“Excuse us,” Mrs. Gonzalez said. “It’s usually his nap time right now.” She crouched down and spoke softly to the little boy, trying to coax a smile out of him. The best she got was for him to stare at the camera.
“That will have to do, I suppose,” Mr. Gonzalez chuckled.
Just as the photographer began taking the first photo, Juan raised his arm and pointed out toward the theater seats. “Sofia! Look! Senor Peters came like he said!”
Daniel’s frown turned into a look of curiosity as he searched the dimly-lit theater.
Emily followed the older boy’s gaze and spotted a familiar, tall figure wearing a tux and geek glasses making his way down the aisle. He waved at the children on the stage, and Daniel’s little face broke into a huge smile.
“Hey, mister!” the photographer called, beckoning to Brent. “Whoever you are, you make the little guy smile, so come over here and work your magic, will ya?”
Emily laughed and Brent winked at her on his way by. After a few moments of Brent playing peek-a-boo from behind the photographer’s back to get Daniel smiling in the right direction, the photographer announced he had enough shots of the family.
“Let's do some of just Mr. and Mrs. with the choir. Almost done, folks.”
The littlest choir members, who had also enjoyed Brent’s antics, fidgeted.
Emily hurried up to the stage to take charge of the children. Brent beat her to it.
“Mr. Peters!” Mrs. Gonzalez said. “I didn’t know you’d be here!”
“We did, Mama. We told him about it yesterday and he was surprised because he also had papers—” Juan stopped and frowned, realizing he’d used the wrong word.
“Tickets,” Brent corrected. “Though goodness knows I have a lot of papers, too.”
Juan laughed.
Brent reached out and took Mateo from Mrs. Gonzalez and she hurried over to join her husband for pictures. Mateo stared up at him for a long moment before darting a chubby hand toward his glasses. Brent reflexively caught his little wrist. Emily guided Daniel and Sofia to the side until their parents were done with the photo op.
“Those ladies are staring at us,” Juan whispered.
Brent immediately snapped his gaze to the remaining occupants of the theater. Several woman of varying ages were staring their direction.
Brent’s direction, actually, Emily realized with a jolt.
One of them gave him a fingertip wave. Two of the others whispered something, keeping their eyes fixed on him.
“Why are they—” Brent began, looking sideways toward Emily. “Do I know them?”
She nearly laughed at his look of bewilderment but managed to keep a straight face. “I think it’s the tux and the baby. Deadly combination.”
A redness crept up his neck and into his ears.
“Oh.” He quickly thrust Mateo toward her. “Here, take this.”
She couldn’t hold back her laughter anymore. He shot her a grimace as he smoothed the front of his tux and awkwardly stuffed his hands into his pockets.
“He drooled on you,” Emily observed.
“It’s not the worst thing that’s been on this suit,” Brent muttered.
Juan perked up and asked, “Really? I get my nice clothes dirty too. Mama is not pleased when I do. What’s the baddest—worst—thing you got on it?”
Brent blinked, and Emily realized he was probably sorting through answers that, while true, wouldn’t fit with his persona of nerdy tutor.
“Ketchup is pretty bad. Grass stains. I get lots of grass stains. I had someone throw up on me once.”
“Ewww!!!” the children chorused loudly. Emily hurried to shush them.
Their parents returned, and they all descended from the stage together. Diaz was waiting at the bottom.
“You,” he said, poking Brent in the chest with a finger. “I want a word with you, Senor.”
Mrs. Gonzalez frowned, and Emily had to fight the urge to stay with Brent. As they walked further away, she overheard just enough.
“Why are you here?”
“I’m a fan. I bought tickets weeks ago.”
“You’re not following the family?”
“No, just ask the children. We discussed how many times I’ve seen this choir yesterday.”
“I have my eye on you.”
Well, that could complicate things.
