The English Assassin
Chapter One
Switzerland
1975
Marguerite Rolfe was digging in her garden because of the secrets she'd found
hidden in her husband's study. It was late to be working in the garden, well
past midnight by now. The spring thaw had left the earth soft and moist, and her
spade split the soil with little effort, allowing her to progress with minimal
noise. For this she was grateful. Her husband and daughter were asleep in the
villa, and she didn't want to wake them.
Why couldn't it have been something simple, like love letters from another
woman? There would have been a good row, Marguerite would have confessed her own
affair. Lovers would have been relinquished, and soon their home would return
to normal. But she hadn't found love letters-she'd found something much worse.
For a moment she blamed herself. If she hadn't been search ... read full excerpt from English Assasin, The ebook
