Fields' Guide to Secrets


 
 
 
 
 Fields’ Guide to Secrets
 
 
 
 Julie Mulhern
 
 
 
 J & M Press
 
 
 
 
 Copyright © 2023 by Julie Mulhern
 All rights reserved.
 No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
 Created with Vellum
 
 
 
 Contents
 
 
 
 Chapter 1
 
 
 Chapter 2
 
 
 Chapter 3
 
 
 Chapter 4
 
 
 Chapter 5
 
 
 Chapter 6
 
 
 Chapter 7
 
 
 Chapter 8
 
 
 Chapter 9
 
 
 Chapter 10
 
 
 Chapter 11
 
 
 Chapter 12
 
 
 Chapter 13
 
 
 Chapter 14
 
 
 Chapter 15
 
 
 Chapter 16
 
 
 Chapter 17
 
 
 
 
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 Also by Julie Mulhern
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Chapter One
 
 
 
 
 
 A gunshot awakened me.
 A gunshot? I squeezed my eyes shut and counted all the reasons that wasn’t possible. Thor (his parents named him Mark, but he bore a startling resemblance to Chris Hemsworth) and I were snuggled in bed on a private island. The only other people around were Consuela (the long-haired Chihuahua who adopted me on a trip to Mexico) and the caretakers. And the sweet older couple didn’t seem the type to shoot guns at—I fumbled for my phone—four in the morning.
 Four?
 My poor, tired brain, which had endured days of guns and chases and death, must have conjured the gunshot.
 Bang!
 I levitated out of bed.
 Thor was already halfway across the room and reaching for his pants. And his guns.
 I pulled on a black t-shirt, jammed my feet into sneakers, and stumbled to the drawer where I’d stashed the Glock my father loaned me. The one I forgot (sorry, not sorry) to return.
 Consuela, who possessed the heart of a lion, growled from deep in her chest. A sound she saved for people she didn’t like. And danger.
 Thor cracked the door and peeked into the hallway. “Clear.”
 Consuela and I followed him into the hall that led from the enormous master bedroom to the gigantic living room. The house—the whole island—was an over-the-top wedding gift from my new stepfather, Yurgi Prokhorov, to my mother, Chariss Carlton.
 A low rumble came from Consuela’s tawny throat.
 “Hush,” I told her.
 I couldn’t see her little face in the dark, but I strongly suspected that she rolled her eyes at me.
 The three of us crept toward the living room.
 The house felt empty. But that didn’t stop a chilly tingle from settling between my shoulder blades.
 Thor paused. Using the hallway wall as cover, he peeked into the living room.
 Consuela darted past us.
 She stopped near the couch and sniffed the air. Then her doggy lips pulled back from tiny but vicious teeth, and she snarled.
 I tightened my grip on the Glock and wished we’d never come here.
 We were supposed to be on vacation, and the use of a private island had sounded idyllic. Sun. Privacy. A beautiful home. And the two of us. Three, if you counted Consuela (and Consuela insisted upon being counted). It should have been perfect.
 But Yurgi had asked us to stop in Athens and pick up a package from his friend, Kostas Dimitriou.
 That hadn’t gone well. One might go so far as to say, it had gone car-chase-leading-to-a-smashed-Mercedes poorly.
 Bemused and exhausted, we’d arrived on the island, just in time for a storm which washed six trafficked girls ashore.
 Since then, between getting the girls to safety and dealing with the men who bought and sold them, we hadn’t had a moment’s peace.
 And now, some new threat had crashed our vacation.
 It was enough to make me long for home.
 “Three o’clock,” Thor whispered.
 The living room was dark. The patio was not. And the man in tactical gear was easy to spot as he skirted lounge chairs.
 “Who sent them?”
 Thor shrugged.
 The possibilities were endless—Russians mobsters, Johnny Soo, a billionaire playboy with a dark side, or someone who wanted the mysterious package we’d picked up for Yurgi. And those were just the first three options.
 “What do we do?” I pulled on Thor’s arms, tugging him deeper into the shadows.
 The plaster near where he’d just stood exploded.
 At the stairs that led to the lower level, Consuela barked.
 I lifted the Glock, aimed at a dark shape on the steps, and pulled the trigger.
 A series of thuds and “oofs,” followed.
 “Did you hit him?”
 My stomach clenched. It was possible the man had lost his footing and fallen down the stairs. It was also possible I’d just killed someone. “I’m not sure.”
 “We need to move,” Thor whispered.
 We crouched and dashed to the kitchen, where I hid behind the island and clutched the Glock with fingers chilled by adrenalin.
 Thor opened a drawer, chose a knife, then took a position next to the doors to the patio. He scanned the outside. “I think we’re clear.”
 Was going outside the smartest choice? “You’re sure?”
 “They’re looking for us inside.” He made an excellent point.
 We slipped outside, wrapped ourselves in darkness, and found cover in the bushes that lined the steep path down to the docks. In theory, we could descend, hop on a boat, and escape to open water. In theory. But there was no way we could leave the older couple who took care of the house with a hit squad.
 “The caretakers?”
 “Two shots, Poppy.” The grimness in Thor’s voice left no room for hope. He meant Melia and Oscar were dead, murdered by whoever had come for us.
 I blinked back a wash of tears and put aside the guilt and anger