The Spy Bride

By Piper Bayard and Jay Holmes

Shoes? Check. Flowers? Check. Cake? Check. Restore power balance of Western Hemisphere? Working on it.

 

When CIA operative Sonia Pérez goes wedding shopping with her mother, she gets more than she bargains for. Not only is a national security crisis dumped in her lap, but she discovers that a knack for espionage runs in the family. With a top-level government traitor and no one on the inside to trust, she teams up with an old partner and a new one – her mother, a veteran Cold War spy. Her country is in jeopardy, her family is in the crosshairs of a madman, and Sonia must choose between her own future and the future of her nation and its people.

 

"The Spy Bride starts with a bang and never lets up . . . a fantastic debut thriller." ~~ Allison Brennan, New York Times bestselling author of the Lucy Kincaid series

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shoe Phone Press
• Release date: Oct 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9780991569298

Book preview

1

SONIA PÉREZ GROANED and rolled her eyes. "Mom, I am not getting reinforced heels on my wedding shoes."

Kathleen raised an eyebrow.

Sonia instantly remembered herself. Sorry for snapping. I’m not used to shopping all day. It’s exhausting. She set down five bags of wedding day accouterments and holiday gifts beside the cobbler’s shop counter and checked her watch. 6:35 p.m. Ben would be making dinner. At the thought of the savory beef and onions, her stomach growled. She forced herself to ignore it.

Her mother slid aside a bobble head Santa Claus on the counter to examine a pair of shoes under the display glass. Not to belabor the point, but you don’t want to break a heel at a bad time. Besides, isn’t it your job to shop? Or do you only like shopping for funky paper clips and sticky notes with cute cats on them?

Sonia brushed a strand of long, mahogany hair out of her eyes. She cringed at having to lie to her mother about her job. Yes. Shopping is work. I don’t enjoy it. And I’m walking down the aisle, not going to war.

Her mother glanced up, her sky blue eyes as serious as a heart attack under her kempt white bob. Heels can break at the most inopportune moments. You wouldn’t want that to ruin your big day. You still have twelve days to get them fixed.

Twelve days. Twelve days to finish moving her things into Ben’s house. Twelve days to complete enough work to go on her honeymoon. Twelve days to meet with caterers and the pastor . . . But all of that could change at dinner. Ben might not understand. He might not even want her once he knew. She glanced at her watch again. 6:36 p.m. Sonia gulped.

Kathleen picked up a chartreuse kid leather pump from a display shelf and rubbed the soft side against her cheek. She turned it over and checked the heels. Now here’s a quality shoe.

Sonia looked askance at her. You’re weird.

Her mother chuckled and set the pump back on the shelf. I’m not weird, dear. I’m alive. You should try it sometime.

Maybe someday, but not with my wedding shoes.

I wasn’t talking about the shoes.

Sonia chuckled. Thanks, Mom.

Her mother’s eyes twinkled. You’re welcome.

The cobbler returned from the back room and placed a pair of sapphire blue slingbacks on the counter. Kathleen picked up each shoe in turn, examining the soles and pushing on the heels. Then she slipped her feet into them and glided around the shop, so graceful that she made no sound on the maple floorboards. Her shapely figure and excellent posture seemed to Sonia more like that of a glamorous actress than of a woman who had spent her life raising children, making pottery, and nursing her disabled husband.

I have to give it to you, Mom. You rock those four inch spikes like someone my age.

Consistent, uninterrupted conditioning. And a good massage therapist. Kathleen took off the shoes and handed them back to the cobbler. They’re perfect, Mr. Weinberger. I was worried when I moved away from my shoemaker back home, and it is a great comfort to find your shop.

The cobbler placed the shoes inside their box and put the box in Kathleen’s tan cloth bag while she slipped on her walking pumps and gathered up her red leather purse. His eyes smiled over the tops of his glasses. It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Mrs. Pérez. It’s rare in these days of cheap throwaways . . . He looked down his nose toward Sonia’s shoes and then back to her mother. . . . that I meet someone who appreciates the value of quality footwear. I hope you two ladies have a lovely wedding.

Sonia stared at her shoes. Perfectly decent leather flats in spite of a few scuffs at the toes. She shrugged and pulled her fitted down jacket close against the December chill.

While her mother paid the shoemaker, Sonia picked up her bags. Through the shop window, she studied the crowd passing in the street, her mind going to the Smith & Wesson .380 in her jacket pocket. She searched for anything amiss. Street vendors were packing up their wares for the day, shopkeepers were closing their doors, and the Chicken Lady, a local street figure, was weaving her shopping cart through the bustle of individuals intent on their holiday shopping and other business.

Her mother, cloth bag in hand, opened the door, and Sonia stepped into the narrow San Francisco side street. The cobbler locked up behind them and flipped his sign to Closed.

Mom, let’s go up Van Ness. Sonia headed toward her condominium near Pacific and Polk.

Holiday lights gleamed from shop windows, decorating the night with a festive air. An ocean breeze scented with a nearby vendor’s roasted pecans whipped at Sonia’s hair. She wished she hadn’t left her scrunchie in the bridal shop. The long day seeped into her bones, and her mind went to the impending conversation with her fiancé.

She somehow had to tell Ben that she didn’t really work for an office supply company, scouting out innovative products around the world – that her real job was scouting out potential foreign agents for the CIA. She’d been waiting for the right time, but that right time hadn’t come, and with each passing day, the task loomed larger. Now, there was almost no time left. It had to be done, and it had to be done tonight.

Sonia’s stomach grew tight at the thought. How would he feel about her having lied to him during their decade of friendship? And then for the past eight months during their courtship? But she couldn’t tell him before she was certain of his commitment.

