I'd Tell You I Love You But Then I'd Have to Kill You (22 page)

Okay, so it wasn't flying so much as skirting between two buildings on a zip line, but still, it felt good to be weightless.

Josh was behind me. I zoomed toward what lay ahead, and at that height and that speed, I didn't have a chance to look back. I touched down, and it felt natural to hear Eva tell Tina, "We're heading for the breaker boxes."

It was only right that Courtney should say, "Copy that," and drag Mick toward the fire escape on the west side.

We were Gallagher Girls on a mission—doing what we do best. So I didn't think about what had just happened, not even when Bex asked, "You okay?"

"I'm fine," I told her, and in that adrenaline-filled moment, it was true.

We ran to the south side, and Bex used a small tube that looks like a lipstick but really is a super-intense acidic cream. I totally don't recommend getting them mixed up, by the way, because, just as soon as Bex drew a big circle in the roof, the acid starting eating away, and thirty seconds later I was rappeling down into the warehouse below.

The building was a maze of tall metal shelves stacked with pallets. I imagined the beeping of forklifts as Bex and I crept through the south side of the building, trusting that our classmates were simultaneously creeping through the north.

"He's taller than I expected," Bex whispered as she waited for me to silently clear a corner.

"Yeah, whatev—"

But just then, a guy I recognized from the maintenance department jumped from a high shelf. He'd descended through the air like a big, black crow, but Bex and I had sensed him, felt his shadow. I stepped aside, and he landed with a thud against one of the shelves. He didn't even hesitate before spinning around to kick, but Bex was ready and slapped a Napotine patch right in the middle of his forehead. (I am really glad Dr. Fibs quit smoking, by the way, because, besides the obvious health benefits, the idea of putting tranquilizers on stickers is awesome.)

Bex and I were moving again through the dark maze when she said, "You're gonna find someone else. Someone even hotter. With even better hair!"
Lie.
But a nice one.

We crept farther down the aisle, carefully listening, sensing our surroundings (after all, if Mr. Solomon had called in favors from the maintenance department, then he was taking this finals thing
seriously.)

"Beta team, how's it going?" I asked, but was met with static-y silence. Bex and I shared a worried glance.
This is
not good.
"Charlie team?" Nothing from that end either.

I felt like a rat stuck in a maze, looking for a block of cheese. Every corner was dangerous. Every step could be a trap. So Bex and I looked at each other, recognition dawned, and we did what great spies always do: we looked up.

After climbing twenty feet to the top of the shelves, we could see men patrolling the paths beneath us as Bex and I moved stealthily above, drawing closer to the small office in the center of the building.

The office had interior walls that were probably twenty feet tall, far shorter than the warehouse roof that loomed, dark and cold, above us. We stopped and Bex held a pair of binocuglasses to her eyes, then handed them to me. "One guess who's sitting on the package?"

I peered into the small room and said, "Solomon."

Bex put her hand to her ear and said, "Beta team and Charlie team. We are in position. I repeat, Alpha team is—"

But before Bex could finish, I felt something grab my foot. I kicked, trying to free myself I turned to Bex, but she was gone. There was scuffling on the ground. I turned, saw the beefy hand that held my ankle, heard boxes falling to the floor below.

I couldn't jerk free, and soon I was falling past the heavy metal shelves, so I reached out and grabbed one, and hung there for a moment, trying to turn my momentum and pull myself back up. But it was too late.

Something pulled again, and this time I hit the floor, felt the cold, dusty concrete beneath my hands, and saw a pair of size fourteen work boots staring me in my face.

This is not good.

I tried to roll, to kick, to flip up and catch my opponent in the chin with my feet, but before I could budge, I realized my arms had stopped working.

"Come on, Cam," Bubblegum Guard said. "It's over, girl. I got you." He righted me and steered me around the corner, where Bex was being held by two maintenance guys (both of whom were bleeding).

"Nice going, though," Bubblegum Guard whispered as he dragged me toward the office door. Somehow, I don't think real international bad guys will be that nice. But I can hope.

I reeled through my options: damsel in distress, twisted ankle, fake seizure, head-butt to the nose? Something told me Bubblegum Guard wasn't going to be taken down by any of them. He had at least fifty pounds and fifteen years on me, but, as my mother says, I've always been a squirmer.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Morgan," Mr. Solomon said, strolling out of the office toward me. "But it's over. You don't have the disk. You have failed to meet your mission—"

It looked like it was over. He sounded like it was over. But, on cue, Liz cut the power and the lights.

Dark silhouettes flew from out of nowhere. It almost seemed to be raining Gallagher Girls. I wish I could include a blow-by-blow account, but everything happened too fast. Fists flew. Kicks struck home. I heard heavy bodies fall to the floor as Napotine patches made contact with skin.

