm or Aimee again. Or ever hear the rest of the prisoner’s story.

  At least I’d survived.

  Sirens wailed in the not-so-far distance, their warning echoing throughout the city. My heart banged against my chest like it would punch out in just a couple of beats. Sweat dripped down my sides. I hobbled a bit faster, regardless of the blood now seeping through my bandage and dripping down my leg.

  Several cars screeched to a stop on the road next to me. A huge spotlight swept back and forth until it stopped on me. Talk about embarrassing.

  “I didn’t see anyone running! Your guy must be somewhere else!” I yelled in a raspy voice.

  The spotlight stayed on me. Men in uniform rushed at me from all sides. With guns. Pointed at me. Oh. My. Holy. Spy. Pants. They were after me. I couldn’t breathe. My chest stopped rising and falling. They didn’t seem to care I couldn’t breathe. One man, carrying a shield—I guess because I looked just that dangerous—grabbed my arm and threw me against the nearest car. The cold metal shocked the skin on my stomach.

  When he realized my arms were cuffed, he dragged me out into the street. The cops had set up a roadblock—I guess in case all my minions came to my rescue. People poked their heads out of their cars, hoping to catch a glimpse of the hardened criminal. I mean the person must be quite a danger to society to need so much back up. Right?

  The uniforms crawled all over me. It was like I was in a mosh pit, except my destination was the back of a cop car. The vodka must have worn off because the pain in my leg returned full force. I leaned over and puked. I heard a bunch of expletives in French. Cold words bounced off me. Rough hands grabbed at me until I was pushed into the car. I didn’t think it was a free ride home. I yelled for my dad. I asked where they were taking me. I struggled but the pain felt like they were starching their shirts on my leg.

  They slammed the door shut. Two cops sat in the front, the mesh cage separating me from them. The car zoomed through Paris. I must be pretty important to have an escort. I pressed my head against the cool window and watched the city as it blurred past me. Tears pushed at my eyes but I refused them. I would be strong. I didn’t know how they found me or why they thought I was so bad. Maybe the same reason Mom didn’t want to fight for me. I doubted my prank on Malcolm had ended up with him in the back of a squad car.

  He said I was beautiful. Right. Like I believed him. Malcolm was a sneak and a liar. Not only one more person just to leave me, but to leave me practically naked, bleeding, and handcuffed. I guess I deserved it.

  The cop driving the car gripped the steering wheel in a death grip. Somehow I had to explain that I’d saved Jolie Pouffant and his prisoner. The guy I’d knifed was an accident, self-defense.

  “I thought I told you to burn the package and not get involved.”

  My heart stopped beating, and I looked into the rearview mirror. Stern eyes met mine. The cop took off her pointed hat and long brown hair spilled down her back. Mom! So many words burned in my throat, wanting to be spoken. So many questions.

  The second cop took off his hat and turned toward me. I couldn’t forget those warm chocolate eyes. The prisoner.

  “You’re lucky I found you.”

  “Mom?” I croaked.

  Her lips pressed together, but her eyes stayed on the road. Then she spoke.

  “We’re leaving the country.”

  …to be continued in Heart of an Assassin.

  Click to purchase book 2 - Heart of an Assassin.

  Thank you for reading A Spy Like Me. I hope you liked it!

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  Did you know
this book is part of a series? The rest of the books are Heart of an Assassin, Vanishing Point, and Twist of Fate. I also wrote Heist, a darker time travel mystery. I hope you’ll check them out. Visit laurapauling.com for more information.

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  If you enjoyed A Spy Like Me, then you might enjoy my latest YA romantic comedy series. If you’d like to read the first chapter of Prom Impossible, please turn the page.

  1 girl + 1 prom + 3 guys = Prom Impossible!

  Cassidy knows that Michael Greenwood is her one true love—he just doesn’t know it. She spends her senior year helping him figure that out in time for senior prom but instead, she comes close to losing her true identity, her real friends, and the chance at the real thing that’s right in front of her.

  ***

  The night my life changed forever.