Raucous laughter filled the air. She glimpsed a holiday party spilling out onto a fire escape half a block up the street. A man in a Santa suit belted out a hearty, Ho, ho, ho! Then he wobbled. The woman next to him took his arm and steadied him. He was a mountain of a man, the platform railing barely coming to his hip.

Sonia felt her mother’s touch on her elbow.

Are you okay? Kathleen asked. They paused in front of a narrow passageway that ran between two buildings. You seem tired. Will you let me carry some of your packages?

No, thanks, Mom.

A scream cut through the night. On the balcony, Santa tipped backward over the fire escape platform railing. His feet flipped up, and he plunged toward the street, five stories below.

Her mother gasped. Good lord!

Time warped into slow motion, and Sonia stared helplessly while Santa plummeted like a falling cannonball. A motion caught her eye – a man scurrying up the sidewalk, a brightly wrapped package under his arm, oblivious to the mass hurdling toward him.

Hey! Sonia called.

The man startled and glanced up. Santa smashed onto his head, crushing him into a tangled mass on the cement. The package shot from his hands and bounced to the curb.

Holy crap. Sonia grabbed her mother’s arm.

A black-clad figure rushed from the shadows, snatched up the parcel, and bolted directly toward Sonia and her mother.

2

SONIA REACHED to yank her mother from harm’s way, but Kathleen had already leapt out of the thief’s path.

She stuck out her foot to trip the man. He bounded over it, dodging for the dark opening between the buildings behind them.

Sonia tossed her shopping bags and made chase.

The blackness of the passageway enveloped her, and she struggled to see. The assailant’s footsteps pounded in her ears, the sound reverberating off the close walls. Then the beat lost its resonance. Almost imperceptibly, the rhythm faltered, as it would if he had drawn a weapon.

Sonia dropped to one knee and pulled her pistol. A burst of light flared from the thief’s gun muzzle. A bullet whizzed above her. A blast cracked the air. She aimed one foot below the flash and fired twice.

A hand clamped over her mouth and nose and wrenched her backwards. Her pistol flew from her hand. She backhanded her assailant hard in the groin. He groaned and loosened his grip. Sonia jumped out, spun, and aimed a roundhouse kick to his head. Her foot caught. Her ankle twisted. She went down.

The man was on her, his hands at her throat.

Terrified, she dug her thumbs into his eyes. He cried out and loosened his grip. Simultaneously, a blur smacked down on the man’s left temple, followed by two more quick strikes and a kick to his ribs. The snap of a bone, and the man fell sideways. Sonia leapt up and smashed her heel down on his head with three rapid stomps. He went limp.

She stumbled back, gasping. Her head swam. She bent over and grabbed her knees, keeping her head below her heart. The world steadied. Her skin prickled with the acute awareness that she was still alive, and relief flooded her veins.

Her mother’s hand was on her back, rubbing in small circles. Are you okay, sweetie? She held her blue slingback in her other hand, the heel dripping blood.

Sonia took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and straightened. Yeah, Mom. Are you?

Yes, but what were you thinking? You could have been killed. Why did you chase him? Fear edged her mother’s voice.

Sonia hesitated, unsure how to explain. As a seasoned covert operative, it was her instinct to respond to unusual activities, but she could hardly say that to her mother. I don’t know. It was just the right thing to do. She braced herself for her mother’s retort.

Instead, she received a piercing stare, as if her mother were a human x-ray machine.

Sonia shrugged and searched her pocket for her keychain. She switched on its penlight and flashed it around. They were at the edge of a rectangular courtyard between two buildings. A laurel tree stood on each side, one of which was decorated with paper snowflakes and angel cutouts. Bushes bordered the edges of the space. Foot-carved dirt trails cut the winter grass, connecting the back doors of the buildings to the passageway. The body of the man she had shot slumped in a lifeless mass in the center.

At her feet, her assailant lay motionless, his face a mangled mass. Red drained from his wounds and pooled around his head. A sharp smell of blood and gunpowder assaulted Sonia’s nostrils, and she wrinkled her nose.

You shouldn’t look, Mom. Reaching down, she probed the man’s neck for a pulse. There was none.

Sonia braced herself for her mother’s reaction. The gentle cookie baker, the woman who saved butterflies with broken wings and released mice into the fields – this innocent woman had just helped her kill a man. Would she ever get over this night?

Sonia forced herself to meet her mother’s eyes and shook her head. Then she waited for what she knew had to come.

Her mother gave her a quick nod. Good work. I’ll check the other one. You find your pistol. There might be more where these two came from.

Sonia’s mouth dropped open.

Kathleen stepped over the clubbed man’s body to the one who had stolen the package, shining her own penlight on him. Nice head shot.

Sonia closed her mouth. Then she muttered, Thanks, but I was aiming for his heart.

Oh, well. It worked.

Lights appeared in the condominiums above them, snapping Sonia back into the moment. Two dead men in black running pants and turtlenecks lay at their feet – men who had been eager to swipe a package when a third man met with misfortune. Two men ready to kill anyone who interfered. Whatever the package contained, it had to have been worth dying for.

I’ll call the police, Kathleen said. She fished her phone out of her purse.

Sonia paused a split second. Why was her mother so composed? Was she in shock? She shoved her thoughts back into the present moment. First things first. She needed to find her pistol.

Sonia shone her light around the courtyard and spied the weapon at the edge of the bushes.

Kathleen shook her phone. I can’t believe how many times this has rung at 9-1-1. Good thing we weren’t relying on the police save us.

Sonia picked up her Smith & Wesson and then searched for