The building must have been equipped with emergency lights, because, after a minute in the dark, an eerie yellow glow grew within the enormous space, and everything seemed to go still as the lights came on. I saw Bex level one of the guards and then bolt for the office, but just as she reached the threshold she must have tripped a motion detector, because an alarm sounded, and the room turned from office to prison as bars shot up from the floor, building a cage around the very thing we needed.

Bex banged against the bars, as behind her, Joe Solomon said, "Sorry, ladies, but I'm afraid this is the end of your mission." He shook his head. Instead of looking triumphant, he seemed sad, almost heartbroken. "I tried to tell you how important this is. I tried to get you ready, and now look at you." We were bloody and sore, but we were still standing, yet Mr. Solomon sounded guilty and disappointed. "How were you going to get out of here? What was your extraction plan? Were you really willing to sacrifice three quarters of your team for nothing?" He shook his head again and pulled away from us. "I don't want to see any of you next semester. I don't want that on my conscience."

"Excuse me, sir," I said. "But does that apply even if we have the disk?"

He laughed a quick, tired, barely audible laugh, reminding us all what our sisters have known for centuries— that men will always underestimate girls. Even Gallagher Girls.

"That disk," I said, pointing behind him to the cage that completely surrounded the small office except for the thin gaps where the floor opened up to allow the bars to shoot through. The space was far too small for a grown man to fit through. No, for that it would take a girl—preferably one the size of Anna Fetterman.

Dumbstruck, Mr. Solomon and the rest of his team stared as little Anna waved then slithered back through the gaps in the floor and out of sight. Some of the men bolted after her, but Joe Solomon stared on.

"Well," he said, "I guess—"

But before he could finish, a loud crashing sound filled the air. The room seemed full of dust and smoke and the sound of splintering lumber. Bubblegum Guard threw me against the wall, putting his body between me and harm as steel bent and shelves toppled, one right after another, falling like dominoes stacked in row.

It seemed like it took forever for Bubblegum Guard to let go of me. I think he was dazed—I know I definitely was. After all, it's not every day you A) break up with your secret boyfriend, B) get kidnapped by (sort of) former government operatives, and C) have the aforementioned secret boyfriend attempt to rescue you by driving a forklift through a wall.

"Cammie!" I heard Josh cry through the dust, but I couldn't answer him—not then. Mr. Solomon was on the floor. He had planned for every contingency but one—the persistence of a regular boy who has the misfortune of loving an exceptional girl.

"Cammie!" Josh said through the dust that was swarming around the forklift as he climbed down to stand atop the pile of rubble. "We. Need. To. Talk."

"Yes," said a voice behind me. I turned to see my mother standing there. My strong, beautiful, brilliant mother. "We do."

Mr. Solomon was stirring. Bubblegum Guard was fanning the dust out of the air, and Bex was grinning like this was the most fun she'd ever had in her entire life. It was over—the test, the lies, everything. It was over, so I did the only thing I could.

"Josh," I said, "I'd like you to meet my mom."

After I had learned the truth about my parents, and before I came to the Gallagher Academy, the only time I wasn't worried was when they were both within my sight. I think that's when I started being The Chameleon. I'd creep into their bedroom and watch them sleep. I'd lie silently behind the sofa, listening to the sounds of the TV as they relaxed in the evening. But even for me, the night of the CoveOps final was a long one.

23:00 hours: Operatives return to headquarters and are instructed to go upstairs and go to bed.

23:40 hours: Tina Walters reports that Headmistress Morgan has locked herself in her office with The Subject.

01:19 hours: The Operative succeeds in getting all the sawdust and gunk out of her hair.

02:30 hours: Majority of sophomores stop studying for COW final and go to bed.

04:00 hours: The Operative still can't fall asleep. The Operative realizes that the best-case scenario would involve a glass of "memory modification" tea and The Subject waking up in his own bed in a few hours without a single memory of what happened the night before. The Operative doesn't let herself think about the worst-case scenario.

 
At seven o'clock the next morning, I'd had enough of waiting, so I knocked on my mother's office door. I thought I was prepared for anything—that after the day I'd had before, nothing could knock me off guard ever again.

I was wrong.

"Hi," Josh said.

"What… Huh … How …" I could tell by the look on his face that he was seriously beginning to doubt my newly revealed genius status, but I couldn't help it—he should have been gone before then. I wasn't supposed to have to face him. We weren't supposed to have that awkward moment of standing crowded together in the doorway of my mother's office. The two halves of my life weren't supposed to collide.

"Were you here all night?" I asked when I finally regained my ability for coherent thought.

