The Profile Match

by Jill Williamson

  Nose pulled away. I decided not to wait for Lukas to text back and called him. He didn’t answer. I tried Arianna, who also didn’t answer. What time was it, anyway? 7:02. Wow. Pretty early for a Sunday, I guess.

  I prayed all the way to Lukas’s house and opened the car door before Nose even came to a complete stop. Then I jumped in the Banana and drove like a maniac to Grace’s place. I might have run a few stop signs. It was early enough on Sunday that hardly any cars were out. I pulled into the Thomas’s driveway, ran up to the front door, and let myself in.

  Mr. and Mrs. Thomas both stood up from where they’d been sitting on the couch.

  “Are you sure you didn’t see her?” I asked, striding toward her dad.

  His face darkened. “You saw her last, buddy.”

  Mrs. Thomas put herself between us. “Calm down, both of you.”

  I stepped back, ran my hand through my hair, glanced around the house. “Did you start drinking again?” I paced to the kitchen, looking for beer cans, smelling for them. Nothing.

  “You’re not going to find anything,” Mr. Thomas said. “Why don’t you tell us what you did last night?”

  “I didn’t do anything! She’s the one who’s always . . .” I let my words trail off.

  “Always what?” Mr. Thomas asked.

  My face warmed. “Nothing.”

  “No, I want to know what you were going to say.”

  “It’s none of your business!”

  “Both of you stop,” Mrs. Thomas said. “Spencer, please sit down and tell us what happened last night.”

  I sat down, my cheeks were flaming again. “We went to dinner. Then the dance. Then Chaz’s party, just like we said we would. Then Grace said she wanted to break up. She went looking for Lukas, so I walked home.”

  “Why’d she dump you?” Mr. Thomas asked.

  “I honestly don’t know,” I said, still confused. “When Mrs. Thomas called this morning, I thought it was Grace, wanting to talk about it.” I sighed, trying to think. “You know, she’d never go anywhere without her cell phone. Where’d you find it?”

  “Plugged in and sitting on the table,” her mom said, gesturing to the end table in the corner of the room.

  “She had her phone with her last night,” I said. “If it’s here, she’s been home.”

  “What time did you leave the party?” Mrs. Thomas asked.

  “Um… Like twelve fifteen?”

  “We weren’t home until one,” Mrs. Thomas said.

  “She left this house after midnight without her phone?” Mr. Thomas asked.

  “No way,” I said. “Did you call Arianna?”

  “I texted her. She hasn’t seen or heard from Grace,” her mom said.

  “Did you look for a note?” I asked.

  “I didn’t think to.” Her mom got up and started down the hallway.

  I glanced at Mr. Thomas, who was glaring at me like I was some sort of child murderer. I leaned forward and grabbed Grace’s phone, scrolled through the texts, frowned when I saw a recent thread from Eli. They’d been talking about Stranger Things. Eli thought Grace was hotter than Nancy, the girl on the show.

  I growled a little.

  A cry from the back of the house sent me to my feet. Mr. Thomas and I raced each other down the hall. We reached the door together, so I gritted my teeth and stepped back to let him enter first.

  Mrs. Thomas was sitting on Grace’s bed, a sheet of paper clutched in her hand. Grace’s spiky red shoes were on the floor. And the dress she’d been wearing was hanging on the outside of her closet door. I couldn’t believe Grace’s parents hadn’t noticed the dress was here.

  Mrs. Thomas handed the paper to her husband. I counted to ten, trying to calm down as I waited for my turn to look.

  “I don’t understand,” her dad said, pushing the paper my way.

  I took it, hands shaking as my eyes fixed upon the familiar symbol and the words beneath.

  I gasped. “I think I know where she is.”

  “I’m sure of that,” her dad said.

  “Please explain, Spencer,” her mother said.

  “They took her to get to me. To get me to talk.”

  Mrs. Thomas’s eyes widened. “Who is they?”

  “The bad guys,” I said.

  Mrs. Thomas wailed.

  “Who is Jonas?” Mr. Thomas asked.

