Unleashed: Unleashed, #1

By Susan Cady Allred

Her father made her a spy. The agency gave her purpose. Will her first assignment be her last?

 

Seventeen-year-old Aleasha Summers discovers her father had secretly trained her to be a spy. Now Drew, an employee from the agency has come to collect her. Her first day undercover at high school, she screws up her objective and lands squarely in the crosshairs of the person she was trying to implicate. Now, Drew must step in and complete the mission, aligning himself with the enemy while watching Aleasha endure increasingly vicious attacks by her bully. But, the more he and Aleasha work together, the stronger their feelings for each other become, and the more vulnerable they are to discovery.

 

When everyone in her house disappears, Aleasha calls on Drew to help her find them, even if it means exposing themselves as spies. Can Aleasha and Drew save the others from certain death, or will they all become casualties of war?

 

Unleashed, book one of the Unleashed series, is Black Widow meets Mean Girls in this high-action teen spy thriller filled with bone-breaking fight scenes and kisses that will make your toes curl. If you like the Alex Rider or Gallagher Girl series, you'll enjoy this pause-resisting YA romantic suspense series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan Cady Allred
• Release date: Mar 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215120415

Book preview

Unleashed

A TEEN SPY THRILLER

Susan Cady Allred

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JANA ELCO Publishing

Copyright © 2021 by Susan Cady Allred

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Contents

1. INTRODUCTIONS

2. GHOST FROM THE PAST

3. WIT & WAGERS

4. Stalker?

5. REVELATIONS

6. AN HONEST SPY

7. AGENT 52

8. OPERATION SNOWBALL

9. Twenty Questions

10. Walla Where?

11. SURVEILLANCE

12. KISSING UP

13. NEW DIGS

14. PROVING GROUND

15. YOU HAD ONE JOB

16. AN UPHILL BATTLE

17. JUST TO SPITE

18. SECOND THOUGHTS

19. Face The Music

20. LET THE GAMES BEGIN

21. A SMASHING GOOD TIME

22. FIGHTING FOR CONTROL

23. TAKING SIDES

24. RUNNING

25. Dancing With the Devil

26. BREAKDOWN

27. ASSESSING THE DAMAGE

28. Sticking Together

29. THE GRIM TRUTH

30. MEDITATION ROOM

31. Silence Before the Storm

32. LOVE ME OR HATE ME

33. INVITING TROUBLE

34. SO IT BEGINS

35. RUNNING FROM DANGER

36. CHANGING OF THE GUARD

37. DARK MOODS

38. SHAKING THINGS UP

39. A WOMAN SCORNED

40. TAKING SIDES

41. REDEMPTION

42. WHAT JUST HAPPENED?

43. HOMECOMING

44. SPIDEY SENSES

45. RUN RUN RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN

46. TRUCE

47. PREPARING FOR BATTLE

48. LIKE LAMBS TO THE SLAUGHTER

49. DAY OF RECKONING

50. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH

51. ON DEATH’S DOOR

52. IT’S COMPLICATED

53. CONFESSIONS

54. EPILOGUE

55. ALEASHA WILL RETURN IN WithDREW. Read Chapter 1 Here

56. OTHER BOOKS BY SUSAN CADY ALLRED

57. DEDICATION

58. COPYRIGHT

59. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Chapter 1

INTRODUCTIONS

Tears flow down my cheeks until I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a shuddered breath. Man, I hate this day already. I lift my gaze to the mountains beyond the Spokane River where the sunrise peeks over the mountains.

I grit my teeth, pull my ponytail through the hole in the back of my Mariners baseball cap, and start a slow jog. The path twists and turns with the river at a gentle incline. Pine trees, meadows, and an occasional game trail border the paved pathway. A crisp breeze tickles the hairs on my neck, but I barely notice.

If I run fast enough maybe I can outrun my memories.

The path passes a large hotel with a terrace that faces the trail and river.

There’s a guy sitting at a wrought iron table on the patio. He has wavy brown hair, a cup in one hand, and a book in the other. He’s sat in that same chair for the last couple days.