* * *
Emily clicked off the lamp beside her bed and collapsed sideways across the mattress, letting out a deep sigh. The children—especially the two who should have taken nice, long naps that afternoon—had only increased in crabbiness as the day went on. Dinner had been a bit of a disaster, and she could see Mrs. Gonzalez’ relief at having her second pair of hands around to deal with half of the problems. Mr. Gonzalez had been there for the first part of the meal, but had to rush out, apologizing to his wife, for a late meeting.
Emily hoped the children slept hard that night. Mrs. Gonzalez did, too, apparently, for she told her to let them sleep in as long as they needed the next morning.
As Emily thought over the day, she studied the texture on the ceiling of her room by the light of the moon reaching through the curtains. She felt her eyelids growing heavy. The next thing she knew, something had woken her up.
How long have I been asleep? What woke me up? Is one of the kids—
She froze as she heard the sound again and realized it was coming from her window. It was a scratching, sliding noise. Something told her an object was being slid under the lower edge of the window. Trying to move as little as possible, she retrieved her phone from the nearby side table.
It wouldn’t turn on. She’d forgotten to plug it in, and the battery had run down.
At least I can hit someone really hard with the edge of it…
She felt her heart rate spike as the window was pushed up.
Slowly. Stealthily.
A dark figured parted the curtains and leaped nimbly into the room.
Swallowing the scream building in her throat, Emily tensed.
Maybe it’s just a burglar looking for a way into the house. Maybe if I’m really still, he won’t notice I’m in here and then I can find a way to warn the guards.
But the dark figure headed straight toward her. When he was within range, she sat up quickly, jabbing the bottom edge of her phone toward where his throat should be. With a speed that took her by surprise, the intruder blocked, shoving her wrist to the side and pushed a gloved hand against her mouth.
Knocking the phone from her hand so she couldn’t strike out with it again, he pulled the black balaclava off his head, leaving his dark hair standing on end.
Emily exhaled. Her voice was muffled by his hand. “Brent! It’s you! Don’t do that!”
“Sorry to startle you,” he whispered. “I need your help.”
Chapter 11
“What do you need?” Emily whispered, turning on the bedside lamp and illuminating Brent. He was dressed in black from head to toe and his hair still stood on end from his removal of the balaclava. “How did you even get up here?”
“I climbed.”
“Spy stuff, huh?”
He shrugged and grinned crookedly at her.
A slight creaking noise made them both pause, and Brent’s left hand stole to the back of his waistband.
“No shoulder holster tonight?” Emily teased in a tense whisper, straining her ears for what the creaking might have been.
“No good when climbing,” he breathed. Someone was moving around in the loft outside Emily’s door.
“You don’t suppose that’s the assassin?” she asked, her eyes wide. “If you were able to get in through my window without the guards detecting it, someone else could have done it too.”
“I doubt that.”
Just then, someone tapped lightly on Emily’s door. She jumped. Brent ran lightly—making no noise—to a position near the closet where he was just out of view of the door. He drew his handgun and motioned for Emily to answer the door.
&
nbsp; “Miss Tessier,” a man’s voice said. “This is Moreno.”
Emily’s eyes grew wide and she shook her head at Brent, not wanting to open the door to the unnerving guard.
“I’ve got you,” he mouthed. “It’s okay.”
Bracing herself, she opened the door a few inches. “Moreno! What’s the matter? Are the children all right?” She tried her hardest to keep the quaver of nervousness out of her voice and to avoid looking guilty of hiding the tutor-who-was-really-a-spy in her room.
“The children are fine,” the guard said. “I want to tell you I discovered a leaking water pipe in my room. Things are very wet. Your room is below mine. If you see a water stain on your ceiling, let us know and please do not be alarmed.”
Emily nodded. “Oh, wow. Thank you for the warning. I’m sorry your room is wet.”
“This house has many other rooms. I am moving my things to a new one, although I did prefer being in the tower. Goodnight, Miss Tessier.”
