The Profile Match

by Jill Williamson

  I liked it even better on the girl.

  It was super short and made her golden skin look darker. The top had no sleeves and hugged her body, while the skirt part was all flowy. The thick, royal blue waistband matched the color of my necktie. Her hair was down—I loved it down—and she’d made it all curly and draping over her shoulders.

  My mouth went dry. “You look amazing.”

  “Is it too tight? Too low cut?”

  “You look like a movie star.” Like a goddess of clouds.

  Her eyebrows pinched. “I don’t want other guys staring at me.”

  Since when? “That’s not something you can control when you look like you do,” I said.

  “Maybe I should wear something else.”

  “What? Why?” She’d planned these outfits long ago. What else would we wear?

  “Do you really want other guys staring at me, Spencer?”

  “Yes,” I said. “So they can be jealous I have such a hot girlfriend.”

  She swatted my arm. “Be serious.”

  I grabbed her hand and tugged her out the still-open door. “We don’t want to be late for dinner. Because then we’ll be late for the dance, and you don’t want to miss the crowning.”

  “Coronation.” She pulled the door shut behind her. “I might need to borrow your jacket.”

  “All that I have is yours,” I said.

  Grace stepped slowly down the three steps that led to the sidewalk, which brought my attention to the black, spikey heeled shoes she was wearing. Dang.

  We started down the driveway, me enthralled by how gorgeous she was, yet slightly annoyed how often she sabotaged things by being so critical. Why did she do that? I mean (1) if Grace wasn’t so short, she could be a supermodel; she was that gorgeous; and (2) she wasn’t a shy girl. I’d seen her use her beauty before to manipulate guys—me, for one.

  Was all this “worrying” just another game? And how could I ever know? I wanted to trust Grace fully, but something wouldn’t let me. Perhaps we just needed more time.

  Maybe by our three-month anniversary I’d have it all figured out.

  ● ● ●

  I abhorred fast dancing. On the other hand, holding a girl’s waist and swaying from one foot to the other? That I could do. But I had no ability to get jiggy with anything but a basketball. Unfortunately, Grace and her friends were die-hard about dancing. Every. Single. Song.

  Shoot me now.

  And this was the Pilot Point High School cheer team I was hanging with, so they were all amazing dancers who could hold their own with the Laker Girls. Now don’t get me wrong. I loved watching Grace dance, especially in that dress. And fortunately, most of these girls were dating football players, who fast-danced as poorly as I did. There was one exception.

  Eli, one of the two guys on Grace’s cheer team. Grace talked about Eli nonstop. He was a senior, like me, but unlike me, he had a nice, short, boxed beard. He’d come with a brunette named Chelsea, but his eyes were on my date far more than they were on his own.

  It was getting on my nerves.

  The night dragged on, with me praying for slow songs and continually placing myself strategically between Eli and Grace. The school finally got around to crowning their king and queen, which was the star quarterback and some girl I’d never met. Grace seemed to agree with this decision, then dragged me over with her friends to get a picture taken.

  I was happy when all the cheerleaders said they were leaving, but Grace insisted on staying a little longer. Exactly until Eli and his date left.

  I was not making this up.

  She must have some kind of dormant thing for that guy. I just didn’t get it.

  We left the school, Grace wearing my suit jacket, which was so big on her it was kind of adorable.

  That’s when I told her about Kimbal being on vacation.

  “Do you want to sneak into his place with me? Look around? Maybe set up some surveillance?”

  “Isn’t that illegal?” she asked.

  “Technically, yes. But since he’s my uncle, I doubt any judge would press charges.”

  “Sure, I’ll come,” she said. “When?”

  I shrugged. “Tomorrow? We’ll have to lose my detail.”

  She grinned. “Okay.”

  We walked in silence toward the sedan, hand-in-hand, me making a mental list of the supplies I’d need to gather for tomorrow’s mission.

  “Why do you think they choose the king and queen only from the seniors?” she asked. “I don’t think Kelly Russel is that pretty.”

