A Spy Like Me (9 page)

Malcolm leaned back with a cookie, an amused
look on his face.

I licked my dry lips. How exactly do I tell a
grandmother that her only living relative is missing? “We were in
the neighborhood and thought we’d drop by for a visit. Is Aimee
here?”

Marie lowered her eyebrows. “Aimee should be
at work. Is everything okay?”

Malcolm kicked me under the table as if to
say “good one.”

“Um, my dad gave certain staff the day off to
rest.”

Marie put her teacup down. “I hope he’s not
thinking of letting her go, because we really depend on her
earnings.”

“No, no, nothing like that. Aimee is a valued
part of the team.”

A light sweat broke out on my forehead, and I
could feel a nervous rash spread across my neck. I decided on a
more direct approach. “Did Aimee tell you where she was headed
today?”

“I have not seen Aimee since she left for
work yesterday morning.”

Fear bloomed in my chest, pressing against my
lungs, making it hard to breathe. It was hard to laugh and act like
nothing was the matter.

She clasped her hands in her lap. “Should I
be worried?”

I waved my hand and laughed, probably a
little too loud to be convincing. “No, not at all. She slept at my
place last night and um, er, left early this morning. She borrowed
a sweater of mine last week. Do you think I could take a look in
her room?”

If Aimee was on any kind of innocent trip,
her grandmother would know about it.

“Sure, dear. You remember. First room on the
right.”

I excused myself from the table, needing to
be alone.

“Do you need help, sweetie?” Malcolm
asked.

I mustered the most sugary voice I could.
“I’ve got it, pumpkin. Be right back.”

I was at the stairs when I heard Marie
encourage Malcolm to go with me. She needed to clean up in the
kitchen, and even though she wasn’t young, she wasn’t that behind
the times either. I begged to differ with the flowered apron.

I took the stairs two at a time. In the
doorway, I looked over the room before poking around.

With a warm hand on my waist, which I tried
to ignore, Malcolm said, “Good one down there. You almost sent her
to an early grave. Was I supposed to learn from that?”

“No one’s perfect.” I kept my eyes on the
room. It looked different and I wasn’t sure why. I couldn’t
remember if the pink and green flowered wallpaper, cracked and
peeling in places, was the same or not.

“What’s our next lesson, boss?” His breath
tickled my ear. Shivers rippled down my spine. In a good way.

I promptly moved into the room, desperate to
find proof she
was
on vacation. I strode over to her jewelry
box. Most of it was gone except for a necklace. I picked it up and
let the beads poke into my skin before letting them slide from my
fingers. I threw open the doors to her closet to find half of her
clothes gone. Except for a pair of hiking boots. She’d never leave
without her hiking boots.

Malcolm fussed around in the room behind me.
“No ticket reservations or books on Europe or hotel reservations.
You might be right.”

The reality that my best friend was most
likely kidnapped hit me in the gut. I slumped to the floor and
leaned against her dresser.

Malcolm sat next to me. “I’m sorry.”

He rubbed my shoulders, easing out the
tension, then he wrapped his arms around me. Slow-burning warmth
spread through my chest. I enjoyed the comfort of his body close to
mine a little too much, but did he think I was going to break down
and cry or something? Hardly. I whipped out my cell and sent an
email to my home computer, reminding myself to check up on Marie
next week. Until Aimee returned, or I’d rescued her, I’d make sure
Marie was okay.

I shook off the temptation to call Dad with
proof that Aimee could indeed be missing. He’d already screwed up
his chance to work with me, and he’d probably find some way to
trivialize my evidence and point out all my overreactions.

“What now?” Malcolm asked.

We stood as I answered. “When we make a
mistake, we do everything in our power to fix it.”

“Mistake?”

“If Aimee was kidnapped, it’s my fault, and
I’m going to find out what happened.”

And I was ninety nine percent sure I knew
who’d done it.

The next morning, I whipped off the covers as
soon as Dad left. I changed into my favorite spy jeans, the ones
with the stylish rips right above the knee, and a grey long-sleeved
shirt. I had a mission. I was ready to spy—I mean train a spy.

