A Spy Like Me (12 page)

I relented and couldn’t help but smile. “Did
we enjoy our honeymoon?”

Malcolm didn’t say anything but traced his
fingers down my back. My legs grew weak, and I leaned into him a
little bit more.

He kissed the side of my head and whispered,
“Oh, yeah.”

I just about lost my breath when he said
that. For once I didn’t have anything to say. My heart was lodged
in my throat. He ran his fingers down my arms and goose bumps
quickly followed. He laced our hands and pressed his face into the
crook of my neck.

“I’ll play out any fantasy for you, Savvy
Bent, if it will keep a smile on your face.” Then he gently kissed
my cheek.

If my life were a movie, that would be when
the music started, and Malcolm and I would’ve engaged in one of
those long kisses that made all the girls swoon. Maybe even some of
the men if they were being honest. But we didn’t. Instead, tears
slipped down my face. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had
gone out of his or her way to try and make me smile again, and all
it took was a few simple words. Actually it was much more than
that. Without any complaints about the lack of training, he was
helping me in every way he could. Maybe, just maybe, I could call
him a friend. I didn’t have many.

A shot rang out, ripping a hole through the
fantasy.

Birds burst from the trees like fireworks.
Malcolm wrapped his arm around my waist and slammed me to the
bridge. I hit the wood with a muffled clang. All my breath shot out
my mouth, leaving me gasping. I was inches from the edge. My
vertigo maxed out as I stared at the water far, far below us, just
waiting for a victim to fall into its clutches.

“Are you still wearing that stupid tray?”
Malcolm asked.

“It’s not stupid if it saves my life, thank
you very much.”

Malcolm moved to get up, then swore, and we
watched the black tracking box falling toward the water.

“Forget about it,” Malcolm said. “When I say
three. Run. Off the bridge. Don’t look back.”

My heart pounded for a completely different
reason. “What about you?”

“I’ll be right behind. THREE! Go now.”

Another shot shattered the air.

I scrambled to my feet, gathered my skirt and
sprinted. My granny shoes clicked against the bridge, until I
finally kicked them off. I pumped my arms and tucked my head down,
hoping my wig wouldn’t fly off. I tore down the winding paths,
ducking the tree branches, and leaping the cracks in the pavement.
My lungs were screaming when I finally stopped near a bench and
sucked in air, doubled over.

“Quick, follow me.” Malcolm dove under the
nearest sweeping tree branches.

My whole body shook. The muscles in my legs
quivered like I was trapped in a room with a mountain lion. I
gripped the bench to stop the shaking in my arms. Who would shoot
at us? Peyton? He was mad, but was he completely psycho? I hoped
not for Aimee’s sake. And mine.

“Come on! Now!” Malcolm urged.

I froze wanting to dive under the tree and
wanting to sprint toward the entrance and make my escape. The
crunch and snap of branches breaking behind us motivated me to take
the dive. I squeezed in next to Malcolm, trying to keep my breath
from sounding like gunshots.

We waited.

I didn’t dare move.

I tried my best to peek through the leaves of
the branches but couldn’t see much. Hopefully that meant whoever
was on the outside couldn’t see me.

“Who—”

“Shh. No talking,” Malcolm reprimanded.

Minutes passed. I huddled close to Malcolm,
trying to shrink from sight. My mind seemed incapable of logical
thought, and all the sounds around me became extremely loud. The
rustle of the leaves. The wind moving in the branches. The geese on
the nearby lake. Malcolm’s breath on my neck. Footsteps on the
gravel path.

Footsteps? Oh, crap. Oh, crap. Oh, crap. Oh,
crap. I closed my eyes as tight as I could and held my breath. I
didn’t want to hear those footsteps coming closer and closer. I
didn’t want to see a gun poke through the branches.

I wasn’t sure how much time passed but I
needed to breathe. So ever so slowly I let air escape out the side
of my mouth.

“It’s okay to breathe,” Malcolm whispered.
“Whoever was on the path didn’t see us. They kept walking.”

The rest of my breath came out in a big
whoosh. I took several deep breaths, trying to steady my shotgun
heart and shaking legs. I held back a sob.

“It’s okay,” Malcolm said, “I think we’re out
of danger.”

