A Spy Like Me Read online

  Fourteen

  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.

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nbsp; 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.