  “Me,” I said. “I’m Jonas. I’m, uh, kind of in a witness protection type thing.”

  “Oh, God, help us!” Grace’s mom said. “I can’t lose another child!”

  That stopped me. “You lost a child?”

  “A baby.” Mr. Thomas sat beside his wife and put his arm around her. “Grace had a twin, but her little brother died during childbirth.”

  A chill ran over me. “Grace had a twin?”

  “We were on vacation in Colorado at the time,” Mr. Thomas said. “In a cabin that was a good three hours from the nearest hospital. He wasn’t due for another month. I didn’t even know I was having twins. Grace was a surprise.”

  The dream I’d been having about the woman in labor. That had been Grace’s mom. I handed the note back to Mr. Thomas. “Call Mr. S and tell him everything. Show him this note.” I ran out of the room and down the hall.

  “Where are you going?” Mr. Thomas called after me.

  “To see if I can get her back.”

  ● ● ●

  I drove home like I’d just robbed a bank, sending up more desperate prayers for God to keep Grace safe. I entered the house and found Grandma sitting in the living room, dressed for church and reading her Bible.

  “Where did you go?” she asked as I ran past.

  In my bedroom I opened my desk drawer and rummaged for the sheet of paper. I knew I’d put it there, and when I couldn’t find it, I yanked out the drawer and dumped it on the floor. I sifted through the mess of pens, pencils, rulers, flash drives, all kinds of junk . . .

  “Spencer, what is going on?” Grandma was standing in my doorway.

  “Just looking for something,” I said, turning over every piece of paper I saw. Where was it?

  “You need to get ready for church,” Grandma said. “Would you like some breakfast?”

  “Uh, sure,” I said. I had no time to eat, but at least she’d leave my room.

  “I’ll make you some eggs.” She retreated down the hall.

  I peeked into the space where the drawer went. There! Wedged in the crack at the back. I reached my arm into the narrow slot and pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper, examined the image I’d printed of the business card that I’d taken on Jake’s cell phone back in Moscow and emailed to myself without his knowing.

  Without anyone knowing.

  Anya Vsveloda’s business card. The one she’d given me at the HODC in Moscow.

  I grabbed my phone and dialed the Los Angeles phone number.

  REPORT NUMBER: 6

  REPORT TITLE: I Catch a Ride to a Criminal’s Lair and Find Out, I’ve Been There Before

  SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond

  LOCATION: Grandma Alice’s House, Pilot Point, California

  DATE AND TIME: Sunday, November 4, 8:57 a.m.

  The number went to voicemail, so I left a message. “Spencer Garmond here. If you know where Grace Thomas is, call me.”

  I ended the call and sat on my bed, unsure what to do with myself now. Call Mr. S? Call Prière?

  My phone buzzed from a text. From the number I’d just called.

  Will send a car.

  I stood and paced to the window. I couldn’t get in a car that would take me to Anya. Could I?

  I fingered the gold chain around my neck. I was not a necklace wearing kind of guy, but this one that my grandma had given me was special. It had a silver, shield-shaped charm with a cross on it, and in that charm was a tracking device. It was one more layer of protection for me against the people who wanted me found. The bad guys knew about it, though. The thugs in Alaska had ripped it off before taking me for that pla
ne ride. I’d gotten my necklace back from Mr. S, who’d found it on the dock in Alaska. If I was going to do this, I couldn’t risk having it taken again. I removed the necklace and pulled the charm from the chain. I ran my thumb over the cross, then turned it over and read the words from Joshua 1:9 that were engraved on the back.

  “I will be strong and courageous. I will not be terrified or discouraged, for the Lord my God is with me wherever I go.”

  I prayed that God would go with me into the lion’s den, then I tucked the cross in my sock. I planted three of my homemade Field Opps kits on me, pulled on some slacks and a button-down shirt, and left the room. Grandma had made me eggs, sausage, and toast. I sat at the table and ate slowly.

  “Where did you go this morning?” she asked.

