Read Online Spy Mom by Beth McMullen - Free Book Online

few ground rules. Didn’t Simon teach you anything?”
    â€œWho are you? Is this another test?”
    â€œNo, this is officially a hostage situation. You’re the hostage.” A Walther P99 dangled at his side, but I could see even from my perch on the toilet seat that his finger was on the trigger, ready and waiting. “My name is Ian Blackford. Heard of me?”
    Ian Blackford? The Ian Blackford? This was getting weirder by the minute.
    â€œYes,” I said, trying not to panic, “I’ve heard of you. Once or twice.” Suddenly I couldn’t remember if I was supposed to diminish the captor or build him up. And all that stuff about trying to create a psychological bond, make him feel empathy, seemed ridiculous as I sat on a toilet, held prisoner by a turncoat.
    â€œWhat have you heard?”
    â€œOh, things,” I said, trying to dodge.
    â€œAs long as you’re here, you might as well tell me what things. So maybe now is a good time to start talking?”
    In all the chatter about Blackford I’d heard back at the office, it was never once mentioned that the man made James Bond look like a slob. Ian Blackford filled the bathroom door, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He was tall and fit, but that was all secondary to the black hair and those blue eyes, in such contrast, so startling.
    â€œDo you dye your hair?” I asked suddenly.
    â€œWhat?” I caught him off guard. One little unimportant useless point for me. Go team.
    â€œIs your hair really that black?”
    â€œThat’s none of your business.”
    â€œSorry,” I said, “I was curious.”
    â€œCuriosity will get you killed,” he said in a tone that scared me more than I cared to admit. With that he slammed the bathroom door and I heard it lock from the outside.
    â€œNice work, Einstein,” I muttered to my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
    I didn’t have a watch so I have no idea how much time passed while he made his point that I was not to ask him about his hair color. I learned the lesson pretty fast, but I estimate he kept me in there for the better part of three hours.
    When Ian Blackford finally unlocked the bathroom, he invited me out into the main room of the suite for lunch. I made a promise to myself that I would do nothing but answer his questions. I certainly wouldn’t ask him for any more personal information. And I would definitely not comment on his very thin skin when it came to his hair.
    â€œI ordered you a few things. Are you hungry?” On the table before him was what looked like the entire room service menu.
    â€œYes, thank you,” I said, thinking if he was going to toss me out a window it might as well be on a full stomach. Blackford paced behind me as I inelegantly stuffed my face. He ran the dull edge of a steak knife back and forth across the palm of his hand. I kept one eye glued on the knife and one eye glued on the food. It wasn’t easy.
    Blackford continued pacing around the hotel suite like a caged tiger with OCD. I crammed some more ham in my mouth to keep it quiet. Finally he stopped directly behind me, tapping the knife rhythmically against his hand. It took me a minute before I realized he was waiting for me to tell him how his betrayal was playing back on the home front.
    â€œOkay, well, I haven’t been with the Agency for that long really,” I began. “I’m not even sure why they wanted me, but that’s another story. What have they been saying about you? Honestly? That you’re a traitor, that you let them down. They’ve been trying to catch you ever since it became obvious that … well, you know.”
    â€œKnow what?” he prompted. It was almost as if he needed to hear me say it for it to finally be true.
    â€œThat you turned. That you did the worst thing a spy can do.” I waited for him to plunge the steak knife between my shoulder blades, but he didn’t so I