MAVIS

―blow up my car with a bouncy ball?"

The woman's white-blonde hair was illuminated with the light of the fire. Smoke and ash and hot sparks unraveled from the twisted metal of her 1999 Toyota.

"If you had tried sitting on the driver's seat," the woman explained, "then that would have been you. Any pressure would have triggered it."

"And knowing that, you threw a bouncy ball at my car?"

The woman shrugged, her eyes sliding from the fire to Mavis. "Would you have believed me if I hadn't?"

"Well―" No, probably not. "You're insane."

Mavis could already hear the sound of an alarm. Robin's country club security would probably be heading this way now, and explaining this―God, this was such a mess. She would be late to pick up Isla, and how did she even begin to tell Robin about the so-called assassin who had been sent after her?

"You need to come with me," said the woman.

Two blondes in two days. This had to be the punchline of some bad joke.

"No, thank you," Mavis said politely. "You're a crazy bitch and my car just exploded."

"Do you know Evan Powell?"

His name was like a blow to her stomach. The woman didn't miss it.

"Yes," she purred in that throaty Russian accent. "I see. You are the one. There is an order of death on your head―a bounty, you Americans would call it."

What were the odds of two Russians telling her there were people out to kill her in the past two days?

The woman opened the door to her car, slipping into the driver's seat.

At the entrance of the club, Mavis could see people in the distance, running towards her car. The fire.

"If you want to know more about the woman you know as Ace, then get inside."

Mavis hesitated. She had only seconds before the security noticed her at the scene of the crime, and . . . what if it was true? If that had been her in that car . . . she'd be dead now. Why had the woman told her? And who had the woman seen―a man that had put a bomb beneath her seat?

And . . . she did want to know more about Ace.

Mavis got in the car.

As soon as she closed the door, the woman drove out of the Inferno club's parking lot.

"Down the street," Mavis said breathlessly. "There's a Wal-Mart where we can park."

The woman nodded obligingly. Her blue eyes were so pale they were almost clear, like still pools of icewater. There was nothing warm about her, not from the white-blonde hair to the angle of her long, slender neck.

If this was a vampire movie, the woman would probably be the evil queen.

Mavis kept one hand on her pepper spray.

Once the woman had pulled into the Wal-Mart parking lot, she said, "My name is Galina."

"Okay, Galina," Mavis said. "Who blew up my car?"

"You must want to know more about Ace Alina Anastasia Ivanova Morozova."

"How do you know her?"

"She is dangerous," Galina said. "A Russian operative of the highest intelligence. She is sent only for top-protocol cases, and she is, without a doubt, one of the most deadly weapons in the USSR."

"Dangerous," Mavis scoffed. "She doesn't even know what Froot Loops are."

Galina continued as though she hadn't spoken. "Do you know what Evan Powell does for a living?"

"No," Mavis said, hesitating. This was nothing she hadn't already suspected, but . . . it had seemed so ludicrous. So surreal. A boy she hadn't even seen since she was fifteen. "I know his parents were rich. They worked in the oil industry, I think. Why?"

"He is a mob boss."

"My ex is a part of the Mafia?" she demanded. "Oh, God. This is getting ridiculous. Next you're going to tell me you and Ace are a part of the Russian Mafia."

Galina waited.

"No," Mavis said, smiling now. "That's ridiculous. This has to be some elaborate joke. Evan was . . . well, there's no way."

"You have not seen him in seven years."

"Yeah, but I . . . wait, how do you know that?"

"The oil industry is a front for his family," Galina said coolly. "They are American mobsters. Last week, a hit was ordered by the Russians. His parents are dead."

Mavis didn't feel sorry, exactly. But she was shocked. "A hit, like . . . like the movies? Like Terminator, with Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sarah Connor?"

"Yes. Evan Powell is now the leader of the American mob."

"What does any of that have to do with me?"

"You are just a casualty," Galina said calmly. "An obstacle. The child is who we really want."

"My daughter?" Mavis breathed.

Oh, God. Isla. I left Isla with a Russian assassin.

