A Spy Like Me (7 page)

I shoved handful after handful of money back
into the package, grabbed the camera and the note, and sprinted
back to my room.

The whole crew moved into the kitchen and
shuffled chairs around for a staff meeting. Why here? Dad never
brought them to our house. I didn’t have a good feeling. I shoved
everything into the back of my closet and waited to make my
entrance. What would I say to everyone? “Oh hi everyone, yes, I’m
the boss’s daughter who pissed off a client today. And what is
that? Why yes, I did get kicked out of the Louvre.” Insert fake
laughter. “Yes, I’ll be packing for boarding school because my dad
is kicking me out. Anything else you want to know?”

After procrastinating as long as I could and
hoping the meeting was almost over, I entered the kitchen. The
whole Spy Games staff was crammed into our kitchenette, sitting
around the table drinking instant coffee.

“What’s up?” I asked casually. Now I was
terrified of not only getting fired but of getting shipped away
somewhere as well.

“Glad you could join us, Savvy.” Dad barely
acknowledged me.

Maps of Paris covered the table. Dad posed a
question to the group every few seconds. Gray took notes and
punched numbers into a calculator. Hunched over the table, Frankie
sipped the instant coffee. Nancy nodded, but her whole body
drooped.

One person was missing, and I knew she’d
never ditch a staff meeting. The job was too important.

“Where’s Aimee?” I asked.

Frankie flashed me a bored look, and then
went back to stirring another sugar packet into his coffee. Nancy
looked at me with sympathetic eyes that said, “Oh, you poor thing.”
Like when your dad eats your last piece of Halloween candy.

Peyton’s last threat echoed in my mind. He
couldn’t have gotten to her. Could he?

“Dad?” I tucked the same piece of hair behind
my ears over and over because it wouldn’t stay in place. “Where’s
Aimee?”

The only evidence he’d heard me was the
higher pitch of his voice and the way his fingers gripped the
pencil. He whispered to Gray. Frankie’s legs twitched like he
wanted to bolt and avoid the confrontation.

Basically, Dad ignored me.

“Except for that one incident, we got mostly
positive feedback.” He glanced over his notes. “I’ll be working on
a new route. There are many terrific tourist sites in Paris. In no
time at all, we’ll have a new mission mapped out and ready to
go.”

I ducked my head in epic shame, biding my
time as Dad closed. I tried not to think about Aimee. Maybe she had
to run errands. Maybe she got the stomach bug. There were lots of
perfectly good reasons for her absence.

“Thanks, everyone,” Dad concluded. “Go home
and relax. It’s been a long day.”

The staff gathered their stuff and filed out.
Gray nodded to me. Nancy squeezed my shoulder, and Frankie winked
at me.

“Good luck,” he whispered.

Not a good sign. Maybe I’d gotten Aimee
fired, too? That was why Nancy looked at me like I’d have to live
with the guilt. I held the door and said good-bye, ignoring the
increased pulse thrumming through my veins.

Finally, they were gone. Our apartment felt
huge. Nowhere to hide. No cracks to slip into and disappear for a
while, like a month or two. I decided to start first.

“I can explain. Just give me a chance.”

“Savvy.” Dad’s voice sounded a bit
impatient.

“No, really. I was doing great at the Louvre
and then Malcolm messed up everything. He got me kicked out.”

“Did you or did you not bring candy into the
Louvre?”

I couldn’t lie my way out of this one. “Kind
of.”

He tilted his head to the side.

“I didn’t do it on purpose. And no one
would’ve known if it hadn’t been for Malcolm.”

Dad sighed in exasperation. “Malcolm asked to
observe Spy Games before officially applying for a job. I told him
to shadow you!”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” This would’ve
changed everything.

“I tried. You ran out of the debriefing so
fast I didn’t have a chance. And then you must’ve had your phone
turned off.”

“Oh.”

“We had a strict contract with the museum. We
were only allowed to use it for Spy Games as long as we didn’t
cause any trouble.”

I couldn’t look him in the eyes. “And
spilling candy constitutes trouble?”

“Unfortunately, yes. We’ve broken the
contract.”

Part of what drew customers was incorporating
big tourist spots like the Louvre.