“Thanks again,” Emily said before closing her door firmly. The minute she could stop acting, she noticed her knees were wobbling and she slid down the door to sit on the floor.
Brent appeared from around the corner, re-holstering his gun. “You okay?” he whispered.
“Yes. Just nerves.”
He extended his gloved hand and helped her up.
“Thanks,” she said, walking to one of the two armchairs and removing the throw pillows she’d piled there before sitting. She motioned him to the other. “So I’m assuming you know something about this water leak?”
Brent sat and tipped his head to one side, eyeing her. “I can neither confirm nor—”
“Brent!” She shook her head but couldn’t help grinning.
“See, all I have to do is something stereotypically spy-like and it sets you to smiling,” he said.
She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a big fan of that stuff.”
“Then you should enjoy what I need your help with.”
Emily sat forward in her chair. “What are we doing?”
“Well, once Moreno is done moving his things and it settles down out there, we’re breaking into Diaz’ bedroom and Bluejacking his phone.”
“What? We’re going to hack his phone? While he’s asleep? I’m no hacker and I kind of get the feeling you aren’t either.”
“Don’t worry—I have some cool spy gadgets that will help.” Brent grinned at her. “But first—do you have anything black to wear?”
Emily wrinkled her forehead in thought. “I think the only black outfit I have with me is what I wore to the concert today: the semi-formal dress and tights.” She grinned sheepishly. “That’s probably not what people normally wear on this type of mission.”
Brent shook his head, smirking again. “No, but I won’t complain. You’ll be the nicest-looking accidental spy I’ve ever had the privilege to work with.”
Emily laughed and then clapped a hand over her mouth, remembering—too late—to stay quiet. “I highly doubt that.”
Brent didn’t answer, but raised his eyebrows.
“As long as there’s no climbing involved, I can wear the dress and tights,” she said, changing the subject back to something more practical.
“No, you won’t need to do any climbing, aside from stairs.”
“Great!” Emily jumped up and retrieved the outfit she’d worn earlier that day.
“I can just—” Brent gestured toward the window, indicating he could go back outside while she changed.
“What, you’ll just cling to the outside of the wall? What if you fell? That would be awkward. You can stay; I have a cool trick.” Emily grinned.
She slipped the black dress over her head—right over her cactus pajamas. After a bit of contorting and twisting, she pushed her arms through the sleeves of the dress, holding her pajama shirt in one hand.
“Ta-da! Pretty cool trick, right?”
“Uh—yeah!” Brent said, looking a little confused. “I want to ask how you did that, but I don’t actually want to know.”
“It’s a skill all the ladies in the spy shows need to learn,” Emily said, rolling her eyes in disgust.
“Tell me about it,” he said dryly.
She worked on the pajama pants next and in a moment was able to tuck them behind her pillow along with the shirt. Next, she put the tights on, again, never needing to leave the room.
“Wow,” Brent said when she was finished. “You’re like the Houdini of clothing changes.”
She grinned and then frowned. “That better not be a new—”
Brent got up and clapped his gloved hands together. “All right, then, Houdini! Let’s do this thing! Bring your phone and put it on silent.”
“Ugh. It is a new codename.” Emily shook her head.
Brent just snickered and produced a cheap smartphone, very much like hers, from his pocket. “Let me check the Dots.” He brought up an app and swiped through the various views that his tiny cameras showed of the house.”
“You have the equivalent of the whole surveillance room the guards are using—but in the palm of your hand!” Emily marveled. “That’s so cool!”
There was no sign of Moreno anymore; it was safe to assume he’d settled into his new room downstairs. Duarte sat, arms crossed as usual, in front of the monitors in the surveillance room. The other guards all slept.
“How will we know when they change out the guard on duty?” Emily asked.
Brent checked his watch. “It’s not for another two hours.”
“Wow, you’ve really been doing your homework!” Emily said, impressed.
