Read Online Spy Mom by Beth McMullen - Free Book Online Page A

went on. “You went willingly into the arms of the enemy.” I’ll admit that I was taking some poetic license, but the idea was the important part. And for a split second I thought I saw regret flash in those arctic blue eyes. But it did not last.
    â€œI brought you here to kill you,” he said matter-of-factly. “It seemed to be the only reasonable response. An eye for an eye. But you really have no idea who you are, do you? Not even a suspicion.” He studied the knife, thinking. “Unexpected. But it makes me think I might let you live. For now.”
    And with that he threw the knife. It floated in the air, rotated, and stuck fast dead center in the bathroom door. I had no idea what he was talking about, but it didn’t matter. Apparently he wasn’t going to stick that knife in me and that was all I really cared about.
    â€œYes, sir,” I gulped. “Thank you, sir.”
    He reached over me to get the other knife from the table. He was so close I could feel his warm breath on the back of my neck. I shivered.
    â€œThey also said you were the best there ever was. It’s cliché, I know, but that’s what they said.”
    â€œI was,” he said. “But things change. You’ll see.”
    I won’t turn, I wanted to say. I might end up living in a corrugated tin shack in western Montana, writing insane rambling letters to the editor of the local paper, but I won’t turn.
    â€œI’m pretty sure that when I get back I’m going to get fired anyway, so I probably will never make it to the point of disillusionment,” I said.
    Ian Blackford smiled then, and if the smile hadn’t been laced with cynicism it might have stopped my heart. I tried to swallow the piece of bread in my mouth. It stuck like paste in my throat. He hurled the second knife and planted it in the door, a centimeter below the first one.
    â€œAsk Simon to teach you to throw knives. It’s never actually useful but it can be a good way to pass the time. And Simon is the best. He’ll stab you in the back from halfway around the world.” I didn’t answer. Instead, I sat quietly at the table like a schoolgirl, waiting for what was going to happen next. A good spy would have had a plan by then, some elaborate way to escape the hotel and rush to safety, stopping along the way to learn how to throw knives. But not me. I was simply reciting the parts of the Hail Mary that I could remember and hoping for the best.
    Suddenly Blackford spun my chair from the table so we were face-to-face. “So here is the new plan. When you get back to Washington, make sure they know I got to you. Make sure Gray knows I got to you. It was a pleasure meeting you, Sally Sin. I’ll see you again someday.”
    He didn’t need to ask me twice. I stood bolt upright and in three giant steps was out the door and in five more was on my way down the stairs. I hit the street running, in the first direction that occurred to me.
    Theo is about to finish his cookie. I have nothing else to bribe him with. I look at Simon, waiting for the inevitable next sentence.
    â€œIt appears Ian Blackford is not actually dead. It appears he is still very much alive. And it appears he is up to his old tricks with someone local. Someone here.”
    The cookie is gone.
    â€œWell, doesn’t everybody just love a resurrection,” I say.
    â€œMommy, I have to poop,” Theo bellows. “I really have to poop. I have to poop now!”
    Simon looks alarmed. Put him in a room full of armed terrorists and he’s right as rain. Expose him to a partially toilet-trained toddler and he freaks.
    â€œWe have to go to my car. This way, quick,” I say. Simon does as he’s told, staying close at my heels. I pop the trunk of my Prius and pull Theo’s plastic potty from a bag.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Simon asks, his voice oddly high-pitched.
    â€œYou heard the kid,” I said.