“I’ll go back and explain,” I said. “I’ll
apologize. I’ll write them a letter. I’ll get down on my knees and
beg. I’ll scrub their floors for a year.”

The words tasted bitter on my tongue. The
apology was only a habit. I always apologized, hoping to smooth
over the tension in the house. Not that it ever worked.

“It won’t matter.” With a sigh, he closed the
file folders spread on our kitchen table. After stuffing them into
his leather briefcase, he stopped and studied me. “Are you that
unhappy?”

“What?” And I thought I’d hid it so well.

He paused, and in that moment I could see the
heartbreak written on his face. He missed Mom just as much as I
did.

“Because I can’t have you working for Spy
Games if you can’t take it seriously. I know you mock some of the
clients. I know you slack off at times. I’ve overlooked a lot of
it, but as my daughter, how you treat the job in front of the staff
is a reflection on me.”

Oh, the shame! How do parents know
everything? He must have planted bugs in the rafters, in my
bedroom, in the kitchen; or slipped trackers in my shoes. I
shriveled up and wanted to crawl away and hide in a sandbank.

Dad moved to the brown leather loveseat. He
motioned for me to sit down, but the stubborn side of me refused.
He rubbed his temples. “It’s about Aimee.”

I stepped back. “No way. You can’t do this.
The Louvre wasn’t her fault. It was mine. You can’t fire her too.
Please! She takes care of her grandmother and counts on this
job.”

“Savvy!” Dad’s voice was sharp, and I stopped
babbling. “Aimee isn’t fired, and neither are you.”

I plopped on the couch even though a part of
me wanted to run away. “Where is she?”

Dad pulled out a letter and handed it to me.
“I found this taped to the door.”

I held the paper. My hand shook a little bit
as I quickly read it. The note was from Aimee, and it said
something about taking some time off to backpack across Eastern
Europe. It said how sorry she was for the short notice, and that
she’d be in touch when she got back. The words blurred on the page,
not making any sense.

As if Dad sensed my doubt, he said, “Hasn’t
she always wanted to travel?”

“Yeah.” I read over it again, but I didn’t
believe it. Not for one second. “Don’t you think it’s odd that she
didn’t give it to you in person? Or talk to you about it? Or talk
to me?”

“A little. But it was probably awkward for
her.”

“What about her grandmother?” I reminded
him.

This isn’t over.
Peyton’s words
pounded in my brain and spread into my heart like poison.

“Aimee is very responsible,” I continued.
“She’d never leave without making alternate arrangements.”

This isn’t over.

“What about Peyton?”

Dad waved his hand. “I don’t think he’s any
trouble. He was letting off some steam. I’ll give him a refund,
he’ll pack his bags, and he’ll head back to the States.”

“But he threatened us earlier.” I bit my lip
and flashed back to the scene in the Eiffel. Yes, I made mistakes,
but he overreacted. Then it hit me. Maybe he’d found her following
him and after extracting the hostage site from her, he took her
hostage? I stifled a gasp.

I’d failed Dad today but this was my chance
to make up for everything. We could work on finding Aimee together.
We’d be spies. Real spies. He’d love it. He’d always wanted me to
get into the whole spy thing. We could work together on a mission,
and he’d be so happy. Hope bubbled up in my chest.

“Dad, I have a strong feeling she did not go
backpacking. You’ve always said to follow our instincts. We could
work—”

He zipped his briefcase. “I admit her leaving
is a bit strange. But instinct is different than an overactive
imagination. You’re too close to this to see properly.”

His words cut through my excitement like a
knife through the last piece of birthday cake. Why wouldn’t he
believe me? Dad had done everything possible to get me excited
about Spy Games, from the box of spy gadgets to the spy hat. And
when I gave him the chance to work on a real mission with me, he
shrugged it off as an overactive imagination?

“Did you put ice on your cheek?” His stress
level was rising. I could tell by the multiplied number of lines on
his forehead.

“Yeah, sure.” I traced circles on the arm of
the couch.

Dad rubbed the scruff on his jaw. He stood up
from the couch, looking like he’d aged about twenty years. His
shoulders were hunched over. He started to say something, then
stopped. Then he finally spoke.

“I’m going back to the office to work on the
new route.”

