A Spy Like Me (23 page)

With a sigh, I realized my job was done. But
my real work had yet to begin. I texted Dad to let him know I had
monthly girl issues but would make it to the final debriefing. When
I arrived at the Extravaganza, I stood on the side street. The
small groups of musicians played music and whisked me back to the
1800s. Mimes with their sad faces acted out their dramas. Sellers
cried out and promoted their homemade goodies. The smell of apples
and cinnamon floated in the air. It all brought me back to the
first Extravaganza, where I’d hoped to find Aimee but learned
Malcolm was a double agent, where I’d met Jolie and learned he was
a nefarious pastry chef. And then, where I shot the guy with a
tranquilizer dart.

Today would be different. Today I’d save my
mom.

I wandered past the tables, searching for a
table with the number 14. Magnificent entries surrounded me.
Les
Pouffant’s
was on my right, closed for the day. A sense of
unease sapped my confidence. Nothing ever went right for me in that
shop, and me and pastry shops were usually best buds.

I found my table at the far edge of the
blocked-off street, but when I saw it, my fists curled into balls
at my side. While I’d finished up my work for Spy Games, Jolie’s
minions had destroyed my entry. It looked like something from a Tim
Burton movie. And not in an artistic way. Gold, silver, and red
frosting bled across the white paper tablecloth. The wires that
held the cupcakes were twisted and deformed with sharp edges
sticking out. Even the cupcakes with a creamy fillings had been
slashed, their guts spilled. From what I could tell it had been a
masterpiece of little cakes placed in the formation of the Eiffel
Tower. Emotions whipped through me like the wind, tearing at my
insides. Shock. Surprise. Sadness. Anger. But the one that stayed
with me, lodged in my throat, was fear. If Jolie had no problem
destroying something he loved—pastries—what would he do with
me?

I cracked my knuckles. The fun and games were
over. Time for stage one. Infiltration.

Problem. A security guard blocked the door to
Jolie’s bakery. Well, he probably was a security guard, dressed in
dark colors and wearing sunglasses. I needed a distraction. With my
large purse on my shoulder, I smeared frosting from the ruined
Eiffel Tower á la cupcake onto my arms and a dab on my nose so I’d
look like one of Jolie’s pastry minions. I ran along the perimeter
of the Extravaganza then rushed up to the door of the bakery and
jerked the knob back and forth. The guard approached, liked I hoped
he would.

“
Arrete
!” His voice was sharp and
commanding.

I motioned to the frosting, mentioned Jolie’s
name, and pointed into the bakery. The guard narrowed his eyes. I
contorted my features into something I hoped looked like panic,
which didn’t take much effort. He nodded and strode off. I pulled
out the gadget that unlocked doors, stuck it into the keyhole, and
wiggled it around. Nothing.

I glanced over at Jolie’s table. The guard
was just reaching him. Damn. I wiggled harder, but nothing
happened. I changed hands and kept trying to force it to work.
Snap! The gadget broke. I’d have to talk to Dad about investing in
higher-quality devices, if he was really serious about this whole
spy thing.

Using my purse, I was about to punch a hole
through the door when a shadow blocked the sun and a chill
whispered across the back of my neck. I froze. Rough hands gripped
my arm and whipped me around. Jolie.

“Um,
Bonjour
?”

Jolie didn’t even crack a smile. Instead, he
unlocked the door and pushed me into the bakery. Okay, not quite
the way I’d envisioned this happening. He gave me a final push, and
I broke my forward momentum by slamming my hands against his front
counter.

I kept my back to him. A torrent of French
filled the shop. Normally, I love the French language but not
today. He continued to yell, his words falling on me like pieces of
glass. Technically, I was the more innocent of the two of us. Then
he switched to English.

“How dare you?” he roared. “I tried to
convince my partner you were not an innocent victim in all this.
You are a conniving spoiled brat.”

“Don’t hold back,” I shot out.

He waved his hands in disgust. “I would never
let my granddaughter talk like that. And I never would have worked
with your papa if—”

I flipped around. “Worked with my dad? What
are you talking about?” That made no sense. No way would Dad work
with a homicidal pastry chef.