After waiting a few minutes to make sure Dad
wasn’t coming back, I opened the door and searched our non-existent
yard. Malcolm stepped out from behind the hedge.

I cracked up. He wore black jeans, a black
shirt, and a black ski hat pulled over his dark hair. He also
carried a small black backpack.

“What?” He pulled an innocent baby face quite
effectively.

“Are you trying to get arrested for robbing a
bank?”

“You said to wear spy clothes.”

“Yes, I did.” I motioned him inside. “We
don’t have much time. My dad will take like an hour running, and I
want to be gone before he gets back.”

“I have a few essentials like candy bars in
case we get stuck or trapped.” He stepped inside, and I realized
why spies dress like that in the movies. Because it’s totally hot.
Dang, he looked good in black.

“What now?” he asked.

“Right.” I shook it off. “Follow me.” I
headed back to Dad’s office/bedroom, which he leaves unlocked. I
strode across the room to his private filing cabinet.

“No coffee this morning? Or perhaps a stroll
to the patisserie?”

I scowled at him and pulled a paper clip from
my pocket. Then I proceeded to untwist it. “Lesson for the day. How
to pick a lock.”

Malcolm glanced back at the door. “But this
is your dad’s office.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Why are you spying on your dad?”

I’d like to say my dad is a high-profile spy
and this is where he hides the world’s best-kept secret. But I’d be
lying. “Client files.”

On my knees, I wiggled the end of the paper
clip into the small keyhole of the bottom drawer. Malcolm crouched
close by. Sweat broke out on my forehead when I didn’t hear the
click. After several minutes of jiggling, I handed it to him.

“Okay, I showed you how to do it. Now it’s
your turn.”

“I don’t feel right about this.”

“This is the only way to find Aimee. Trust
me.”

Malcolm leaned over and jiggled the paper
clip in the lock. He bit his lower lip and stared at it. After a
few minutes, I heard a click and the drawer opened.

“Okay, move over. Keep watch out the window
for my dad.”

I flipped through the files and found
P
quickly. Peyton’s file was the first one. I opened it and
scanned it, my heart in my throat. I’d never realized how many
personal questions Dad asks. Maybe to tailor the games to the
clients’ needs? I wasn’t sure. But Peyton hadn’t filled out any of
the questions about his life, his family, or his job. Maybe he’d
gotten fired or divorced. Even so, a crappy life wasn’t a ticket to
Jerksville.

“Your dad!”

“Impossible!” I crushed the file on Peyton in
my grip. “He could only have gotten in a few miles.”

“Maybe he cut it short. But he’s across the
street and he’s booking it.”

“Crap.” I grabbed a pen from the desk and
scribbled the address on my hand.

The door opened and slammed. His footsteps
pounded in the hallway. The phone rang.

“Double crap. Under the bed.” I gently closed
the file drawer and then dove under the open futon where Dad slept.
“Hurry up,” I whispered.

Malcolm crawled in behind me, and seconds
before Dad walked in, I yanked his comforter farther off the bed to
hide us.

Dad answered his phone a little breathless.
He must have had a teleconference and forgotten. Just my luck. If
he found us, not only would Malcolm be fired, but Dad would never
trust me again.

As he chatted, I became very aware of the
wannabe spy lying behind me. His breath hit the back of my neck,
causing me to shiver.

“Admit it,” he whispered. “You couldn’t
unlock the filing cabinet.”

“It was part of your training.”

Dad stopped talking for a second and I didn’t
dare say anything else. I prayed he wouldn’t need to get into his
client files. I’d put myself in a dangerous position, but it was
all for Aimee.

“I was hoping we’d have a bit more time to
pay off those loans,” Dad said. “The business has only been running
for a few months.”

Malcolm faded into the background.

Dad’s voice grew tense, like when he’d argue
with Mom. “Most small businesses need at least five to ten years to
pay off. I need more time.”

Strand by strand, I pulled microfibers from
the rug. Money trouble?

“Yes, I understand the economy is hard. I’ll
have the first payment by the end of the month.”