And then I was alone. And felt it. Aimee was
the first person hired on staff and we were friends from our first
shared latte and triple-layer cake. But it felt like someone had
taken a fork to our sweet glaze and smashed it into crumbs. We’d
dreamed so much together. I couldn’t believe she’d just take off.
She’d at least call.

My arm jerked with the revelation. I ran over
to the front door and dug out my phone from my jacket pocket. After
sending her a text, I went back to the couch, rehearsing in my mind
all the conversations I’d had with Aimee over the past weeks. I
didn’t remember any mention of a trip. Nothing made sense. A year
ago I would’ve agreed with Dad and squashed any doubts. But this
wasn’t about me. It was about Aimee. I’d follow through with the
Extravaganza and do a little investigating at the same time. By
myself. Without Dad.

No turning back.

Monday morning came, and I woke with a major
Spy Games hangover. I rolled out of bed and searched for a tee to
throw on over my cammie. Coffee. I needed a shot of caffeine.
Hopefully after a cup, my head would clear and I would accept my
crazy suspicion Peyton had done away with Aimee was just a crazy
suspicion. I wanted to be wrong. I wanted the letter to be a prank.
I wanted Aimee to meet me for a latte this morning as usual. And I
needed to find out about this pastry Extravaganza thing.

With my fingers running along the wall, I
stumbled down the narrow hallway and into the kitchen. I smelled
the coffee. Hazelnut. It must be Dad’s way of making me feel
better, but I’d rather him write a note or do the dishes because
his coffee tastes like dishwater. My eyes were beginning to clear,
and I noticed the shape of a blue coffee mug sitting on the
counter. I leaned against the kitchen counter and rubbed my eyes.
The blurry reflection in the toaster of a dark shape caught my
attention.

What the hell
?

I studied the reflection but it was too
blurry. It wasn’t my dad. Could it be Peyton?

I might have a hard time waking up in the
morning, but there’s nothing like an intruder to get the mojo
flowing. I inched my hand toward a drawer and wished like hell I
were wearing one of those sleepers with the feet instead of a
T-shirt with my pink panties showing.

After a pretend stretch, I pulled out a
butter knife from the drawer and flipped around.

Malcolm.

Relief flooded my limbs. Then I remembered
how mad I was at him and how mad he might be at me, so I held the
knife up and ready. We didn’t exactly leave on the best of terms.
And yesterday I made it worse because I had no clue he was
shadowing me.

Malcolm sat relaxed in Dad’s kitchen chair,
legs crossed, fingers tapping away on his laptop, eyes glued to the
screen. Like he was alone in his bedroom or something.

“Hey! What are you doing here?” I waved the
knife. I’m known to be pretty loquacious but I couldn’t quite find
the right words to express my shock. And normally, I loved when Dad
left early for work, but today I wished he were about to stumble
from his bedroom.

Malcolm smiled but he still didn’t notice my
dangerous weapon. “Where else would I be?”

Oh crap. Revenge. I tugged on my T-shirt,
trying to stretch it past my knees.

He jotted notes on a small notepad on the
table beside his laptop. “If you have a flash, I can download any
documents.”

What was he talking about? The whole
shadow-me-for-a-day thing was over. What kind of revenge would an
angry but still-cute waiter want? I had to get him out of our
apartment. “My gosh, will you look already!”

His gaze flicked up and locked on the knife.
He snorted and moved his laptop as if it were a shield.

I slashed the knife through the air like I
was a sheik from Arabia. “Maybe you didn’t get the clue the other
night that I’m not interested in you.”

He closed his laptop. “Hope the coffee is
right. I know you like it strong.”

My hand wavered and so did my confidence. I
mimicked his casual approach. “I can’t argue that you didn’t take
time to get to know me before our date.”

He smiled. “As a waiter, I notice these
things.”

“Right.” What else had he noticed? I was
determined not to show that his surprise visit had me rattled. Why
had Dad let him in? He sipped his coffee, his eyes still on mine. I
tried to zap some common sense into my brain while staying in
control of the conversation, but I fell silent and rested my hand
with the knife on the counter. Thoughts of Aimee were constantly
with me, hovering in the back of my mind.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.