“He asked me to be a part of his Spy Games.
Quite ironic, don’t you think?”

The knowing smile on Jolie’s face reflected
the truth. He knew I knew about him, and he didn’t care. I fiddled
with the flower pin on my shirt, a gift from Dad, pressing the
record button.

“Yes, quite, considering you’re the spy,” I
said.

He laughed, a deep belly laugh.

My anger went from simmering to rolling
waves. “It won’t be funny when you’re convicted and put in
jail.”

Tears streamed from his eyes. “Little girl.
You know nothing.”

“I know a lot,” I shouted. “I know you hired
Malcolm to take Aimee’s place so you could spy on my family.”

“HA!” The word burst from his mouth like a
gunshot. “Oh, you have brought me so much entertainment these past
weeks I do not know whether to get rid of you or to hire you onto
my staff.”

“I am not some sort of joke. This is
serious.” I stopped myself before blurting out that I was here to
rescue Mom.

He wiped his eyes. “Eh. When the night we’d
planned for your kidnapping went up in smoke, I made other
plans.”

“I don’t believe you.” I racked my brain and
couldn’t think of any near-kidnappings. No men in dark clothing.
Nobody offering me candy. Nothing.

“Let me explain.” He took a bow.

And they call Americans obnoxious.

“Malcolm was a plant.”

“Duh.” Okay that sounded totally childish. “I
know he took Aimee’s spot to get to me.”

“Wrong!” He burst out again, laughing. “He
was a plant at
Les Pouffant’s
. He was never a struggling
waiter in need of cash. He asked you out on a date and romanced you
because I paid him to.”

Right then and there I became a piece of
pastry dough, punched and slammed around until there was no air
left in me. I had my suspicions, but to hear it stated out loud
made it real. Too real.

“Why so pale? Malcolm is way out of your
league my dear. Forget him. He will bring you nothing but
heartache.”

“But why?” He’d tried to kidnap me before I
even had any thought about entering the pastry contest? “I’m a
nobody.”

He nodded. “True. But I needed to make sure.
Do not worry you passed the test.”

I stepped closer to him. “You needed to make
sure about what?”

“That is classified.” He made the motion like
he was zipping his lips.

My anger went from rolling waves past boiling
to the cracking stage. “You’re not the only ones with secrets,
Santa Claus.”

“Please, enlighten me.”

“I know things about you too. I know about
your precious Aimee. And I know your secret in the basement.”

Jolie stopped blabbing, his words dried up.
Slowly, a change came over him. His mustache twitched and he ran
the back of his hand across the bottom of his beard. His nostrils
flared and his face turned the color of a brilliant sunset. His
chest heaved in and out, and he stepped closer, pushing his face in
mine.

“How do you know about that?” His breath
smelled like peppermint and sugar.

It felt really good to have pulled something
over on him. “Sorry. I’m not at liberty to say.”

“What?” he blasted out.

My body trembled under his roar. I
straightened my back and stood firm. No fear. “Life’s not so funny
when you’re the one being fooled, is it?”

He growled and pushed me away in disgust.

“Honestly, if Aimee knew what a big bully you
really are, she’d probably never talk to you again. So, why don’t
you hand my mom over to me, and I’ll leave. And you can forget all
about me.”

A devious smile pranced across his face. “I
know nothing of your mother.”

I looked out the window and gasped. “
Zut
alors
!”

Quick as lightning Jolie fell for the oldest
trick in the book and whipped his head around to see what happened.
I reached into my large purse and grabbed my taser. With one quick
thrust I aimed for his big belly. But he wasn’t as stupid as he
looked. He caught my wrist inches from his belly. His grip
tightened on my arm until I groaned in pain.

“You want to play with the big boys?
Non
? Then I will treat you like one.” He twisted my wrist
around and jammed the end of the taser into my side.

Bolts of electricity entered my body, zaps of
pain shot through my limbs. I felt numb. I hit the floor with no
chance of blocking my fall. Drool wet the side of my cheek. Jolie’s
evil cackle filled the air and settled deep into my soul. My body
twitched. He grabbed my wrists and dragged me across the floor. I
mumbled out words of protest. My head lolled back and we passed the
glass case with fresh pastries and entered the kitchen. A door
creaked open, and he brought his face close to mine. The smell of
peppermint washed over me.

