A Spy Like Me (11 page)

“Hello? Anyone home?”

I jumped from the chair like I had a rocket
strapped to my back.

“Whoa, it’s just me.” Malcolm entered the
tiny living room.

I drank in the sight of him, his quirky smile
and the familiar glint in his eye like he knew something I didn’t.
A telltale smile slowly spread across my face along with the rash
on my neck. But with the feelings rushing through me came the guilt
for allowing myself to like him. I should be focused on saving
Aimee.

Dad entered the room. “Oh, Malcolm. I forgot
you were stopping by.”

He coughed and his eyes shifted to the right
like he regretted leaving his office. I directed my glare of
complete evil between the two of them.

Dad flashed a cheesy grin. “Sorry, Savvy. I
forgot to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” I sensed a conspiracy and
didn’t like it.

Dad started cleaning up the chess game for
me. “Malcolm called earlier and said you’d missed a couple days of
training.”

Dad raised his eyebrows and peered at me. I
hid my face and got busy cleaning up the rest of the games.

He continued, “Which I’ll forgive. But he
also shared that things were a little tense between the two of you.
So he asked for another day off.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.” Malcolm
stepped closer to me. “I thought if we were going to be working
together, we should have an afternoon of just plain old fun in
France. Your dad agreed.”

“How come I wasn’t involved in this
decision?” The pincers came out again.

Dad backed away with his hands in the air.
“Uh, I just remembered a teleconference I have in a couple minutes.
Have fun.” Then he practically sprinted back to his
office/bedroom.

I fumbled with the zipper on the game package
not quite sure how I felt about this sudden turn of events.

“I have to come up with an entry for the
Extravaganza,” I said.

“I figured an afternoon off might help. The
best ideas come when we’re not looking for them.” Malcolm crossed
the room and grabbed my hand. “And I wanted to say sorry for being
a jerk the other day. Next time we can pass a hundred shops if you
want before choosing one.”

“I wasn’t exactly a princess either.” Then I
laughed. “A hundred? Really?”

His lips curved up, showing the dimples I
couldn’t resist.

“Fine.” I relented. “I’ll be right back. But
I’m going to hold you to that.”

I headed to my bedroom to change, heart
fluttering, and pretty sure I shouldn’t take a break from hunting
down clues to find Aimee.

As we headed up the stairs to Malcolm’s
apartment, my suspicions grew. “I hope you’re not planning an
afternoon of flirting.” Who knew how many girls he’d seduced. I’d
like to think none.

“Darn.” He flipped around on the stairs,
brushing up against me. “There go all my plans. You might as well
go home.”

I knew he was joking, but still I felt
disappointed that he didn’t have an afternoon of seduction planned.
He unlocked the door and we entered. His apartment was pretty
sterile, a word that usually made me think of hospitals, needles,
and green scrubs.

“I totally get it.”

“What?” he said, as he dug around in the
smallest closet in France.

I ran my finger across an empty bookshelf
hung on the wall. The counter had nothing on it. The couch didn’t
even have a pillow. Not even one candle. “Why you don’t invite
girls up here.”

He caught my eye and my stomach fluttered.
“Atmosphere has nothing to do with romance.”

He went back to digging, and in that moment,
I believed him. Boy, did I ever.

“Aha! Found it.” He pulled an ugly green gym
bag from the depths of the closet.

“Hmm. That looks suspicious. Are you going to
divulge our afternoon plans?” I’d hoped he had a crystal ball that
would reveal how to find Aimee.

“Peyton’s on the move.” He unzipped the bag
and pulled out what looked like material from Marie’s scrap
bag.

“What?” My face heated up.

Even though I only wanted to play detective
this afternoon, I liked the idea that he’d planned a day of
innocent strolls, laughter, and holding hands. I let myself
daydream. The breeze would make the leaves dance in the trees while
we played cards under their umbrella, and I’d believe, for a just
few moments, that my best friend truly was on vacation. But then I
felt immediately guilty. How could I even think of a romantic
interlude?

“Haven’t you been paying attention to the
trackers you planted?” He separated the quilting scraps.

“Yeah, but he’s not moving. And I was kinda
busy yesterday with Spy Games stuff.”

If I tried, I could find a connection between
chocolate peanut butter ice cream and Spy Games.

“I’ve been doing a bit of spying myself. He’s
been on the move for a couple of hours. I figured you’d want to be
all business today without your dad knowing.”

“Of course, duh.” I snorted.

He pushed the pile of cloth toward me along
with a wig that looked like the end of a mop with silver and gray
hairs wrapped up in a messy bun. “Get dressed.”

I gave him my dumb blonde look. Yes, even us
black-haired beauties have our moments.

“Your disguise?”

I blew air through my lips. “Of course, I
knew that.”

An hour later, Malcolm and I hobbled, arm in
arm, to the Metro. He wore old man corduroys that were faded and a
plaid flannel shirt, even though it was warm outside. A derby hat
sat on top of his grey head, and he had a long wizard’s beard. I’d
never seen this side of Malcolm, all business and no play. But I
liked that he was helping me.

“So, Dearie, you up for some square dancing
this week?” I pushed my mop of grey hair out of my eyes then
smoothed down the ugliest dress ever. I swear I was a walking
commercial for patchwork quilts, and not in a cozy cottage kind of
way.

Malcolm leaned on his cane and shuffled his
feet. He whispered, “Do I look like I could dance?”

Oh, right. “I guess we’ll have to spend our
days taking care of the grandkids then.”

He tried to hide a muffled snicker. “You’re
not very good at this, are you?”

