A Spy Like Me Read online

  Seventeen

  “Hello? Anyone home?”

  I jumped from the chair like I had a rocket strapped to my back.

  “Whoa, it’s just me.” Malcolm entered the tiny living room.

  I drank in the sight of him, his quirky smile and the familiar glint in his eye like he knew something I didn’t. Was it something about Aimee? I’d been checking up on the trackers and so far Peyton had been a very boring tourist. Feelings rushed through me and I couldn’t tell if it was excitement that we might have a breakthrough on the case or because Malcolm was standing so close to me.

  Dad entered the room. “Oh, Malcolm. I forgot you were stopping by.”

  He coughed and his eyes shifted to the right like he regretted leaving his office. I directed my glare of complete evil between the two of them.

  Dad flashed a cheesy grin. “Sorry, Savvy. I forgot to tell you.”

  “Tell me what?” I sensed a conspiracy and didn’t like it.

  Dad started cleaning up the chess game for me. “Malcolm called earlier and said you’d missed a couple days of training.”

  Dad raised his eyebrows and peered at me. I hid my face and got busy cleaning up the rest of the games.

  He continued, “Which I’ll forgive. But he also shared that things were a little tense between the two of you, so he asked for another day off.”

  “I wanted it to be a surprise.” Malcolm stepped closer to me. “I thought if we were going to be working together, we should have an afternoon of just plain old fun in France. Your dad agreed.”

  “How come I wasn’t involved in this decision?” I played the role of the crab while searching Malcolm’s face for the sly wink that told me there was more to this.

  Dad backed away with his hands in the air. “Uh, I just remembered a teleconference I have in a couple minutes. Have fun.” He practically sprinted back to his office/bedroom.

  I fumbled with the zipper on the game package, deciding to fish for some answers. “I have to come up with an entry for the Extravaganza.”

  “An afternoon off might help. The best ideas come when we’re not looking for them.” Malcolm crossed the room and grabbed my hand. “And I wanted to say sorry for being a jerk the other day. Next time we can pass a hundred shops if you want before choosing one.”

  “I wasn’t exactly a princess either.” I drew closer and whispered, “What’s going on?”

  His lips curved up, showing the dimples I couldn’t resist. He shrugged. “Wait and see.”

  “Fine.” I relented. “I’ll be right back.”

  I headed to my bedroom to change, heart fluttering, pretty sure Malcolm had breaking news on Peyton or some kind of clue that would help.

  As we headed up the stairs to Malcolm’s apartment, my excitement grew. He had to understand I wasn’t here to bat my eyelashes at him and that my focus was on finding Aimee. I tried to make my voice low and menacing. “I hope you’re not planning an afternoon of flirting.”

  “Darn.” He flipped around on the stairs, brushing up against me. “There go all my plans. You might as well go home.”

  He had to be just fooling around, but still, I felt annoyed that he could joke when I could barely crack a smile. I tried to shake it off. Time to prove I wasn’t about to fall apart. I could be relaxed about this too.

  He unlocked the door and we entered. His apartment was pretty sterile, a word that usually made me think of hospitals, needles, and green scrubs.

  “I totally get it.”

  “What?” he said, as he dug around in the smallest closet in France.

  I ran my finger across an empty bookshelf hung on the wall. The counter had nothing on it. The couch didn’t even have a pillow. Not even one candle. “Why you don’t invite girls up here.”

  He caught my eye and my stomach fluttered. “Atmosphere has nothing to do with romance.”

  He went back to digging, and in that moment, I believed him. Boy, did I ever.

  “Aha! Found it.” He pulled an ugly green gym bag from the depths of the closet.

  “Hmm. That looks suspicious. Are you going to divulge our afternoon plans?” I’d hoped he had a crystal ball that would reveal how to find Aimee.

  “Peyton’s on the move.” He unzipped the bag and pulled out what looked like material from Marie’s scrap bag.

  “What?” My face heated up. He did know something! I rushed over. “Tell me.”

  As I waited for his answer, I allowed myself a brief daydream. I’d smash a lock and break down the door. The stale smell of an abandoned house would greet me but I’d push through. I’d call for Aimee to hear her struggle from a back room. It would only take seconds for me to find her, slice through her ropes and rescue her. On our way out, I’d take down a couple bad guys.

  “Haven’t you been paying attention to the trackers you planted?” He separated the quilting scraps.

  “Yeah,” I huffed. “He’s not moving. And I’ve been up to my eyeballs with Spy Games stuff.” If I tried, I could find a connection between chocolate peanut butter ice cream and Spy Games.

  “I’ve been doing a bit of spying myself. He’s been on the move for a couple of hours. I figured you’d want to be all business today without your dad knowing.”

  “Of course, duh.” I snorted. I knew it. I could tell from the moment Malcolm had walked into my living room. The flutter in my chest had told me great things would happen today.

  He pushed the pile of cloth toward me along with a wig that looked like the end of a mop with silver and gray hairs wrapped up in a messy bun. “Get dressed.”

  I gave him my dumb blonde look. Yes, even us black-haired beauties have our moments.

  “Your disguise?”

  I blew air through my lips. “Of course, I knew that.”

  An hour later, Malcolm and I hobbled, arm in arm, to the Metro. He wore faded old man corduroys and a plaid flannel shirt, even though it was warm outside. A derby hat sat on top of his grey head, and he had a long wizard’s beard. I’d never seen this side of Malcolm, all business and no play. But I liked that he was helping me.

  “So, Dearie, you up for some square dancing this week?” I pushed my mop of grey hair out of my eyes then smoothed down the ugliest dress ever. I swear I was a walking commercial for patchwork quilts, and not in a cozy cottage kind of way.

  Malcolm leaned on his cane and shuffled his feet. He whispered, “Do I look like I could dance?”

  Oh, right. “I guess we’ll have to spend our days taking care of the grandkids then.”

  He tried to hide a muffled snicker. “You’re not very good at this, are you?”

  I stopped and pulled my arm away. “I’m fine. Just so you know, I was the understudy for Aunt Spike from James and the Giant Peach in a third grade play.”

  He slipped his fingers through mine. “Let’s go, Hilda.”

  We didn’t say much on the ride underground per Malcolm’s orders. I guess lots of old married couples don’t talk when they reach a certain age. Kind of like my mom and dad. Except they’re not that old yet. Off the Metro we crossed the street, a bit faster than our age should’ve allowed, and headed toward a big gate.

  “Parc des buttes.”

  I burst out laughing, but when we entered the park, my mood shifted. I lost any desire to joke about parking our derrières on the benches. Aimee and I would have a good time with that one—when I found her. I picked up my pace. Peyton was on the move. In this park.

  I could be moments from rescuing my friend.