  “I left my car at Lukas’s place, so I had the guys take me over there to get it.”

  She accepted this without question. I finished eating, watching the clock, hoping Grandma would leave before the car got here so I wouldn’t have to lie. She did. It wasn’t more than five minutes later when a black Lexus pulled into the driveway.

  I felt queasy, but as I walked toward the vehicle, adrenaline kicked in. I waved at my detail, wanting to make sure they were paying attention. Someone in the back of the Lexus opened the door from the inside. I climbed in, shut the door.

  And saw Irving MacCormack sitting in the back seat.

  “Hello, Spencer,” he said, as the car pulled into the street. “I heard you were in trouble.”

  Flabbergasted, I said, “What is this? You know Anya?”

  Why was I surprised? Of course he knew Anya.

  “She’s an associate,” MacCormack said. “You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend.”

  “Grace isn’t my girlfriend.” Anymore. “Why’d you take her?”

  “I didn’t take her, but don’t worry. She’s safe.”

  I grit my teeth. What a piece of work.

  My phone rang. Mr. S calling. I declined the call.

  I prayed silently, “God be with me. God be with me.”

  “We’re supposed to be a family, Spencer,” MacCormack said. “Yet you never respond to my messages.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “We’re all busy.”

  This guy was a piece of work. I knew he wasn’t my dad, but I figured I’d push things that way and see what he said. “You want to talk? Tell me about Mom.”

  “First you’re going to tell me about this First Twin.”

  Mother pus bucket. Was MacCormack the ringleader in all this? “I’ve told you people again and again. I don’t know who the First Twin is.”

  Only now I did. Because it was Grace. It had to be. They had her and didn’t even know it.

  What could Grace possibly know that they would want?

  “What’s so important about this First Twin person, anyway?” I asked. “What’s he supposed to do?”

  “Besides destroy everything I’ve ever worked for? I honestly don’t know.” MacCormack chuckled, and I wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or serious.

  The Lexus headed across town and got on the 101 going west. The curving onramp allowed me a coy glance behind us. The sedan was there, my detail right behind us. I breathed out my relief.

  My phone buzzed. This time Mr. S was texting.

  Where are you?

  I angled my phone so MacCormack couldn’t see, then texted back. With Irving MacCormack on the 101 westbound. Probably headed to his place in Pacific Palisades. He has Grace. Sloan and Bridges are behind us. Tell them what’s up.

  “Who are you talking to?” MacCormack asked.

  I sent the message, then deleted it and the one Mr. S had sent before in case MacCormack took my phone. I had no idea what to expect from this guy. “Coach. I told him I had to miss practice this morning. He’s not happy.”

  “A Christian school has basketball practice on Sundays?”

  “Not usually. I was going to work with some guys on their outside shots.”

  Another buzz. Mr. S again. Be careful, Spencer.

  Sure.

  I deleted the text, set the phone to Do Not Disturb, then pocketed it.

  “I don’t have the information you want,” I said, “but I need to know that Grace is okay.”

  “She’s fine,” MacCormack said. “You’ll see her soon. You talk to the recruiting coaches at UCLA yet?”

  “I’ve talked with them,” I said. “They’re not interested.”

  “Give it time. What do you think of their team this year?”

  “We’re really going to talk sports?”

  “Unless you want to talk about the First Twin.”

  So I talked sports with award-winning director Irving MacCormack, who was pretending to be my dad because he was also, apparently, a criminal mastermind.

  ● ● ●

  The moment the Lexus stopped outside MacCormack’s Spanish-style mansion, I bolted from the car and let myself inside.

  “Grace!” I called, my voice resounding in the two-story foyer. I took the steps up the curling staircase two at a time and started down the west wing of the house. I stopped suddenly when I saw Tito standing ahead of me in the hallway, just outside a closed door.

  How had he gotten out of jail?

  “She in there?” I pushed past him and opened the door. Tito didn’t try to stop me.

