Spy Girl (Spy Girl #1)

At least four to one. Not great odds.

She takes a deep breath. This is what she trained for.

And she has the element of surprise.

Her mother’s voice echoes in her head. Karate. Ten years old. Trying to break through a board.

You can do it, Lee. Just focus on your hand already being through the board.

Through the board, she thinks. You’re already through the board.





She searches the ground for a weapon, finding a discarded piece of metal wire, a broken brick, and a work glove. She hangs onto it while she pans the area for its match, finding it a few yards away. Then she deals with her gown, ripping the beautiful skirt up the front and then around at thigh length.

She puts on one of the gloves and wraps the wire around it, securing one end of a garrote then slips on the other glove.

One of the guards circles around to the northwest corner of the building. He cups his hand around a cigarette, struggling to light it in the breeze. He leans in close to the shelter of the building.

She moves quickly, crossing the space between them in seconds. His back is to her. He raises his head, the finally lit cigarette dangling from his mouth, his lighter still flickering in the wind. She throws the wire over his head, bringing it up close and tight under his chin. Forcing it into his neck, she pulls hard.

The guard twists and struggles for breath, the wire cutting into his skin. His hands thrash at the wire. He heaves back and forth, but she holds on. The guard is desperate for air, so he drops to his knees, hoping to catch her off guard.

She’s ready for him. She brings her knee up to his shoulder and presses down, holding him into place until he stops moving.

She takes the wire from his neck, and the guard crumples into a heap. Dead.

She finds his gun and steals his holster, slinging it over her shoulder and tucking in the weapon.





The man made more noise than she would have liked, but hopefully not enough to be heard over the lap of water against the docks. She rounds the next corner, flat against the building to see the other guard pacing.

She waits for him to come closer then lunges, brick first, her arm swinging hard. She connects with the side of his head and hears a crack. The man goes down, stunned but not dead.

She drops her knee onto his back, wraps her gloved hand around his face, and finishes him off with a quick twist, breaking his neck then relieving him of his gun.

With the perimeter guards taken care of, there’s no point in being subtle now. Once inside the building, it will be all or nothing.

She finds a door and eases it open. The warehouse is large and stinks of decaying fish. At the far end of the building is an office area with the lights on. She sees Ari and the Prince tied to chairs in the center of the room. The chairs are secured to the ground with bolts. No way for Ari to help her.

Three guards follow a woman into the office, and two more men are surrounding the captives.

Five more guards, not two.

She pushes the barrel of the gun around the doorjamb and peeks out, once again, and fires a single shot to the head, taking down one of the guards.

Then a second.

Her odds are getting better.

Her heart should be racing, but it’s not. She’s calm—in her element. She trained until her skills became second nature. And while the actions are the same, the stakes are different. She’s not playing for a top score or bragging rights, she’s playing for Ari’s life and the Prince’s life, as well as her own.

She hears someone yell, “Go out there and see what the hell is going on.”

A guard comes out of the office, sees her, and fires errantly—missing her by a foot. She takes aim, but he runs behind the captives for cover and is preparing to fire again. Knowing she doesn’t have much time, she immediately takes off, runs up Ari’s shoulder, and catapults herself into the guard, knocking him down.

While he clutches his chest trying to breathe, she fires a round into his head.

The other two guards come out of the office, and a shot rings out as one shoots his pistol toward the ceiling and says, “Stop where you are.”

Except the shot doesn’t have his desired effect of scaring her, rather it only causes ceiling tiles to rain down on he and his partner.

This is her chance.

She ducks down behind the captives, grips one pistol in each hand, then somersaults out, twisting and firing a gun at each of her two next targets.

Bang. Bang.

Two more down.

She crouches low, quickly scanning the area for further threats.

Ari and the Prince are in shock. They both know it’s Huntley, but what she’s doing—the way she flew through the air, the way she tumbled across the floor with a gun in each hand and shot two targets—is like watching a different person. A killer. A good one.

Ari is yelling against his gag, trying to tell her something. She gets the cotton out of their mouths, and he yells, “Ophelia!”

“Did they take her, too? Where is she? Where’s Clarice?”