Spy Games was popular and doing well, wasn’t
it? This was Mom’s apartment, but I never knew we lived here
because we couldn’t afford anything else. I gulped. What about all
the money I wasted on pastries and lattes? Malcolm seemed to sense
this and placed his hand on my arm. I remembered the Extravaganza I
entered. Something on the advertisement mentioned prize money. I
thought about Mom’s money stashed in the closet. Maybe I could
truly help out, instead of screwing everything up.

Malcolm found my hand and entwined his
fingers with mine. I closed my eyes and listened to Dad’s words.
“I’ll find the money somehow. I can sell off some assets.”

Assets? Like our house in Pennsylvania? I
blocked out the rest of the conversation. Instead, I focused on the
softness of Malcolm’s hand and the warmth of his body, wishing I
could snuggle into him. I hoped the penned address on my hand
wasn’t getting smudged, because finding Peyton was next on my
list.

An hour later, we were crouched in the
prickly bushes outside Peyton’s rented apartment. The tall brick
buildings were built for tourists and quick money. Not exactly high
class, but it was still in Paris.

Malcolm focused on the front of the building.
“Do you think Aimee could be here?”

“I doubt it, but at some point she probably
was.” My voice caught, betraying the state of my nerves. I wasn’t
exactly a pro at breaking the law. “You saw how psycho Peyton was
yesterday. When you, um, saved me.”

“Was he mad at Aimee too?”

I stayed quiet when a young family burst from
the front door in a babble of excitement, ready for a day of
exploring. A young couple entered the building, then I whispered,
“He was mad at both of us, but it was mostly my fault.”

“Are we going to scale the wall and break in
through a window?” Malcolm broke a twig in half that was sticking
into his back. “Because sitting in this bush kinda sucks.”

“We’re not superheroes.” I yanked the ski cap
off his head and threw it behind the bushes. “Watch and learn.” I
waltzed up the front walk and right through the door. I took the
stairs to the third floor, with Malcolm at my heels.

“There are two different ways to enter a room
when we’re not sure what we’ll find,” I whispered. “There’s the
‘button hook,’ which is just bursting into the room. We’re going to
‘slice the pie.’ Normally, we’d need three people for this. One, to
keep an eye on the hall, one to open the door, and one to peek in
and look for any danger.”

Malcolm pursed his lips to the side and took
a step back. “But we have only two.”

“I’ll open the door, and you peek in. I don’t
think we’re in too much trouble in this apartment building.”

“What if he’s in the room?”

“It’s prime tourist-time. He’s probably out
soaking in more of the Eiffel before leaving for home.”

I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt.
It quickly disappeared when I thought about Aimee, possibly tied up
and stuffed in a closet.

On tiptoes, I approached #307 and pressed my
ear to the door. Silence. Good for us, but possibly terrible for
Aimee. From my backpack, I pulled out a flat-sided hairpin and
poked one end into the lock. My hands shook as I wiggled it. I
poked it into the hole, and I prayed.

After a few minutes of intense humiliation,
the lock clicked. Malcolm turned the knob and opened the door a
crack. I stuffed the hairpin in my back pocket, relieved. I held up
fingers, counting to three. Each breath sounded like a freight
train in my ears. Breaking and entering went against every moral
fiber in my being. Okay, peeking at Dad’s files didn’t count.

I gently kicked open the door. This was for
Aimee.

Malcolm peeked in from the side. He gave a
thumbs up, and we entered. A tiny kitchen with a table for two
opened into a living room with a plaid couch and a matching chair.
I smelled bacon. My heartbeat felt like gunshots going off in my
chest.

“You check the kitchen. I’ll find the
bedroom. Look for anything that might be a clue—tickets, receipts,
maps, anything.”

I ran down a hallway that branched off the
living room and went back to the bedroom. I whipped open the closet
door. Nothing. It was a long shot and would’ve been way too easy.
Not knowing how much time we had, I opened drawers, looked in
suitcases and searched under the pillow and bed.

Cliff Peyton was kinda boring. On his
nightstand was a Breathe-Right nose strip, a detailed map of Paris,
and Sydney Sheldon’s
If Tomorrow Comes
. Nothing too
suspicious. In the nightstand drawer was a tin of breath mints and
tickets for the Eiffel tower.

“I might’ve found something.” Malcolm stood
in the doorway, a coil of rope dangling from his hands.