  “Did you want that crown, Grace,” I asked, tugging her hand.

  She grinned but wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Maybe,” she said.

  “Princesses are better than queens,” I said.

  This time she looked at me. “Why?”

  “First, because queens are moms. Second, because princesses get all the fun without having to rule.”

  “But I like ruling.”

  I stopped on the sidewalk and took both her hands in mine. “You can rule me.”

  She grinned. “I already do.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Please. Everyone knows I rule the kingdom of Spencer.”

  She did, but I wasn’t about to admit it. “A princess can’t rule a kingdom,” I said. “A kingdom is ruled by a king.”

  “Oh yeah?” She grabbed my necktie and yanked it down. I played along and let her kiss me, until some guy yelled, “Goodnight, Grace!” and she pulled away.

  Grace waved. “Bye!”

  I narrowed my eyes at Eli as he and his date crossed the street. I pulled Grace close and leaned down to kiss her again. “Where were we?”

  She pushed against my stomach. “Not here, Spencer.”

  Fire shot through me. “Right here was fine ten seconds ago.”

  “Your detail will be watching.” She looked both ways and started across the street.

  I followed. “You didn’t care about them when you were showing me how well you ruled the kingdom of Spencer.”

  She said nothing, her spiky heels stabbing the pavement as she approached the sedan.

  “Do you like Eli, or something?” I asked. “Is that it?”

  She looked back, rolling her eyes in the process. “Don’t be stupid.” Then she got in the sedan, leaving me standing on the street.

  Great.

  I went around and got in the other side. I wanted to finish this, but I certainly wasn’t going to say anything with Nose and Mystery Sloan listening.

  “How was the dance?” Nose asked.

  Neither of us answered.

  “Where to now?” This from Mystery Sloan, who met my eyes in the rearview mirror.

  “Elm Street,” I said, at the same time as Grace said, “My house.”

  “Grace, come on,” I said. “We’re supposed to meet your friends at the party.”

  “My feet hurt,” she said.

  “So take off your shoes.”

  “I’m not going barefoot in a house I don’t know.”

  I fell back against the seat, defeated. I swear, one in every three dates with Grace ended in a fight. “You really want to go home?” I asked.

  “I have a headache. It’s making me queasy.”

  I did not believe her. And this wasn’t fair. I hated dances. But I’d gone. For her. But now she was mad about something. Why couldn’t I do anything right with this girl?

  When Nose parked at the curb across from her house, Grace turned her big blue eyes on me. “Walk me inside?”

  Oh-kay. I got out rounded the back of the car. Grace’s door was still shut. I got the hint and opened it. She climbed out. Watching her in that dress lifted my spirits some.

  “I’ll be right back,” I told the guys.

  Grace took my hand, and we headed across the street.

  I was happy to see the driveway empty. Her dad wasn’t drinking anymore, but he and I were not on the best of terms. It was better if we stayed out of each other’s way.

  Gr
ace climbed the steps and opened the door, glanced back. “You coming in?”

  I was still standing at the bottom of the steps. I looked to the sedan. “With them waiting right there?”

  “They can wait five minutes.” She batted those thick, black eyelashes at me.

  Yeah, I was coming in.

  Until the headlights swept the driveway.

  Daddy was home.

  Grace groaned and rolled her eyes.

  “I should go,” I said.

  Grace released the door, walked down two steps, grabbed my necktie, and yanked me toward her. I made it a quick kiss in front of her dad, but she hung on to my tie.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “We should have gone to the party.” Then she kissed me again.

  Did the girl not understand the situation here? Was she trying to provoke the man who had a history of beating her?

  I pulled my tie from her hands, then stepped back out of reach. “Goodnight, Grace,” I said, pretending I didn’t know her dad was probably standing right behind me.

  “Text me when you get home?” she asked.

  “’Kay.”

  She turned and climbed the remaining steps, super slowly, playing games again. The question was, was it for me? Or to tick off her dad? Standing there with the man three steps away, the thought crossed my mind that I should have made her change into a different dress.