“Homework is part of the job description. C’mon.” He removed another device—something she didn’t recognize—and pressed the green button in the center of it. Then he opened the door of her room and slipped out into the dim loft.
She followed, closing the bedroom door behind her softly. He headed straight for the stairs. Creeping down stealthily, he passed her the device with the green button.
“This loops all security cams within a 10-foot radius. You’re in charge of hitting it as we enter each new room. I’ll keep an eye on the feeds from the Dots so we don’t run into any surprises.”
They made their way silently through the large, dark house. Every so often, Brent signaled and Emily pressed the green button on the device. Each time she did, she prayed it had worked and Duarte wouldn’t see them on the screens he was monitoring.
Chapter 12
Brent stopped before a door in the same wing of the house as the security room. Emily couldn’t help but glance nervously over her shoulder every few seconds.
“Good instincts,” he whispered. “Watch my back?”
“You got it.”
Brent grinned down at her in the darkness, handing her the phone with the Dot feeds. She scrolled through them as she’d seen him do.
All quiet.
Brent removed a low-profile, black backpack she hadn’t even realized he was wearing and opened it silently. He withdrew a small canister and a hand pump connected to a length of tubing.
“Brent?”
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “It won’t hurt him in the slightest. It’s just to make extra sure he doesn’t wake up while we Bluejack his phone.”
He fed the tube under the door and set to work with the hand pump. Emily glanced back through the Dot feeds as he worked.
Still good. Man, this is nerve-wracking, but I kind of love it.
She caught herself grinning.
“Okay,” Brent whispered after a few moments. “It should have done its work and dissipated enough by now. C’mon.”
Emily glanced behind them one more time even though she had been watching Brent’s cameras. Brent turned the doorknob slowly, quietly, and then stepped cautiously through the open door. He beckoned for her to join him.
They closed the door silently behind them, and Brent snapped on a small, red-toned light attached to his wrist. Diaz’ room was smaller than Emily’s and sparsely decorate
d. She guessed he had probably chosen it for himself for just those reasons—that and the proximity to the surveillance room.
She looked back down at the phone in her hand.
“All good?” Brent asked in a ghost of a whisper.
She gave him the OK sign. He nodded and smiled.
Diaz was rolled in his blanket, snoring softly with his back to the wall and his arms crossed over his chest. Even now, he looked intimidating, and Emily found herself staying as far away as possible. Brent had located the man’s cell phone on the nightstand.
Withdrawing yet another device from his backpack, Brent held out his hand and whispered, “Your phone?”
Emily handed it to him and watched in fascination as he opened an app she’d never used. The screen turned black and lines of white text scrolled up.
“Did you preload a Bluejacking app on my phone, Brent?”
“Possibly,” he murmured.
After a moment, he tapped something on the screen of Emily’s phone, and Diaz’ phone screen flashed on and then back off.
Brent turned and grinned down at Emily before exiting the app and handing the device back to her.
“All done,” he whispered.
She followed him back across the room and swiped through the Dot feeds on his phone.
“Hold on,” she whispered. “Isn’t that this hallway?” She showed him the screen.
He nodded.
They pressed their backs against the inside of Diaz’ door and watched on the small screen as the young guard, Morales, stumbled out of his room and into the bathroom across the hall.
Diaz snored on.
Brent silently re-packed his backpack and put it on. After a few moments, Morales exited the bathroom and returned to his room. Emily breathed a sigh of relief.
“Give it just a minute more,” Brent whispered just above her. “It’s best if he’s back to sleep.”
“Was he ever awake, though?”
“Emily!” Brent made a hissing, strangling sound and she could tell he was trying to hold in a laugh. She bit her lip to keep herself from laughing at his bottled-up mirth.
No way can we get punchy and giggly while hiding in the darkness of a sleeping guard’s room. Talk about ways to ruin a top-secret spy mission!
Tutor, Nanny, Spit-up, Spy Page 5