A bullet struck the display case, shattering the glass before raining its shards over Meg's head. Squeezing her eyes shut, she ducked further down and waited for the spray of rounds to lull. When her attackers seemed to be reloading, she took her chance.

Standing up, she aimed in the direction she thought they were and pulled the trigger. The two in black, however, were both quick and clever. This definitely wasn't their first take-out. Running ahead of the lethal ordnance, they split up and found cover before any of the rounds found their marks.

"Dammit," Meg whispered, lowering her weapon and crouching back down. But she didn't have a chance at catching her breath.

As she checked how many shots she had left, footsteps approached from the right. Spinning around, she was just in time to dodge a well-placed right hook. In one swift motion, she also prepared to strike, hitting the masked attacker in the gut.

The attacker recoiled, but only to grab the medieval mace from the shattered display. Rotating the spiked ball with a flick of his wrist in a figure-eight position, they slowly advanced as Meg crab-walked backward.

When her shoulders hit something not quite sturdy, she knew she'd found the second assailant. Extending her right leg, she swung around and swept him off his feet before he had a chance to react. This gave her the chance to jump up and once again take aim. The single shot hit the mace-wielding attacker in the shoulder before ricocheting off with a loud "ping."

Not only did they have thermal scrambling body-suits, but the gear was also highly bulletproof. Cool, she thought to herself with a heavy dollop of sarcasm. Maybe my runway boots can fly me out of here.

Bam.

The kick to the middle of her back brought Meg back to reality. Catching herself with the help of a stuffed wolfman, she avoided eating the ground, but probably not a cracked rib or two by the feel of it. After righting herself, she tilted her head to one side and then to the other to crack her neck.

"Oh, you wanna play?" she asked the baddies among the rubble. "Let's play."

Kick. Punch. Slam. Roll.

Swipe. Tackle. Shoot. Bite.

Evade. Push. Chop. Throw.

The trio used all moves and combinations in the Every Spy's Guide to Hand-to-Hand Combat and still came up even. Of course Meg was fighting two at a time, so really she was much better than them. But she was also really, really tired of getting beaten up.

Looking to take the fight to perhaps someplace where she could have an advantage, Meg ran to the only door in—and out—of the room. When she opened it, she knew she'd lost.

Because standing on the other side was Barb Brandon. If seeing her daughter in the middle of an all-out brawl with two assassins wasn't bad enough, she also had a gun aimed straight at her head.

"Mom?" Meg shrieked as she dropped her arms to her side. Wasting no time, one of the masked assailants kicked the gun out of her hand before buckling her knees from behind, forcing her to the ground.

"I'm so sorry, Megara," Barb sobbed, shaking where she stood. "I know you told me to stay put, but I got curious and—"

"Save the apologies, liebchen," said the woman keeping her in a chokehold and pointing the barrel of the dainty semi-automatic to her head. "We all know that you'll never take anything your daughter says seriously and she'll forever keep resenting you for it."

After getting over her initial shock at the reveal and then her quick anger at the personal jab, Meg didn't need introductions to know exactly who she was dealing with. The supermodel looks, the runway-ready outfit, and the confident demeanor all pointed to the missing member of the Alsace-Thuringen family.

"Hello, Astrid," Meg said with a satisfied smirk. Somehow she had suspected that Occam's razor had been in play during the supposed kidnapping plot. And now seeing that the most likely answer—in that the snatched victim was actually in cahoots with the perpetrators—was true, she could finally stop trying to unboggle the mystery.

"I have to say, I didn't think you'd reveal yourself so soon, but I'm thankful that you didn't make us follow you all over the world in a wild goose chase," she said with a lot more self-assurance than a person should have in that type of situation. "But I do have to ask. What the heck is up with all of those damn werewolf mounts in there?"

The rough poke of a gun barrel against the back of her head made Meg tilt forward. "Ouch."

"Should I do it now just to get her to shut up?" asked the woman who'd been one of Meg's attackers just a few minutes earlier.