His eyes were red and heavy, but he didn't look like someone who was eager to go to sleep. In fact, he looked like someone who was never going to sleep again.

He rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, I called and told my mom I was staying at Dillon's. They…they didn't know anything about…They were cool with it."

"Yeah," I said. "We don't exactly show up on caller ID."

It wasn't supposed to be funny, but "Old Josh" would have laughed or smiled that slow, melting smile. "New Josh" just stood there—looking at me.

"Cammie." My mother's voice carried clearly through the doorway and echoed through the Hall of History. "Come in here, please."

I stepped inside, brushing against him for a moment that didn't last nearly long enough.

"I'll…" He motioned to the benches at the top of the stairs. "Your mom and that guy—they said I could wait."

But I didn't want him to wait. If he did, I'd have to look him in the eye; I'd have to say things that only make sense in a language even I don't know. I wanted him to walk away and not look back. But before I could say so, Mom said, "Cameron, now!" and I knew we were out of time. In so many ways.

She didn't hug and kiss me—which was strange. Not unexpected, but it gave seeing her an unfinished feeling, like I should stay standing by the door, waiting for her "How's it going, kiddo?" before I took a seat on the sofa and asked what was for supper. I glanced around and saw Mr. Solomon in the corner of the room. "Sleep well?" he asked.

"Not really."
Not a lie.

"I enjoyed visiting with Josh," my mom said. "He seems nice." He
is.
"It was nice to meet him finally."

"Yeah, I …" Then I realized something was wrong. "Wait!"

Mom smiled at Mr. Solomon and—can you believe it— he actually smiled back. With teeth and everything! (Okay, so I might have thought he was kind of hot then. But only for a second or two.)

"Honey, you're good," Mom said to my look of utter disbelief. "But give us some credit."

Oh my gosh!
I sank onto the leather sofa. "How …" There were so many ways to finish that sentence: how long had they known? How far were they willing to let me go? How did they find out?

"You've been very busy," Mom said. She sat down in one of the beautiful leather chairs across from me and crossed one perfect leg over the other.

"You mean you didn't wonder how we found you last night?" Mr. Solomon asked.

No, I hadn't wondered. Everything had happened so fast, and hours later I was still riding that same wave of emotion. I felt like an idiot—a great, big, hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar fool.

"Cammie, this is not an ordinary school—it can't be, with such exceptional students. What you did was reckless and careless, and if you tried a stunt like that in the field, lives would be put at risk and operations could fail. You know that. Don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"That being said, as someone with a good deal of experience"—she glanced at Mr. Solomon, who nodded—"it was a rather
impressive
display."

"It was?" I looked between the two of them, expecting a trapdoor to open up and send me zooming to the dungeon. "I'm not… in trouble?"

Mom tilted her head, weighing her words. "Let's just say, you've had one of the more extensive Covert Operations exercises this school has ever allowed."

"Oh,"
I said, and the word sounded heavy.

"But, Cam," Mom said, leaning forward, "why didn't you come to me?"

She sounded hurt. It was torture—the hard kind.

"I don't know."
Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.
"I just…" It was too late; my voice was cracking. "I didn't want you to be ashamed of me."

"Her
ashamed?" Mr. Solomon said, and it took me a split second to remember that he was even in the room. "You think
she
could have gotten away with as much as you did at your age?" He laughed, then smiled. "That wasn't your mom in you—that was your dad."

He stood and strolled to the window. I saw his reflection in the sunny glass as he spoke. "He always said you were going to be good."
Okay, so maybe he was still a little hot…
"Cammie, I think I've been pretty hard on you this semester," Joe Solomon said, as if letting me in on a secret. "You know why?"

Because you hate me
was the answer that sprang to mind, though I knew it wasn't the right one.

"I've already lost one member of the Morgan family I care about." He looked between me and my mom. "So I'd give about anything for you to never come into my classroom again." Shocked and hurt, I could do nothing but stare at him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out my form where I'd marked the Covert Operations box. "Are you sure you don't want to find a nice safe desk or lab somewhere?" I didn't answer, so after a moment he refolded the form and put it back in his pocket. "Well, if you're going to be in the field—you're going to be ready. I owe your old man that much." Sadness seeped into his voice, and for the first time I saw Joe Solomon as human. "I owe him more than that."

I glanced toward my mother, who gave him a sad, knowing smile.

"Have a good break, Cammie," Mr. Solomon said, sounding like his old self as he reached for the door. "Rest up. Next semester won't be the cakewalk you just had."

That
was a cakewalk?! I wanted to scream, but Joe Solomon was already gone. I wanted answers from him. How well had he known my dad? Why did he come to the Gallagher Academy now? Why did I get the feeling there was more to the story?