Just him.

Of course it’s just him. Who else is up at five in the morning? Only the teen-aged girl who doesn't want anyone to see her crying while she runs.

The guy glances up from his book and his eyes widen. He leaps

to his feet and opens his mouth at the same time I’m yanked backward by my ponytail. I yelp, grabbing at my hair. Adrenaline shoots through my veins, and my heart races. I glimpse a thick, burly man with a scraggly beard looking down at me with feral eyes.

A hundred factors shoot through my mind in a split second. Bad guy. Bad intentions. Far from my car. And alone. Forgot my mace.

Fight like hell. Just like Dad taught you.

I slam a fist to his groin. He doubles over, releasing my hair. I elbow him on the back of the neck, knocking him to his knees, then render him unconscious with a kick.

Another guy, younger and leaner, tackles me from the side. I’m slammed to the ground and we skid to a stop in the grass. Wind bursts from my lungs. The taste of dirt and blood fill my mouth. My side and skin scream with pain.

I’m elbowing the second attacker in the face and neck when he’s yanked off me by the guy from the terrace. Terrace guy uses a few well-placed strikes until my attacker is in a bloody heap next to his buddy. Both attackers are unconscious.

Terrace guy returns to me and holds out his hand. Are you alright? he asks, his eyes wide and chest heaving from the exertion.

He looks pretty young. Not much older than me. Twenty, maybe?

Uh… I look down, checking myself for blood. Yeah, I think so.

I take his hand and he hoists me off the ground onto my wobbly legs. I wipe debris from my sweatshirt and leggings, hissing when I accidentally brush against exposed scrapes on my legs.

He winces. Ooh. That doesn’t look good. Come inside and I’ll get you cleaned up.

I hesitate, glancing at the two unconscious bodies. They’re probably local transients living by the river. Terrace guy follows my gaze, pulls a phone from his pocket, and dials. After a moment, he says, Two guys just attacked a jogger on the trail outside the hotel. Can you take care of it? Thank you.

He drops the phone back in his pocket and says, Do you want to stay and wait for the police? Or would you prefer to get patched up?

I shudder, imagining a dozen things these guys could've done to me. Let’s get outta here. I hold up a finger. Hold on.

I walk to the smaller of the two guys and kick his ribs as hard as I can. I’m about to kick the other guy, when I catch a glimpse of his hand. His fingernails are clean and well-trimmed. Odd for a transient. I furrow my brows, crouching to look closer. He makes a noise and starts to move. I straighten, and back away, trying to get distance in case he comes to.

The guy from the terrace stares at me, slack-jawed.

What? I ask.

He snaps his mouth shut and blinks a couple times. Uh, nothing. C’mon, you can use my bathroom to clean up.

He steps off the paved path where I’d been running, toward the hotel onto a narrow dirt path that snakes through the swath of overgrown vegetation between the hotel and my running trail.

I shake my head at him. News articles about people murdered by their rescuers flash through my mind. I think I’ll use the lobby instead, I say.

You’re probably right. For all you know, I could be the Boogeyman. He steps onto the path and glances over his shoulder. The name’s Drew, by the way.

I follow him into the grass. Aleasha. And thanks for the help. I stare at his back where his shirt stretches over well-defined muscles. I bet his chest and abs are the same way. He’s lean though, not bulky.

I like lean.

He pauses at a wire fence bordering the hotel’s property and holds up a cable to let me through.

Thank you, I say, glancing up at him as I pass through the fence. Wow. Seriously green eyes.

You bet, he says.

We trudge up the incline to the terrace. He picks up his cup and book, before ushering me inside and points down the hall. The lobby is this way.

How long are you in town? I ask.

I’m not sure yet. It could be a couple days, or a couple weeks.

I’m here until the job is done."

What do you do?

Lots of things. Right now, I’m a head-hunter, he says.

What’s that?

I recruit people for specific jobs.

How many people are you recruiting here? Do you recruit just Spokane, all over Washington state, or the entire country? I ask.