  Too late now.

  I started back down the driveway, but Mr. Thomas intercepted me. The man was five feet ten to my six four, but he put his hand up on my shoulder anyway.

  “Have a nice time tonight?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “Good.” He squeezed my shoulder. I wanted to shrug out of his grip but decided to play the role of the intimidated boyfriend. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  He left me there and headed inside.

  This time, I wasn’t sticking around for the view.

  Nose and Mystery Sloan were kind enough to remain silent on the drive home. I dwelled on how Grace got away with doing whatever she wanted. Things always had to be her way. Maybe she did rule the kingdom of Spencer and every other kingdom in her world.

  I wasn’t sure I liked that.

  As the sedan headed for my house, I couldn’t help but wonder about Mary’s cryptic warning that the next few months were going to be a little crazy. Crazy because my girlfriend was crazy? Or crazy because of something else?

  REPORT NUMBER: 2

  REPORT TITLE: My Girlfriend and I Give Breaking and Entering a Try

  SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond

  LOCATION: Grace’s Residence, 780 S. Pine Street, #107, Pilot Point, California, USA

  DATE AND TIME: Monday, October 29, 4:38 p.m.

  Homecoming week at Pilot Point Christian School was everyone’s favorite, and not because our football team would cream our crosstown rival. This was the only week all year that we got out of wearing school uniforms. Today’s theme was sports day, so when Mystery Sloan stopped the sedan in front of Grace’s house Monday after school, I was still wearing my Laker’s jersey and hat. I texted her to come out.

  She replied: not redy yet

  “Be right back,” I said, then got out of the car, keeping my backpack with me. It was filled with some equipment I intended to use at Kimbal’s place, and I couldn’t risk anyone looking inside—especially my detail.

  I crossed the street and walked down the side of Grace’s house to her window in the back. I tapped on the glass with my knuckles. A moment later the curtain moved aside. Grace rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as she opened the window.

  “I’m almost done,” she said.

  “I couldn’t wait,” I said. “I just wanted to see you.”

  “Well, now you’re seeing me.”

  “Yep,” I said.

  She stared harder. “And?”

  I grinned. “The view is breathtaking.”

  A smirk. “Wait in the car, Spencer.”

  I didn’t move.

  This time she smiled and leaned out. “Come here.”

  I stepped up to the window to receive her kiss. I breathed in her smell, coconut and vanilla and something flowery. It made my gut churn in a very pleasant way.

  “How are we going to lose your detail?” she asked.

  “We need a cohort,” I said. “It has to be Lukas. He’s the only one I trust.”

  She wrinkled her nose and groaned. “Fine.”

  She sent me packing, and I waited for her outside the sedan, so I wouldn’t have to make awkward chitchat with my babysitters.

  When she finally came out, I said, “Hey, Shorty.”

  She smirked up at me. “You know you’re not Black, right?”

  “I feel our height difference is a legit reason to borrow the epithet,” I said, opening the back door so she could get in.

  “Wow,” she said. “Then who’d you borrow ‘epithet’ from?”

  I leaned on the car door, so she could see me. “I happen to have an extensive vocabulary.” I shut the door, ran around to the other side, and got in beside her, tucking my backpack between my sneakers.

  “Where to?” Nose asked.

  “Lukas’s place,” I said.

  Car rides with my detail and Grace were often filled with awkward silences, and this ride was no different. Mystery Sloan asked about basketball. Nose asked about school.

  And then we were at Lukas’s place.

  “We’ll be here a few hours,” I told them as I got out.

  “Then so will we,” Nose said.

  Perfect.

  I swung my backpack over one shoulder, and Grace took hold of my other hand. We walked up to the front door and rang the bell. Footsteps inside, then the door opened.

  Lukas hung on the side of the door and stared at Grace. “Hola, Graciela.”

  “Shut up,” she said.

  “Hey, be nice,” I told her as I pushed inside past Lukas.

  “Lo siento, Lukas,” Grace said in a nasty tone.