  Grace was sitting on the edge of a bed. “Spencer!” She jumped up and threw herself at me. I caught her, lifted her feet off the floor, and swung her in a circle, inhaling the familiar scent of coconut. She was wearing a tank top and a pair of flannel pajama pants with panda bears on them. Her hair was in a ponytail. I set her feet back on the floor, but she didn’t let go. She was crying.

  “Hey, it’s okay,” I said. “I’m going to get us out of here.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t understand. I had a dream. I hoped it was you. I thought it was, but I just didn’t know. And now you’re here.” More weeping.

  She wasn’t making any sense. This ordeal had clearly terrified her. I led her to the bed, and we sat together on the edge. “It’s going to be okay,” I said. “God’s got this.”

  She grimaced but nodded. A sniffle and the tears stopped. “How’d you find me so fast?”

  “They left a note,” I said, thinking of the tattoo on the sheet of paper. “Plus, he came to my house to pick me up.”

  “Who came?”

  “Irving MacCormack. Director of the Jolt movies. This is his place. He pretended to be my dad, but he’s not.”

  “Why would he pretend that?”

  “I think he’s involved in some shady stuff. I think he knows Anya.”

  She stared at me with wide eyes. “That woman from Okinawa?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What does she want with me?”

  “Nothing, Grace. They don’t want you. They want me. They took you because they know we’re friends.” I met her gaze. “I’m sorry.”

  Grace stared at me, her eyes all big and round. I grabbed her shoulder and kissed her softly. Probably shouldn’t have, but I just did, okay?

  And she kissed me back.

  For that brief moment, I became lost in the bliss of all things Grace—her lips, her smell, the feel of her hair between my fingers, the sound of her breath, its warmth against my lips. Together again. Perhaps this crisis would somehow mend whatever was broken between us.

  Too soon she pushed me back.

  “We have to get away from here,” she said.

  “Mr. S knows where we are. And my detail followed me here. Someone will come.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  “Then we wait for the right moment and leave.”

  ● ● ●

  My phone had no signal here, which was weird. Hours passed, and we heard nothing. We prayed out loud together, like, six times for help to come. We finally turned on the TV just to try and distract ourselves from the stress of so much silence. I gave Grace my phone. That way if we were separated, w
e’d both have something that could be tracked.

  Halfway through some reality show about people making cupcakes, Tito poked his head inside.

  “Boy,” he said, “let’s go.”

  “Just me?” I asked, standing.

  “Just you.”

  “Where am I going?” I asked.

  “Mr. MacCormack wants to talk.”

  I looked at Grace. “I’ll be back. Pray for me.”

  She nodded but didn’t look happy about the situation.

  I followed Tito out the door and back to the stairs. There he led me to the other side of the mansion. We took a few hallways and eventually entered an ornate office with walls and floor and furniture all made from dark red wood. MacCormack, wearing a T-shirt and shorts, was walking on a treadmill in the corner.

  “A whole village could live in this house,” I said.

  “I seem to recall you being quite comfortable here,” he panted.

  “I was never comfortable here.” Starstruck, maybe.

  The machine slowed to a stop. MacCormack stepped down, grabbed a towel, and dabbed at his face. Then he walked to his desk, picked up a bottle of Evian, and guzzled half of it.

  That’s when I saw the maze tattoo on his arm.

  Figs and jam. He really was one of them. “How long you had that?” I pointed at the tattoo.

  MacCormack smacked his lips and tossed the bottle in a trash can under his desk. “About eight years.”

  “So, you don’t really want to be a father. You were just trying to help them.”

  “I think we both know you’re not my son.”

  “Nice.” Even though I’d already figured that out, the casual way he admitted his lie stung. “What do you people want from me?”

  “You’re a valuable commodity. I collect such commodities. Put them to work.”

  “Don’t you mean make them work for you. By kidnapping their friends?”

  He smiled, as if I’d just stumbled onto a secret he’d been hiding. “If you truthfully answer some questions for me, I’ll let your girlfriend go. She’s a pretty little thing.”

  Heat flashed up my spine. “I told you, she’s not my girlfriend.”