"When Evan dies, she will be the heir to the Mafia. The hit is supposed to be thorough. You are a liability. What mother will not want justice for their child? It is too bad. But this is war, and in war . . ."

"All is fair in love and war," Mavis said.

She hadn't finished ninth grade, but . . . she did love literature. Philosophy. John Lyly's Euphues: The Anatomy of Wit. Tolstoy and Cook and Emerson and Fischer.

Surprise flickered in Galina's jaw. "You are more intelligent than they had said you would be."

"If Ace is here to kill me . . . why are you here?"

"To finish the job," Galina said, and her hand crept down towards something in her belt. "I told Aleksi that bitch was not to be trusted. He left her to rot in prison for two years. Did he think she would welcome him back with open arms? There is a reason she was there in the first place . . ."

Mavis was smart enough to know that when villains began revealing too much to their prisoners, it was because they weren't going to let them go.

Ace hadn't been lying, Mavis realized.

She had been in prison. And that meant―

Had she been telling the truth about everything else?

"What do you mean, you're finishing the job?" Mavis said, talking fast. "Is it because I'm not dead yet?"

"Ace arrived here two nights ago. She is lethal. Efficient. She was the best black ops soldier we had, until Aleksi gave her that ridiculous job. He should have known. She is his sister, after all."

Mavis was confused. Keep her talking, she told herself.

Galina's fingers had tightened on something beneath her jacket.

"What about my daughter?" Mavis said quickly.

A smile formed on Galina's pink mouth. "Tell me where she is, and I will give her a merciful death. A bullet to the head."

"But why do you want her dead?" Mavis pleaded. "Either of us? I promise we can disappear. No one has to know we're even related to Evan."

"No," Galina said, licking her lips. "It is far too late. The bounty was released two hours ago. You are now the most wanted person in the Russian mob."

Mavis stopped breathing.

She had to get to Isla. She had to make sure―

"Now, tell me where she is," Galina whispered.

Mavis heard the unmistakable sound of a trigger locking.

"She's at Costco," Mavis said.

"Liar!" Galina seethed, and she moved―so fast she was a blur, lunging towards the passenger seat.

I am not going to die in a Wal-Mart parking lot.

Mavis aimed her pepper spray.

She had never thought the sound of Russian cursing would make her so afraid for her life. She fumbled for the handle of the car door, stumbling onto the asphalt.

Run, she told herself. Run!

Wal-Mart was a sanctuary now―from an evil, swearing blonde assassin.

Behind her, she could hear the sound of gunshots. Bullets flecked the pavement at her feet. Mavis skidded towards the sliding doors, ignoring the Wal-Mart greeter―

When she looked back, Galina was nowhere in sight.

Mavis was starting to regret the fact that she hadn't given Ace her phone number.

you home?"

Mavis dropped her keys as soon as she unlocked her front door. Surging forward into the kitchen, checking for signs of―

Of what? An invasion of Russian Mafia?

Where was her daughter?

Ace had told Mavis not to trust her. Was it possible . . . could she have . . .

"Isla!" she shouted, hurling herself through the hallway. Checking each room, each hiding space. "Isla, where are you?"

Mavis had trusted her daughter with a blonde.

She wasn't just a blonde bitch, she was a killer blonde bitch.

She sank to her knees on the tile of the kitchen floor. Gripping the counter with one hand as her chest heaved.

There was a reason she didn't like blondes.

Even if that reason, specifically, had never been because they were lethal black ops in the USSR who had been sent to murder her and her daughter.

"Mom? Why are you on the floor?"

Mavis was so lost in vision of seeing Isla dead, Isla with a bullet in her head, Isla's lifeless body, that she hadn't heard the sound of the front door opening.

Armed with groceries, Isla had barreled her way into the kitchen, Ace close behind.

"Mom, are you okay?"

Mavis scrubbed the back of her hand over her face, pasting on a smile. "Of course I am, baby. I just . . . need to talk to Ace alone."