  We had to make small talk with Lukas’s mom, who fed us empanadas, which made the delay totally worthwhile. Isabel was working at the salon, so we didn’t see her. I was glad. She’d been trying to talk me into taking a second trip to Venezuela, after our regular summer trip, this time with a branch of the Mission League that rescued victims of human trafficking. She seemed to think I’d be great at this.

  I happened to disagree.

  When we finally managed to ditch Mrs. Rodriguez, Lukas walked us to the back door.

  “Text me if they leave,” I told him. “We only need a half hour.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m on it,” Lukas said, pushing me out the back. “Go already.”

  We crossed Lukas’s back yard, then snuck between the houses lining the next street over until we reached the sidewalk. Grace took hold of my hand as we walked along Maple. Kimbal’s place was only two blocks from here.

  It was a cool October afternoon. The sky was bright and clear. Breeze rustled the dying leaves of the trees that lined the street on both sides, and our feet crunched those already on the ground.

  Kimbal’s place came into view. I hadn’t seen much of my uncle lately and wondered what he was doing with his time off. Mr. S had said there would be an investigation about Kimbal having deleted the video I’d captured of the drug cookers, but I hadn’t heard any updates. Not that the Mission League reported to me about anything.

  I’d have to find my own answers, as usual.

  We went around back like we owned the place, and I scanned the eaves for signs of cameras. I didn’t see any, so when we reached the back door, I pulled a paperclip from my pocket and worked the lock. Lock picking used to be one of the hardest things for me, but I’d finally mastered the skill. Something clicked. I turned the knob and opened the door.

  “Mr. S would be so proud to see you now,” Grace said.

  I snorted. “Sure he would.”

  We went inside and made our way into the living room.

  “What
are we looking for?” Grace asked.

  I shrugged off my pack and tossed it on the couch. I wanted to search first, plant cameras later. “Don’t know,” I said. “Anything suspicious. Clues.”

  Grace walked toward the kitchen. I went for the bedroom. The room was plain. Beige carpet. A navy-blue comforter. A dresser with a TV on it. A desk with a computer.

  Bingo.

  I turned it on, and while it was booting up, I checked the drawers. Clothes and more clothes. I flicked on a lamp on the bedside table, opened the drawer there. It was empty but for a package of Kleenex. I let my eyes scan the room. The place was spotless. I had never taken Kimbal to be a neat freak. I wondered if he paid a service.

  When the computer was on, I poked around a bit, but it was as clean as the house. It wasn’t even hooked up to a printer or Wi-Fi. Why have it? Some kind of decoy?

  I crouched to look under the bed but dizziness engulfed me, and I sat on the floor as a vision claimed my full attention.

  I’m standing in an apartment in a high-rise. Out the window I see the roofs of buildings lower than this one. The floor is hard wood, different shades going in large zig-zags.

  A door bursts open, and Kimbal runs inside. He’s holding a handgun.

  “Stop!” he yells. “Don’t hurt him!”

  A shot rings out, but it wasn’t from Kimbal’s gun. The bullet must have hit him because he’s suddenly flying backwards. He smacks against the wall and slides down, leaving a swath of red over the white wall.

  I came back then, grabbed my face and rubbed my eyes.

  It had been a while since I’d had a new glimpse. I usually had old ones over and over. My heart rate was spiking, so I took a few deep breaths, hoping to calm myself.

  Kimbal was going to get himself shot.

  Not necessarily true. Just because I had a vision, it didn’t mean it would happen. Sometimes they were warnings.

  Maybe I should find Kimbal and tell him.

  But that was against the rules. I was just supposed to log it into my journal, and when I sent in my weekly report, the glimpse would be part of that. Then the professionals would get to decide what to do.

  I was getting pretty sick of following the system.

  Something was itching my shoulder. I twisted around and saw a funny pocket thing hanging off the side of the bed. Part of it was tucked between the mattress and box springs, which kept it in place. It held two remote controls, a little notepad, a couple pens, and a Bible of all things.