Heart of an Assassin (EBOOK)

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Chapter 1 Excerpt

The cold sensation started as an itch on the back of my neck, like a spider crawling. The imaginary legs tap, tap, tapping against my skin, the tiny hairs bristling and tickling.
I shivered then shrugged it off, blaming it on a cold draft. I was thankful the hood of my sweatshirt kept my face in shadows. My hands were jammed in the front pocket, my fingers running over and over the smooth casing of a pocketknife.
Mom told me to infiltrate the market place of our seacoast village in Greece. She wanted me to study five people to determine their economic status, why they were shopping, if they were happy or not, their age, marital status, the color of their underwear, blah, blah, blah.
I’d been doing this every week for the last few months when I really wanted to jump from planes or attend fancy parties as a seductive spy and duel with swords in the dark shadows. Cool things. I was tired of observing people haggle over the price of a radish.
But ever since my adventures in Paris, where I solved the mystery of my best friend’s disappearance and rescued a prisoner from captivity all while outwitting a family of assassins—yeah, ever since all that, Mom had been a wee bit overprotective.
I drew closer to the crowded streets, totally incognito in my average teen girl clothing, and took in the increasing chatter of the crowds: the deep bellows of merchants trying for a sale, the whine of toddlers begging for some shiny toy or piece of candy, and the quiet hum of ongoing conversation. Beaded jewelry twinkled in the sun, glitter on T-shirts flashed, and friendship bracelets and handmade necklaces hung in a variety of brilliant colors. I searched for my first target and for something sweet to snack on while I observed.
I found the sweet dessert first. After I paid the man, I cradled the pastry in the palm of my hand. The wafer thin layers with walnuts were soaked in sweet honey syrup and tasted absolutely delicious.
The itch on the back of my neck grew to a prickle and the spider crawled down my back. This time I couldn’t ignore it or blame weather patterns, and my hoodie didn’t offer much protection or camouflage. I quickened my pace, the need to hide rising above my training mission. I ducked one way, then scooted between two old ladies, but the feeling remained. Someone’s eyes were on me.
No one knew Mom and I were hiding out in Greece, but I made constant sweeps of the thickening crowds and pushed through the old, the young and the in-between. A lady with her messy hair piled on her head hassled a seller for a lower price on lettuce. As the seller ran fingers through his bushy black hair and argued, I inched backwards under the shade of his tent. Hiding. Hoping that no one noticed me.
Heat flushed my body and instinct screamed at me to get home. Fast. Each person who looked in my direction caused my heart rate to triple. I took several meditative deep breaths and merged with the crowd, acting like I suspected nothing. I bought a head of lettuce, and held onto it like it could protect me in a fight. I moved to the next cart and bought onions, even though Mom can’t stand them. At the next cart, I used the last of the change and bought fresh flowers, then robotically turned and moved toward home, past the fresh produce and back into the touristy carts. As I moved from the thicker crowds and turned onto a side street, my body tensed. Footsteps fell in line behind me.