Astrid took a moment to ponder. "No," she finally said as though she were just refusing a side of fries with lunch. "All that blood would be impossible to get out of the parquet floor. Let's go down to the courtyard to finish them off."

"Finish us off?" Barb screeched again as she was forced down the adjacent stairs. "What does she mean, Megara? What have you gotten us into? Where is the Congressman to help us?"

Meg sighed as she walked behind, also at the urging of a gun in her ribs. "So, there's no Congressman, Mother. And I'm not here to set up a speech about cultural heritage. It was all a lie, just like everything else I've told you about my job for the last five years."

Astrid laughed.

"Oh, you think that's funny?" Barb asked, exerting her university professor voice on the woman intent on executing her in a few minutes' time.

But it seemed to work. "No, ma'am," Astrid said, and Meg almost felt sorry for the girl.

Then she remembered how they all got into this mess.

"So about that faked kidnapping," she said, hoping to at least get an insight on the motivations behind everything before her upcoming demise.

"Pretty genius, wouldn't you say?" Astrid asked with a laugh as they left the building and entered the deserted courtyard.

Meg shrugged. "Only if you think putting out obvious signs pointing to your jealous cousin Wiktor as the culprit while leaving a sloppy trail of being in on it counts as genius."

Astrid waved for her thugs to position Meg on her knees in front of her before setting Barb in the same style next to her. Crossing her arms while tapping her own brow with the barrel of her weapon, she smiled again.

"I don't know," she began in her posh European accent. "I think that sets everything up nicely to then expose Henri as the real mastermind, using his innocent sister's naiveté to frame the usurper cousin who's plotting for the family inheritance."

"What?" Barb asked, looking thoroughly confused. "I'm sorry, but I don't follow."

Meg nodded. "Oh, I do, and you're right, Astrid. It is quite a good plan." Turning to her mother, she gave a quick wink before continuing. "You see, Mom. Through the order of succession followed in Luxenstein, Astrid could only become Grand Duchess after both her older brother Henri and her newly discovered cousin Wiktor had somehow become ineligible. That usually means death, but jailing or public outcry can also work. So she came up with a plan that would sully both of their names. No matter which outcome prevailed—the one where Wiktor was thought to be a ruthless kidnapper or Henri the cunning manipulator—Astrid would always be seen as the innocent victim."

Astrid clapped, the gun still dangerously waving in her hands. "Bravo. And now that we've gotten that whole Scooby Doo reveal out of the way, I think you can now die with a peace of mind."

Meg had hoped that her monologue about the intricacies of the plan would lead to something. Whether it was a revelation about a way out, an epiphany regarding how to fight back, or just a distraction for a rescue party that even she didn't know about didn't matter. But now she was here, kneeling on the hard-packed dirt in the middle of a monastery in Macedonia waiting for a bullet to the brain. And worse yet, her mother was in the same position right next to her.

"Can I just say something real quick?" Meg asked in a last ditch effort to stall. Living for a moment longer was better than the alternative. Turning to her mother, she forced a smile. Telling the overbearing, stubborn, and judgmental woman just how much she meant to her wasn't going to be easy, but if it was the last chance she had—

The sound of spinning rotors came before anyone saw or felt the helicopter. When it appeared in the sky above the roofline, it was too late for Astrid and her crew to attack. A steady spray of bullets on either side of the hostage circle prevented her from fleeing, and in the melee, the young heiress forgot about shooting Meg and Barb.

As the chopper landed, it stirred up so much dirt that visibility was nearly zero until the rescue party had them surrounded. It was only then that Meg recognized the man dressed in sleek combat gear with a rifle slung over his shoulder.

"Ryan?" she asked in a bewildered tone as her K Street consultant, bird enthusiast neighbor walked up and scooped her up into a grateful hug.

He squeezed her tight. "Yeah, but you can keep calling me Agent Finn, if you'd like."