Just one person. He guides me to the front desk with his hand at the base of my back. Warmth rushes to the spot where his fingers rest.

How long have you been here? I ask, trying to ignore his hand.

He raises a brow. This particular visit? Or for this specific person?

Both.

At the front desk, a girl in a white button-down shirt with long, curly blonde hair, and way too much make-up, gives me a once over. Are you all right?

She was running and someone attacked her, Drew says. Do you have a first aid kit and a bathroom she can use?

The girl—her name tag says Sandi—picks up a phone from the front desk. Do I need to call the police? Are they still out there?

Drew shakes his head. I’ve already made a call.

Sandi returns the phone to its receiver, then steps out from behind her desk. Her eyes travel up my body, resting on my forehead. Yeah, sure. Follow me.

She points to a door near the lobby’s entrance with a restroom sign next to it. You can go in there. I’ll bring everything to you. Thank you, Drew says.

I don’t think it’s anything serious. Just some scrapes and bruises, I say to him when we stop in front of the bathroom.

You sure about that? Drew steps closer, raising his hand to my face. I freeze, unsure how to react. On the one hand, he’s a stranger.

On the other, he did just save me.

He gently pushes my hair from my face. I wince as the strands graze my forehead.

Mmhmm. He nods. Hurts, doesn’t it?

A little.

Drew smiles, glancing into my eyes and then back at my forehead.

Don’t move.

He strides into the bathroom, runs the water for a moment, then comes back with a wet paper towel. He motions to my head.

May I?

Uh, sure.

He gently presses the warm, wet paper to my forehead, and I wince again. Pain throbs at the wound.

When he pulls his hand away, there’s a big red splotch on the paper towel.

Is it bad? I ask, suddenly wishing I could look in the mirror.

It’s still bleeding, but I don’t think it needs stitches. Why don’t you check yourself out in the mirror, and I’ll hunt Sandi down. I nod, watch him leave, then go inside and lock the door.

Glancing in the mirror, I groan. Leaves stick out of my hair in all directions, an eye is swelling, and there’s a pretty good scrape on my chin. Not to mention the gash on my forehead. Somewhere in the struggle, I’ve lost my baseball cap. Nathan’s baseball cap. It was his favorite too.

Sighing, I pick at the leaves in my hair. I’ll have to go back to the trail later and see if I can find that hat. It means too much to not make an effort to find it.

Drew taps on the door. You doing okay?

Yeah, I poke my head out of the bathroom. I look like I’ve been put through the wringer, but I’ll be fine.

Here you go. He hands me a washcloth and waves a band-aid in front of my face. I managed to wrestle this bugger from Sandi.

His eyes widen in mock seriousness. She’s tougher than she looks. I chuckle.

Drew nods toward my head again. Want me to put it on? Sure. Sooo articulate, Aleasha.

While he’s carefully placing the band-aid over my cut, I say,

You didn’t say how long you’ve been here.

You caught that, huh? He clears his throat. I’ve been here six days so far.

And how long total for this specific person?

A smile twitches on his lips. About eight months.

Eight months? You’re persistent. What makes this person so special?

Drew grins then steps away, admiring his handiwork. I’ve had to do a lot of homework with this one. I’ve been waiting for the right time to approach them.

Why?

You never know how a person’s gonna react.

You’re recruiting them, right? For a job? That’s a good thing, I say. Who wouldn’t be flattered by that?

Drew tilts his head and gazes at me. You wanna go to breakfast?

I catch another glimpse of myself in the mirror and wince.

How about lunch instead?

That’s probably a good idea. He glances at my forehead again. Do you need me to drive you anywhere?

I start to shake my head then realize that the quickest way back to my car is via the trail, and past the guys who just attacked me. What if they got away before the police got there? A shiver runs down my spine and I force a smile. You know what? I’d love a ride.

After he drops me at my car, I thank him and wave while he drives away. When he’s out of sight, my smile fades. I unlock the door to my car, plop into my seat, and hit the lock button.

