Twenty-four
While Gray rambled on about the business, I hid behind my latte.
We were huddled around a big white plastic table in the warehouse, and the chill rising off the cement floor and leaking in through the windows set my teeth to rattling. I rubbed my arms and blew into my hands to warm my fingers. Though chilled on the outside, a fire burned in my belly. I felt like a large black cauldron with all the memories of the past couple weeks churning, bubbling, and boiling. The lies. The messages. The trickery. I had lost touch with the truth. And Malcolm sitting across the table looking oh so suave and knowledgeable just added fuel to the fire.
My head pounded. Clues, images, and snippets of conversations swirled in and out of my brain. What had happened to Aimee? And what did that have to do with me? Her grandmother’s cottage was abandoned, the neighbor warned me to stay away, and I had no leads.
As Gray finished up his end of the meeting, Dad shuffled papers ready to embark on a long list of to-dos.
“So.” My voice echoed in the large room but still sounded small and wimpy. I cleared my throat and spoke louder. “I don’t think Spy Games’ clients are all that impressed with our dramatic entrance.”
Frankie smirked. Nancy gave me her motherly smile. Gray ignored me. So did Dad. Malcolm studied me.
“Your dad explained it to me,” he said. “Sounds like fun. I bet clients love it.”
I pictured Malcolm tied up in a chair while bat turds dropped from the rafters into his hair. With that image in mind, I said, “I had a conversation with a client and she mentioned it was kind of show offy.”
Okay, that conversation never happened, but no one had to know.
Dad cut in. “The entrance stays.” He rambled on, but I quickly lost interest.
I pictured walking over to Malcolm with a power drill in one hand, ready to torment him, and the fear on his face when he broke down crying, admitting his guilt. Every once in a while, Malcolm tried to catch my eyes, but I refused to play his game. I refused to be another toy in his chest.
“Savvy?” Dad asked.
Everyone was staring at me. “Yes?”
“What do you think? Will that work?”
A blush crept across my skin. I had to cover. I couldn’t disappoint him. “Yup. Great idea.”
A part of me wished I knew what I was agreeing with. Dad can brainstorm some pretty wacky ideas. Like dropping from ceilings. But I couldn’t ask him to repeat it. He wanted me to be the perfect Spy Games staff. Enthusiastic. Attentive. In control.
The rest of the meeting, I imagined different ways to torture Malcolm. Except, it made me miss Aimee, because she would have had great ideas. I’d never felt so far away from helping her as I did right then, sitting through a meeting, with her replacement at the table. It was like she’d been erased from the earth and no one cared.
“Does anyone here even miss Aimee?” My voice was louder than I meant it to be.
Dad took control. “Savvy, of course we do, but we’re happy she’s living her dreams.”
“You believed that note?” I looked into the eyes of my co-workers, pleading for someone to take my side.
Gray spoke up. “Why wouldn’t we?”
I pushed my chair back, causing a terrible screeching noise that sent shivers up my back. “Because she never said goodbye. She never talked about it and that’s not like her.”
“How long did you know her?” Malcolm asked.
In my snootiest voice, I said, “Six months.”
Malcolm leaned back. “It takes years to know someone. Most people are putting up a front of how they’d like people to view them.”
“What? Did you take psychology?”
He seemed embarrassed to be fighting over words with me. “Actually, I’ve taken two courses online.”
Great. We had something in common.
He looked around at all the staff. “Given that six months is only a fraction of the time needed to fully understand someone or have them share secrets, we have to assume Aimee is telling the truth.”
Dad rubbed the scruff on his chin, clearly impressed. My limbs trembled. How could Malcolm betray me like that? I’d told him all about Aimee. We’d spied on Peyton together and searched Aimee’s apartment. I thought he’d agreed with me. But that was before I knew he worked for Jolie, before he set the kidnapping up to look like Peyton was guilty, and before he tried to exact information from me over a living room picnic.
How could Dad believe Malcolm over me? Tears threatened. The embarrassing kind. I couldn’t take it anymore.
I slammed my hand on the table, then instantly regretted it as pain shot through every finger. “Aimee’s in trouble.” I turned and left before Dad could put me in chains and ship me off to Siberia.
I spent the next day fuming that Malcolm had tried to seduce me for info on my family and then jerked me around at the staff meeting. So not cool. While silently cursing him, I prepared for Operation Take Down Malcolm.
“Where you going, Savvy?” Dad asked from his slumber on the sofa.
Not sure how dads do that. Mine can snore away, mouth open, drool spilling, and still know what’s going on around him.
“Heading out for a run.” And a little bit of espionage.
I smoothed down my black shirt over my black pants. I looked a little bit like the wannabe spies I mocked, but I wasn’t going to dwell on that.
“Okay. Sounds good. I’m going to, um, continue working.” He picked up a folder to review.
Yeah, right, I laughed to myself. “I might stop by Malcolm’s to review some Spy Games rules.”
“How’s he coming along? Will he be a good replacement?” He lowered the file, his eyes fixed on me. “I had a good feeling when I hired him. We were lucky.”
Right. Just the word replacement turned Aimee into a piece of Tupperware. “He’ll be just peachy.”
On my way to the Metro, I let the cool air clear my mind. I’d give anything to talk to Aimee. She’d tell me in a flash if this were ludicrous or brilliant. She’d laugh at the irony. Of me. Spying. Not only on Peyton, but now on Malcolm. For so long I’d ignored all the times Dad tried to chat up the Spy Games life, and here I was, going off on another spy mission.
Looking for Aimee could be considered spying, but I’d never felt in any real danger. This Pouffant guy, on the other hand, was obsessed enough with my family to plant a spy in our lives and to shoot at me—or hire someone to shoot at me. Twice.
Malcolm’s darkened window mocked me. What does a guy like him do in his spare time? I hadn’t really talked to him since he’d tried to question me about Mom, which had totally flopped on one hand, but on the other hand, revealed his true colors. A shade called double agent.
After walking up to Malcolm’s apartment, I stopped and pressed my ear to the door.
Silence. I knocked, ready to run if I heard any movement. Nothing. I wiggled one of Dad’s fancy devices in the keyhole and the lock popped. With a slight turn, the door opened.
I slipped in like a night shadow.
A Spy Like Me Page 25