My voice trembled. “I don’t dare move. What
if he’s waiting for us to come out of hiding? What if he’s still
searching?”

“We can wait a bit then.”

Malcolm wrapped his arm around my waist, and
I’d never been so thankful for human contact. I pressed into his
warmth, but my thoughts stayed on the fact that I’d gotten shot at
twice. I couldn’t believe Peyton would try to shoot at us. At me. I
screwed up at the Louvre and the Eiffel but my actions hardly
deserved sudden death. Who could it be? My body stiffened.

“What’s wrong?” Malcolm asked.

I was glad I didn’t have to look him in the
eyes. “What if this wasn’t Peyton?”

“What do you mean?”

I thought about my mom’s disguise at the
Eiffel, her directions to burn the package, and her fear when she’d
shushed me. She did not want to be found. Then I’d opened the
package anyway and went through with the instructions to sign up
for the Extravaganza. And all that money. What if this was about
the money?

“Savvy?” Malcolm asked again.

“This might be about my mom.” I spoke the
revelation before realizing it.

“What do you mean? About your mom?” His voice
rose as if he were suddenly interested.

“This is the second time we’ve been shot at
and we didn’t know Peyton the first time.”

“It has to be Peyton. I saw him on the other
side of the bridge.” Malcolm shifted his body and sat up. “After I
dropped the tracking device into the lake, he must have circled
back.”

I didn’t want to talk about my mom, or share
about the package. My gut told me to keep it a secret, so I played
along with the Peyton theory.

I faced him. “Right. He must’ve. And the
hostage site.” I couldn’t forget about the food wrappers and frayed
rope, possibly the same rope that matched the one I’d found in
Peyton’s apartment. My stomach growled, interrupting us. I laughed.
“Glad he’s not walking past right now.”

“Aha! That’s why I came prepared.” He pulled
off the spy backpack that I’d made fun of when I first saw it.

“You don’t happen to have a Hawaiian pizza in
there, do you?” A girl could hope.

“Sadly, no. But maybe this will do?” He
pulled out a handful of chocolate bars, crackers, and two small
bottles of water.

My eyes widened. “You’re the best!”

I leaned forward and kissed his cheek right
above his old man beard before realizing what I was doing.

“I didn’t say I was going to share it. You’re
the one who’s supposed to be training me to be the ultimate spy.
Where are your provisions? What did you do to be prepared in the
face of danger?” He covered the food with his hands and waited for
an answer.

I scrambled. “Well, it is important to be
prepared, but it’s also important to have the stamina to go without
food in case of imprisonment.”

“Good cover.” He handed me a chocolate
bar.

“Thanks.” I unwrapped it and smelled the milk
chocolate.

For some reason, I felt as if I were sitting
by Willy Wonka’s chocolate river, only this tasted even better. As
we munched on the food, our conversation dwindled and awkwardness
settled in.

“So, tell me your biggest fear.” Malcolm
guzzled his water, then looked at me with honest eyes. “Since we’ve
been shot at together. Twice. Maybe we should know each other a
little bit better.”

I bit my lip. My biggest fear? That was easy.
“Black crickets.”

Water came out Malcolm’s nose when he
laughed. “Crickets?”

“What? Not what you expected? Black crickets
freak me out. Especially when there are hundreds of them covering
my yard, hopping around like they can’t wait to get in my house and
jump into my bed.” I shuddered. “Your turn.”

Malcolm played with the cap of his water
bottle and studied a pile of dirt. After a few minutes, he looked
up. “My biggest fear is failing my dad. That during this year away
from home, I won’t be able to meet up to his expectations.”

He fell silent, lost in thought.

“A year away from home?” I asked.

“It’s a tradition. When we turn eighteen, we
have a year to live on our own and prove ourselves before we’re
welcomed into the family business. First my brother did it and now
it’s my turn.”

Wow. Talk about pressure. And failing
parents? I knew something about that. His confession made my black
cricket phobia look like a joke, or like I was afraid of being
close to someone or had a problem sharing my deepest thoughts.

“If it makes you feel any better, I already
failed mine, both of them.”

Why else would Mom have left? And why she
didn’t trust me enough to talk to me?

“No way. Your dad loves you. I can tell.”