My shaky hands grip the steering wheel until my knuckles are white. This probably never would have happened if I’d had Nathan running with me. But it’s been almost a year now, and he’s not coming back.

A tear slides down my cheek and I whisper, Happy would-be birthday, little brother. Thanks for dying and leaving me all alone.

Chapter 2

GHOST FROM THE PAST

The scent of garlic and tomato sauce hits me as I step through the restaurant doors, making my mouth water. It's like walking into old Italy. Even the music is Italian. Little kids mash their faces against a picture window, watching the chef toss an ever-expanding disc of dough into the air. Weathered brick walls lined with large cans of tomatoes, wines, and strings of garlic surround dozens of tables and booths. Sheets of white butcher paper cover red and white checkered tablecloths, with a can of crayons centered on each table.

Drew is sitting at a booth, crayons strewn over the table, sketching a picture. A lock of his wavy brown hair drops into his eye and he pushes it away. He glances up and meets my gaze, a smile spreading over his face. My cheeks warm and a flutter fills my stomach. I half-wave and then stride over to him.

You clean up nicely, Drew says as I slide into the seat across from him.

I run my hands down the thighs of my jeans, drying my sweaty palms. Thanks. It's amazing what happens when you shower and take the branches out of your hair. I gaze down at the picture he'd

been drawing and my jaw drops. Is that me?

Drew's cheeks flush and he tries to cover the sketch with his water. Uh, it's...um, it's nothing. Really.

I move his glass to the side, and stare at his doodles. He bites his lip and winces. He's drawn a pair of eyes, brown like mine, with long lashes and surprising detail in the irises. Especially for crayons. The second sketch is definitely a profile of me. He’s drawn my brown hair cascading down my shoulders and down my back, with the sides tied up and secured with the ornate hairpin I inherited from my mother when she died.

I stare at the hairpin. My eyes travel to the shirt he's drawn. The same one I wore to church on Sunday. While wearing the hairpin.

The waiter brings a loaf of bread to our table and asks in a thick Italian accent, May I take your order?

Spaghetti? I hadn't looked at the menu yet. But I can't tear my eyes off the picture. My stomach twists into knots. Did I misjudge him? Is he a stalker instead of a protector?

Very good. And for you, sir? the waiter says, turning to Drew.

Chicken Marsala, please. Drew dips his head, his brows furrowed. You okay? he asks me.

As soon as the waiter is out of sight I lean forward. "Who are you and what do you really want?"

Drew pulls back, resting his back against the booth, and his eyes search mine. What tipped you off?

Doesn't matter, creeper. What do you want?

He takes a sip of his water and then rests his hands on his lap. I'm here to offer you a job.

If I'd been eating, I would've choked. A job? Me? I'm seventeen. High school juniors don't get head-hunted.

You start school as a Senior this year. And they do when your father was the head of a black-ops agency and was grooming you to work with him.

I glance around the restaurant. Couples and families eat their food, oblivious to the insanity playing out in our booth. "You must have the wrong Aleasha. My father was an accountant. And I was most certainly not trained to be a spy."

That's the point of black-ops, Aleasha. Nobody knows you're doing it. The AGENCY has been monitoring you, waiting until you were ready. He points the knife he’s using to cut the bread at me. And your father absolutely trained you. His eyes watch my face as if to gauge my response.

I wonder if he expects me to run screaming from the building?

Because I'm tempted to bolt. Instead, I fold my arms over my chest.

Convince me.

Another smile spreads across his face. Your father worked for a top-secret government program that trains elite teens to infiltrate areas only kids can access.

I narrow my eyes at him. How old are you? Twenty? Twenty-one? Are you one of them?

I’m nineteen, and I’ve been working with them for nearly five years. So, yes.

Dad would never turn kids into spies. They're just kids.

Drew inclines his head as if to agree. The AGENCY chooses those especially adept at handling high stress--

I cut my hand through the air. I'm sorry. I'm still stuck on the whole 'my dad is a secret agent' thing. Where's the proof?