“You can’t fool me. I know you have something
to do with the circles burned onto my door. I will take your family
out before they can finish me off.”

With that, he gave me a push down the
stairs.

I screamed as wood jabbed, poked, and whammed
into every part of my body all the way down the steps. Finally the
world stopped spinning, and I lay on the floor. Throbbing pain
racked my body. The dull glow from a flickering light on the
ceiling blurred in out of view. I focused. Cracks ran down the
plastered walls and grit was on the floor. Jolie’s last words were
burned into my mind. My family wanted to take him out? Huh?

The door was shut and probably locked at the
top of the stairs. Pouffant actually did me a favor. Just a short
jaunt down the passageway, and I’d be at the catacombs. But he’d be
back. He wouldn’t leave me alone with access to his underground
tunnels filled with his secrets. I had to get there first. I had to
save Mom and then keep running and exit through Jolie’s house. I
think I could find it again. I hoped.

With a groan, I stood up. The room spun, and
I waited for my vision to clear. My fingers traced a path through
the grime on the walls as I headed toward the door in the back.
Creepy crawlies ran up and down my spine the closer I got. I turned
the knob and stared down into the never-ending darkness.

I pulled a flashlight from my pack and made
my way down. The steps passed under my feet quickly, winding down
and around until I reached the bottom. Flashing the light ahead of
me, I ran through the tunnels, ignoring the cobwebs and bones. I
tried to remember the path I took the last time, but all the walls
and tunnels looked the same. With each turn, fear of failure
weighed on my shoulders, heavier than the thick air pressing in on
me. As the tunnels twisted and turned, I realized there were no
forks or turns. It was a straight shot. I sprinted/hobbled harder
until I burst into a cavernous room.

“Mom!” I called as loud as I dared.

If my life were a reality TV show, glitter
and confetti would drop from the sky and the crowds would cheer.
With arms open wide, a cheesy grin on my face, I dreamed of running
into her arms. We’d escape into the sunshine, maybe stop at a café
and sip a few lattes. I think I even smelled whipped cream and a
bit of hazelnut. But I didn’t find Mom. I came to a halt and stared
in shock.

A man sat slumped over in the chair, snoring
gently. Fresh ropes bound his ankles and hands. A dirty robe hung
like an old curtain on his body. It had lost its color due to all
the grit. It was tan, maybe? I tiptoed closer, afraid to wake him
but knowing I needed to. Why this man? I expected Mom. Did this
mean Mom was out free and clear? Or did they have her tied up in a
separate cavern. The mystery doubled.

He murmured in his sleep, but I couldn’t
understand him. I glanced back toward the darkened tunnel. Jolie’s
minions would be here soon. I gently shook the man’s shoulder.
Once, and then again. Finally he lifted his head and tried to focus
on me. His eyes were so dark brown the whites appeared very white.
His face was pale from a lack of sun, and his hair fell to his ears
in an uncombed mess. Underneath the dirt and grime, he probably
wasn’t too much older than me.

“You,” he whispered.

I took a step back.
Me
? I got down on
my knees. “You know me?”

“It’s you. You’re real.” He had a heavy
accent I didn’t recognize, but he spoke perfect English.

He tried to move his arms, and his face
flashed with pain. What was I thinking?

“Let me untie you. I’m so sorry.”

I moved to his back and pulled out the knife
tucked into my sock and under my pant leg. With one slice, his
hands were free and then his feet. He rubbed his wrists and then
reached out to me. He ran his fingers down my hair.

“Long and black. I knew it.”

I let him touch me because clearly he wasn’t
in his right mind.

“You don’t know me, sir.”

Compassion surged through me. The last time I
was here. The empty chair. He must be the prisoner who’d escaped.
Obviously, he hadn’t made it. He probably hadn’t eaten a proper
meal in forever.

“I don’t know how long you’ve been here but
we need to go.” I tried to help him up. “I know a way out.”

“I can’t believe it’s you.” He stared off,
and the start of a smile tugged at his mouth. His eyes grew moist,
but he shook it off. “No. I need to talk to you.”