A Spy Like Me (28 page)

In one swift movement, he pulled my arms
behind my back. Something cold and metal clamped around my wrists.
“The judge pronounces you guilty.”

I yanked away. Somehow, I didn’t think the
cuffs were for fun. The high school scenario of two teens fooling
around dissolved. My body quickly cooled off, and I tried to ignore
the fact my shirt lay in a crumpled mess on the ground beside me.
Malcolm’s eyes twinkled and he stood up.

“You. Wouldn’t. Dare.”

“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 before
dawn.”

“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.

“Were you supposed to kill me?”

“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, I’m supposed to…” 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.” 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 find out the rest of the monk’s story.

At least I’d survived.

Sirens wailed in the not-so-far distance. I
hobbled a little bit faster. The sirens grew louder, and their
warning echoed 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
monk.

“You’re lucky I found you,” Mom stated.

“Mom?” I croaked.

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

“We’re leaving the country.”

If you enjoyed
A Spy Like Me
, please
leave a review on your favorite e-book or reading site. Thank
you!

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keep updated on future releases, sneak peeks, and discounts!

In His Eyes
anthology is free on all
sites and includes a short story from Malcolm’s point of view:
The Almost Assassin
.

A series of short stories centered on Savvy’s
mother, Marisa Bent. Learn the secrets. Learn the past. Understand
the present danger.

A sequel to A Spy Like Me.

Fall of 2012 - How To Survive Ancient Spells
and Crazy Kings with Pugalicious Press.

Laura Pauling writes about savvy spies,
murder, and mystery for all ages. In her fiction, the real and the
incredible combine for heart stopping and often hilarious
adventures.

She lives her cover of suburban mom/author
perfectly, from the minivan to the home-baked snickerdoodles, while
hiding her secret missions and covert operations from the real
world.

And her kids wonder what she does all day
while they're at school; or why on Monday mornings she's a bit
grumpy. Living the life of a secret agent isn't easy, but someone
has to do it. But shh—don't expose the truth to her friends and
family.

She may or may not actually bake cookies.

You decide.

I’d love to hear from you!

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Smashwords

I learned rather quickly that the Dedication
page in the front is not the place to ramble on about how thankful
I am. I may have written this book but it wasn't without the help
of an entire village.

To my husband.

Brian, you amaze me. If I could grant you one
wish, I’d send you back to the pioneer days for a month or so. You
could revel in building your own log cabin, but just remember - you
won’t have your chainsaw. (Sorry, that would be one vacation you'd
have to do alone.) Thank you for tirelessly chopping wood to keep
the fires burning on cold, dark New England winter days. Though I
might add wood is like an addiction to you, so it isn't really a
chore. You listen to me babble on at night about my plans while
you're halfway into dreamland. And most importantly, you pointed
out quite wisely that the girl on the cover was indeed holding a
revolver and not a pistol. For that I am forever grateful.

Love you forever.

To my children.

I am so grateful for your enthusiasm and love
for life. Even though two of you would much rather me be off the
computer so you could play Poptropica and other computer games.
Thank you for assuming that I'll make millions so we can take that
trip to Disney World. Maybe someday we will.

And now to the numerous beta readers who
basically told me what was working and what wasn't. Even though I
keep those chapters in a secret file because I still love them.
Stina and Joyce for pointing out that my over-the-top humor in some
scenes needed to get cut.

Nelsa for lending your experience as an
author of contemporary fiction. Your words of wisdom sparked a
rewrite of practically the entire middle section of the novel. And
lastly, Kris and Sherrie for making me realize that I didn't answer
enough of the questions. So I answered them!

Writers can't make it very far without their
critique group. Thank you Kris, Natasha, and Jennifer for all your
support and chats. And thank you to Ardyth and Shelb. Our mad
critiquing sessions where we critique chapters a week and zoom
through our novels together totally rock.

And, of course, ebooks never make it to the
market without a support team. Thank you to Heather for the team
effort in designing the cover. I love it. Thank you to Leigh for
the awesome job copy editing.

Thank you readers for giving my story a
chance. May you find adventure every day of your life.

Laura