But then my mom spoke, and I realized we were alone. My defenses fell, and I felt like I could curl up beside her and sleep straight through Christmas.

"Cammie," she said, moving to sit beside me. "I'm not glad you lied to me. I'm not glad you broke the rules, but there is one part of this that has made me very proud."

"The computer stuff?" I guessed. "Because, really, that was all Liz. I didn't—"

"No, kiddo. That's not it." She reached down and took my hand. "Do you know that your dad and I weren't sure we wanted you to go to school here?"

I've heard a lot of crazy things in my life, but that one took my breath away. "But… you were a Gallagher Girl…. I'm a legacy…. It's …"

"Sweetheart," Mom stopped me. "When we came here, I knew I'd be taking away everything that isn't inside these walls. I didn't want this to be the only life you know." She smoothed my hair. "Your dad and I used to talk about whether this was the best place for you."

"But what… how did you decide?" I asked, but as soon as I had said the words, I knew it was a stupid question.

"Yeah, kiddo, when we lost your father I knew I had to get out of the field…"

"And you needed a job?" I tried to finish for her.

She shook me off. "I needed to come home."

When did I start crying? I really didn't know. I really didn't care.

She smoothed my hair and said, "But the thing I worried most about was that you'd spend your childhood learning to be hard and strong and never learn that it's okay to be soft and sweet." She straightened beside me, forced me to look into her eyes. "Doing what we do, it doesn't mean turning off the part of yourself that loves, Cam. I loved your father…I
love
your father.
And you.
If I thought you would have to give that up … to never know that… I would take you as far away from this place as we could go."

"I know," I said.
Not a lie.

"Good. I'm glad you're smart enough to know that," she said, then pushed me away. "Now go on. You've got tests to take."

I ran my hands across my face, searching for stray tears, then I stood and headed toward the door. But before I could leave, she stopped me.

"It would have been okay, you know, kiddo? To mark that other box."

I looked back at her, and I saw not the headmistress or the spy or even the mother, but the woman I'd seen crying.

And just when I thought I couldn't love her more.

"I wouldn't touch that if I were you."

Josh spun around at the sound of my words. Still, his fingers were perilously close to Gilly's sword. "We're pretty good at keeping things protected around here," I said, inching closer.

He put his hands in his pockets. That was probably the safest place for them, but the gesture reminded me of the first night we'd met. I longed for that dark street, for the chance to do things over.

"So," he said. "A spy, huh?" His eyes never left the sword. I couldn't blame him. I didn't want to look at me, either.

"Yeah."

"That explains a lot."

"So they told you?" I asked.

He nodded. "Yeah, I got the grand tour."

Somehow, I found that really hard to believe, but I wasn't exactly in a position to say,
Did you see the nuclear powered hovercraft we keep in the basement,
so I just nodded, too.

"Josh, you know you can't ever—"

"Tell anyone?" He looked at me. "Yeah, they told me."

"I mean,
ever,
Josh.
Ever."

"I know," he said. "I can keep a secret."

The words stung. They were supposed to.

There we were, in a room dedicated to secret lives and secret triumphs. He could see it all from where he stood. My sisterhood was bare to him. I was exposed, but there was more between us than ever before.

"I'm sorry I lied. I'm sorry I'm not… normal."

"No, Cammie, I get the spy thing," he said, spinning on me. "But you didn't just lie about where you go to school." His voice was harsh, but wounded. His eyes seemed almost bruised. "I don't even know who you are."

"Yes, you do," I said. "You know everything that matters."

"Your dad?" he asked.

I froze. "It's classified—what happened—I couldn't tell you. I wanted to, but—"

"Then just tell me he died. Tell me your mom can't cook and you're an only child. Don't…make up a family. Don't make up another life." Josh looked over the railing along the Hall of History, into the towering foyer of the Gallagher Mansion, and said, "What's so great about normal?"

I might have been the genius, but Josh was the one to see the truth. For a while there, I had needed another life, a trial life—normal on a temporary basis. The problem was looking into the wounded eyes of someone I cared about and telling him that I would never be free to really love him, because … well… then I'd have to kill him.

Then, I realized where we were—what he was looking at. JOSH KNOWS! I mentally screamed. There doesn't have to be any more lying. He's inside. He's one of us (kind of). He's…

But Josh was heading down the stairs. I bolted forward, yelling, "Wait, Josh. Wait! It's okay now. It's…"

When he reached the floor, he stopped and pulled his hand out of his pocket. "Do you want these?" I saw the earrings lying in his palm.

"Yes," I said, nodding, biting back tears. I flew down the stairs, and he shuffled them into my hands so quickly I never even felt his touch. "I love them. I didn't want to—"