Drew pulls his phone from his pocket, taps several times on the screen, then hands it to me. My dad, several years younger than I remember him, is on a video. I stare at the screen, unable to rip my eyes from his face. It's been months since I’ve seen him alive. Am I ready to hear his voice? To rip open a wound that I’ve barely managed to stitch together?

With shaky hands, I press play and hold my breath.

Dad smiles on the screen. Hey, Eeash.

The phone slips from my hand and I juggle it several times until I grab hold and grip it with both hands.

If you’re watching this, I’m dead. Dad’s brows furrow and he frowns. I’m sorry, Sweets. I never intended for you to discover the AGENCY this way. Dad looks at his hands and bites his lip. I stare at him, taking in his dark brown crew cut. Dad’s broad shoulders fill the screen. I’d forgotten how big 6’6" really was. I vaguely listen to him for the next couple of seconds, remembering his funny mannerisms; things I never noticed until he was gone. My heart constricts to the point of physical pain and my tears make his video blurry.

Goodbye Sweets, Dad says, tearing me from my thoughts. I know you’ll do the right thing. I love you. The screen goes black. I stare at it for several seconds, taking deep breaths, willing myself not to cry. Praying that my heart won’t rip from my chest and fall into a heap on the table. Oh, how I miss him.

Drew clears his throat then gently slides the phone from my grasp.

Wait! I snatch the phone back from him and play the message one more time. As I absorb my father’s face and drink in the timbre of his voice, a million questions run through my brain. Dad wasn't an accountant? He was black-ops? He worked with kids? How did I never notice?

That explains the crew cut. And the weird hours. And why he never talked about work. But why would he want me to work with him? Did Mom know? What about Nathan? Was Nathan supposed to work with Dad too? The questions come faster and faster, threatening to send me into a panic. I press my eyes closed and breathe deep. Focus. Do. Not. Freak. Out.

I slide the phone back to Drew. "Supposing I believe you, and supposing my father was part of your agency. I didn't know anything about it. And I would’ve remembered if he was training me to be a super-secret spy."

Oh, he was training you alright. It’s my understanding your mom wasn’t fond of the idea, so he was covert about it.

My mind flashes back to Mom. Long, curly brown hair, the same color as mine. Kind blue eyes, and a laugh that would melt the toughest of hearts. She knew about Dad?

Yes. And he trained you all your life.

I start to slide out of the booth. I think I've ridden this crazy train long enough. I'm getting off now.

He lurches for me, grabbing my arm. Stop. Please. Don't touch me, I say, deftly breaking his hold.

He scrambles around the table to block my path, placing a hand on each of my arms.

"You can't force me to stay here," I say, narrowing my eyes. Anger simmers below the surface of my skin. It’s bad enough that I need to relive the heartache of losing my parents, and the ache that comes with hearing my father’s voice again. But these lies he’s trying to feed me are too much.

I know it's a lot to take in, but I can answer your questions. He dips his face till our foreheads are nearly touching, his eyes softening. Are you saying you're not flattered by the job offer?

I pull away and stare at him. Is he trying to charm me? Oooh. This agency he works for is good. They were ruthless to send the hottest guy on the planet to recruit me. I wonder how many other people he's done this to?

Gritting my teeth, I say, Fine. I slide back into the booth. I will listen a little longer, but I’m out of patience, so you’d better get to the point.

Drew nudges me over, and sits next to me, our thighs touching.

I hold out my hand and snap my fingers. Let me see the video again.

He taps his screen a couple more times and hands his phone back to me. Dad’s face reappears on the screen. I grip the phone, staring at him. No matter how crazy all of this sounds, Dad’s on the phone confirming it’s true. Speak, I say to Drew while staring at my dad.

Your dad prepared you from birth.

You already said that. I wrinkle my nose. And it’s cliche.

Yeah, but what does it really mean? How many other seventeen-year-olds speak English, Spanish, and Sign Language? Are in the Student Body Presidency—

"Were in the Student Body Presidency," I say, holding up a finger.

