The Spy by Sophie Lark EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Sophie Lark
- Language: English
- Genre: Organized Crime Thrillers
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
THE SPY
Three Years Ago
I wake to my mother’s hand clamped over my mouth.
“There’s someone in the house,” she murmurs in my ear.
I slide out from under the light summer sheet, moving silently and listening
for whatever sound might have alerted her. I hear nothing at all—not even the
whir of a fan or the mild hum of the appliances down in the kitchen. Glancing
at the digital clock on my nightstand, I see only a dark face.
The power’s been cut.
That’s what she heard—not a noise, but the sudden absence of sound as
everything in the house shut off.
I’m wearing boxer shorts and an undershirt. It’s been sweltering in
Poseidonia, the sea breeze barely managing to cool the villa by midnight. I
bend to retrieve my shoes. My mother gives a swift shake of her head.
She’s barefoot beneath her silk pajamas, padding noiselessly toward the
window. She checks the garden below, and the deck to the left, without ever
bobbing her face into view. Then she motions for me to follow her toward the
door, staying against the wall where the boards are less likely to creak. She
glides along like a shadow, her dark hair tousled with sleep.
She’s left the door cracked. I join her, waiting for her to scan the hallway in
both directions before we move.
She’s about to head toward my sister’s room when I grab her shoulder.
“She’s not in there,” I murmur. “She fell asleep in the study.”
I saw Freya passed out on the chaise with an open book splayed across her
chest. I covered her with a blanket before I went to bed myself.
My mother curses silently. The study is at the very top of the villa, accessible
only by the staircase on the other side of the house.
Changing direction, she heads toward those stairs.
My father intercepts us, dressed in sweatpants and no shirt. His broad chest is
heavily inked with the tattoos I know as well as my own face, crossed by the
strap of the AR hung over his shoulder. He passes a second rifle to my
mother, who sets the stock against her shoulder and assumes a low, ready
position.
They split apart, creeping down the hallway with my father in the lead, my
mother covering him. They duck under each window we pass. I’m careful to
do the same.
I still haven’t heard anything. I’m hopeful that my father’s soldiers will deal
with the threat down on the grounds. We always bring at least six men with
us, even when we come to the summer house. As my father’s wealth has
increased, so has his caution.
We’ve almost reached the stairs.
I hear the creak of someone coming up. My father motions for us to fall back.
He gets low, his rifle pointed at the doorway.
The hulking figure holding a Beretta is instantly recognizable to me—my
father’s cousin Efrem, big and bear-like, with an incongruous set of
spectacles perched on his nose. His shoulders drop in relief when he sees the
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