The groceries―Froot Loops, Cheerios, vanilla bean ice cream, and two pizza boxes: pineapple and broccoli―clattered onto the table.

Mavis was mildly confused by the very obvious wink Isla sent Ace's way.

And Mavis must have still been in shock, because there was no way she saw Ace's porcelain skin turn a shade of pink.

"What is it?" Ace said gruffly, as Mavis dragged her into a corner of the living room.

Isla hummed happily in the kitchen.

"My car blew up," she said. Ace swore. "No, let me finish―my car blew up, and some Russian woman told me it's because there's a bounty on my head. That I'm―" Mavis took in a shuddering breath. "Apparently me and Isla are now the most wanted people in the Russian Mafia."

"I have never lied to you," Ace began.

"You never told me you were a part of the Russian Mafia either!"

"I will never lie to you," Ace said fiercely. "But I did not want you to know more than you had to."

"The woman told me she was doing your job. Because if I'm still alive, you can't be trusted. Because ever since you got out of prison . . ."

"This woman," Ace said in a low voice. "What did she look like? Pale hair? Very light eyes?"

"If you mean she looked like some kind of evil vampire queen, then it sounds about right. She told me her name was Galina."

The colour disappeared from Ace's face.

"We have to go," she said. "Now."

Before Mavis could say anything, Ace was already shutting the windows. Closing the blinds.

"Wait, Ace! Where will we go?"

"Pack your bags," she ordered Isla.

Mavis crossed her arms, though entire body was trembling with fear.

Ace looked deeply into her eyes, like there was an answer buried in Mavis's soul that she might be able to see. "You have two choices."

Mavis was afraid to hear them. "What are they?"

"We can run away together," Ace said, still searching her eyes. "We can hide in Canada. Live under the radar. I can keep you safe, Mavis. I'll make sure no one hurts you, or Isla, ever again. But it will not be a free life. You will need to be constantly careful."

"And . . . the other option?" Mavis whispered.

"It's dangerous," Ace said. "We go to Russia. I bring you back as my prisoner. We will need them to think Isla is dead―you will need to convince them I killed your daughter. They will not believe me alone, but if you can convince them . . . Isla will be free, but you―"

"I'll do it," Mavis said in a low voice.

"You do not understand," Ace hissed. "They will keep you. Once they see you, your body, your face―"

Mavis swallowed. "They'll make me some kind of stripper, won't they?"

"They will make you a prostitute. They will use you―" Ace shook her head once, roughly. "No. I will not allow you to do this."

There was no doubt in Mavis's mind. "My daughter will be free. She has a life waiting for her. I want her to become anything she wants to be, without being afraid of a target on her back."

"No. You can still leave the country, both of you―"

But Mavis already knew why there were only two choices. "I should have believed you, blondie," she said ruefully. "But Galina knows I'm alive, and she knows you can't be trusted. She won't think you killed us―either of us."

Something in Ace's eyes hardened. A light, going out.

For the first time, Mavis saw exactly the kind of weapon this woman could become. Exactly how dangerous she could be.

"Leave that to me," Ace said. "But you will need a convincing performance. This will only work if they believe you, because anything I say . . . they do not trust me. Especially not against Galina."

"I can do it," Mavis promised. "Leave that to me."

"Where are we going?" Isla said from the hallway, letting both her bags drop to the floor. "Is it Hawaii? For your honeymoon? I hear the Maldives are nice this time of year."

Isla's life was in danger. But if Mavis did this, if she agreed to go to Russia, her own life would be forfeit.

Mavis had to make sure her daughter didn't end up in foster care, or worse―on the streets. She needed a legal guardian, someone who could protect her if―when―the very worst happened.

This is a bad idea.

"One condition, blondie," Mavis breathed, thinking fast.

Ace's eyes had narrowed on Isla's bags, probably trying to figure out what Yo Soy Dora meant and why there was a talking blue monkey. But when Mavis said blondie, she turned. Something softened, almost fractionally, in those ice-blue eyes.

Mavis took a breath.

"Will you marry me?"