Semantics. Who volunteers hundreds of hours per year, is a commissioned artist, sings in front of an audience of hundreds, and has colleges lined up to recruit them for both track and volleyball? How many girls can fight off two grown men by herself, and only end up with a couple of bruises?

He nudges me. Look at yourself, Aleasha. Step back for a moment and consider who you are from an outsider's perspective. You are the ultimate teenager. You're beautiful, smart, athletic, musical, and can blend into nearly every social circle. You have a strong will, thick skin, and are unafraid to speak your mind or stand up for yourself.

He shakes his head. I’ve never seen anything like it. Teachers and adults adore you. Girls envy you and boys want to be with you. When you walk into a room, you don't just light it up, people stop and stare. Do you have any idea how hard it is to be capable of both blending in and standing out? Drew points at his phone. You are everything your father hoped for, and more.

I'm not that girl anymore. I'm not in ASB, I don't do sports. I don't even hang out with my friends. Not since the car accident. Images of my dead family flash through my mind and I press my trembling lips together. Do. Not. Cry.

Drew pauses long enough to let the server give us our meals, then says, I'm not asking you to live your old life again. I'm offering you a new one. A chance to get away and start over. I want to introduce you to the A.G.E.N.C.Y. To your dad's secret family. The one he itched to show you from the time you started karate. Imagine what he’d say if he knew you were training with Cecil now.

You know about Cecil?

Eight months, remember?

My jaw pulses and the discomfort that pits in my stomach wars with the goosebumps of excitement on my arms. Could this really be true? What else do you know about me?

Pretty much everything. I've read your entire file, and your dad wrote meticulous notes.

Goosebumps gone.

I stare at Drew's sketch. The one with the pin and Sunday's shirt.

What tipped you off about me? he asks again, stealing a glance at me.

Doesn't matter. I stand and nudge his arm with my hip, trying to get him to slide out of the booth. Because I'm not doing it. I'm not equipped to do—what'd you say?—infiltrate places only teens can go? I don't wanna be a spy.

He doesn’t move. Why not?

Because my father didn't train me to be one. Because I’m the reason my family’s dead. I killed them.

No, you didn’t—

Yes. I did. I shove his arm, trying to get him to move. Dad rolled the car because I was throwing a fit and I distracted him. I wipe at the tears on my cheeks, frustrated I’ve told him. I hadn’t told anyone. Not even Aunt Patti. And here I am telling some stranger my darkest secrets. What’s wrong with me? I glance down at him.

Let me out, Drew.

He grabs my hand and tugs on it until I’m sitting again. Aleasha, you didn't kill your family. They were taken from you. We can offer you a new family. Your father's A.G.E.N.C.Y. family. We can offer you a chance to be happy again.

I snort, wiping another tear from my cheek then turn to stare out the window. It’s not that easy.

It is. Drew tugs on my chin until our eyes meet, but I look away again. He shakes my chin. Look at me.

When I return my gaze to him he says, What happened was a tragedy, but you can't give up. Your parents wouldn't want that. Your dad wouldn't want you to quit when you've come so far. You need to fight. Become the daughter he knew you could be – the person I know is inside of you. Show the world you're Aleasha freaking Summers and you will not be broken.

Another tear trails down my cheek, and I bite my lip. "I don't know what Dad would've wanted. He never told me about any of this."

But he told us. And we want to show you his hopes and dreams for you. Drew wipes my tear with his thumb.

Did you know him? I jut my jaw out and my voice hardens.

"Or did you read about him in a file too?"

I knew him. He was a good man. He talked about you and your brother, Nathan, all the time. Preparing the two of you was his obsession.

Turning away from him, I grab my fork and pick at my spaghetti before dropping my utensil. It clanks onto the plate. This is too much. How can any of this be real? I shake my head and shove a palm against my eye, hoping to ease my throbbing forehead.

Everything I know about my dad is a lie. I think of Nathan, a gangly thirteen-year-old with big brown eyes, and the heart of a