“He has a funny way of showing it.” Time to
change the subject. “What’s your most embarrassing moment?”

“That’s easy. There was this one time. I was
on a date with this cute girl.”

“Oh.” For some reason, I didn’t like the idea
of Malcolm on a date with anyone else.

“And, well, because of a misunderstanding,
she got really mad at me.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, hoping he wasn’t
talking about what I thought he was talking about.

“And to my great surprise, she tied me up,
took off all my clothes, and then left me in my underwear. But that
wasn’t the embarrassing part.”

I clasped my hands together and fiddled with
my fingers. This was my most embarrassing moment, for sure. “What
was it then?”

He put his finger under my chin and lifted my
head so I was looking into his eyes. “That I went behind her back
and made it look like I was on the date for other reasons. She
didn’t trust me, and when we got shot at, I couldn’t protect
her.”

I tried to lower my head, but he wouldn’t let
me. Instead we locked eyes, and I felt my breath slowly squeezing
out of my lungs. Gray flecks swirled in his eyes and I fell into
them, head first. Moments passed, and we didn’t say a word. The
breeze hugged us, pulling us closer together. I leaned forward. He
leaned forward. My heart quivered just before our lips brushed like
the soft sprinkling of sugar on a donut. Sweetness. The breeze
swirled, and for a moment, I forgot everything. But then he
stiffened and pulled away, the honesty in his eyes fading.

“We should be okay to leave.”

“Right.” I brushed off the hurt and confusion
and helped him pick up the chocolate wrappers.

Minutes later, we trudged up to the gate. He
grabbed my hand but then let go as if he made a mistake. “Let’s go.
Enough excitement for today.”

On the Metro ride home we didn’t say a word.
The whole being married pretense was dropped and even though he sat
next to me, he didn’t touch me. He stared out the window at the
blurred underground walls.

My body moved with the sway of the train, but
he leaned away from me at every turn. What had changed? Maybe he’d
decided I wasn’t worth getting shot over. Some friends are willing
to die for each other but our friendship was new, just budding,
needing sunlight to grow. Possibly being killed moved a big ole
cloud right over us. I shivered in its shadow.

Somehow I knew I’d wind up on my own trying
to find Aimee. I had reached that dead end. The trackers hadn’t
worked, and the device was at the bottom of the lake. I had
absolutely no other clues. I wanted to ask him what to do next, beg
him to sit down and brainstorm with me, but the words wouldn’t
come.

Hands shoved into his old man pants, he said,
“I have to work at
Les Pouffants’s
this weekend. Next
Monday, then?”

“Sure.” I was officially on my own.

Perfect time to check on Aimee’s grandmother
and maybe snag some gingersnap cookies. And I wanted to check out
Aimee’s room again. Something hadn’t felt right the first time. I’d
missed something, some clue, important to finding her. Or maybe I
just wanted to feel close to her.

At Marie’s house, right away I knew something
was wrong. The once happy blooming flowers in the window boxes
drooped. A shadow seemed cast over the house and the cute little
cottage looked a bit forlorn and neglected.

I knocked on the door.

No response.

I knocked a bit harder. “Marie?” No answer.
Not even a scuffle of footsteps. “It’s Savvy. Aimee’s friend?”

My guilt over Aimee and not being fully
honest with Marie the last time got to me, so I twisted the knob
and gently opened the door. I expected the smell of cinnamon and
ginger because Marie always baked. But there was nothing. Not one
hint of spice or warmth.

“Hello?”

No one seemed to be home, but I really wanted
to check Aimee’s room again. Call it my budding spy sense, but
trespassing uninvited seemed the best option. I wasn’t going to eat
any cookies, just take a peek inside. I walked through and closed
the door, hoping a neighbor hadn’t seen me. The floor creaked. Was
it that loud last time? I quickly made my way up the stairs to
Aimee’s room.

At first, I stood in the doorway and
observed. The room looked the same as when Malcolm and I were here.
The fading wallpaper, her bed, her jewelry, the half-empty closet.
What was it? I stepped in the room and made my way over to her
dresser. I ran my fingers over the beaded jewelry. If Aimee left on
a hiking trip, she wouldn’t bring necklaces. I turned to the
closet. But hiking shoes she’d bring. So why were they still
here?