I stopped and pulled my arm away. “I’m fine.
Just so you know, I was the understudy for Aunt Spike from
James
and the Giant Peach
in a third grade play.”

He slipped his fingers through mine. “Let’s
go, Hilda.”

We didn’t say much on the ride underground
per Malcolm’s orders. I guess lots of old married couples don’t
talk when they reach a certain age. Kind of like my mom and dad.
Except they’re not that old yet. Off the Metro we crossed the
street, a bit faster than our age should’ve allowed, and headed
toward a big gate.

“Parc des buttes.”

I burst out laughing, but when we entered the
park, my mood shifted. I lost any desire to joke about parking our
derrières on the benches. Aimee and I would have a good time with
that one – when I found her. I picked up my pace. Peyton was on the
move. In this park.

I could be moments from rescuing my
friend.

Malcolm grabbed my hand. “Slow down, dear.
Let’s enjoy the day.”

What he really meant was, “Stop running
through the park like a schoolchild when you’re supposed to be 70
years old.” but I couldn’t help it. It had already been too long.
What do they say? After twenty-four hours the chance of finding
someone decreases?

His eyes darted back and forth along the
perimeter of the park, but the only somewhat suspicious movement
was a mime performing for a big family picnic and a young couple
riding a tandem bike. I pictured me and Aimee riding on the bike,
dodging squirrels in the path until we’d give up and walk. Or
coming here with her grandmother, who could fill us in on the
history behind this place. Because every place in Paris has a
history.

After shuffling through the winding paved
paths that rolled with the landscape, he stroked his long
beard—quite convincingly I might add. “I bet I know where he’s
headed.”

He led me down narrow paths overhung with
tree branches and ferns, and with no one around, we jogged. The
smell of damp earth and leaves brought me back to working in my
dad’s herb garden and walking through the woods behind our house.
But those memories were safe ones, and there was nothing safe about
what we were doing now—following a potential madman.

We turned a corner and a humongous rocky
bluff jutted into the sky. Ivy clung to its side, crawling toward
the gazebo-like temple at the top. I shivered a bit because the
cliff towered over a lake. Even though the water sparkled in the
sun and seemed pretty harmless, it was a long drop from where we
stood. A wooden-slat bridge that didn’t look very safe seemed to be
the only way across. It started a few feet ahead of us, way too far
up for me to consider crossing. I swayed with dizziness just
looking at it, and I gripped Malcolm’s cane. “I need this more than
you.”

“Did you see him?” Malcolm pointed and peered
across the bridge.

I followed his gaze, fearing and hoping that
he’d seen someone. “Who?”

“A man just ducked into the woods over on the
cliff.” He cupped his hand to shield the sun from his eyes. “I
think it was Peyton.”

“Why, what did you see?” Maybe I needed
glasses. Dark shapes moved in between the trees.

“Tall, dark hair, an obnoxious swagger. Sound
like him?”

Sounded exactly like Peyton. “Are you sure?”
Adrenaline rushed through my body. “Oh my gosh, an island would be
a perfect place to hide a hostage.” Aimee could be tied up under a
tree, hidden by long willowy branches, she could be shivering from
cold and shaking from starvation, she could be terrified thinking
no one would ever find her.

“Stop and breathe.” Malcolm rubbed my
back.

After gasping a bit, I stepped onto the first
wooden plank, swallowing down my breakfast and refusing to look
below.

“We can cross the safe and legal one.”
Malcolm grabbed my hand, trying to pull me in the other
direction.

“It would be too late.” I growled and ripped
out of his grasp. “We cross now and have him lead us to Aimee.”

Ignoring the sign with a big circle and a
line through it, I started across the bridge, my eyes on the
temple. The wooden slats creaked and swayed under my weight. I
didn’t care about the rules or the danger. I wanted to find Aimee,
and I couldn’t give Peyton any more of a head start than he already
had.

Halfway across, Malcolm stopped and the
bridge creaked. I groaned, my fingers digging into the railing.
Through sheer determination of will I made it, and then dropping
the granny act, I sprinted across the top of the rocky cliff
calling Aimee’s name. The leaves and ferns brushed my face and
arms. I found nothing but fox dens or rabbit holes. After looking
under every rock and tree, my adrenaline crashed. Nothing.

Malcolm called out, “I found something. Over
here!”

With a surge of energy, I ran through brush
and ducked branches until I found him, standing by a tree, holding
back the big drooping branches. The heartbreak in Malcolm’s eyes
told me everything.

“This doesn’t mean she was here. This could
be anything.”

Underneath lay the scattered remains of what
could’ve been Aimee’s meager captivity, frayed rope and a power bar
wrapper.
Crap
. I pulled out the tracker and we both looked
at it.

Malcolm blew out a breath. “Sorry. He’s
leaving the park.”

The leaves and rope blurred in front of my
eyes. It couldn’t be. Some pieces of trash weren’t real clues. But
then why did I feel my hope slipping away? I couldn’t stand there,
next to Malcolm, so I ran and ran and ran until I couldn’t breathe.
I needed to be alone.

I arrived at the other bridge—the safe
one—and slumped against a tree, welcoming the jagged bark piercing
through my shirt into the skin of my back. Pain was good, a
reminder that nothing should matter but Aimee.

Malcolm was soon with me, gently lifting me
up by the arm. “Honestly, I don’t think she was ever here. I should
never have pointed it out. That could’ve been anything.”

“Or it could be everything. Wasn’t that the
same kind of rope we found in Peyton’s apartment?”

“Possibly. But it’s pretty common rope.” He
held out his hand. “Let’s go back and regroup. He’ll be on the move
again and we’ll find him.”

I sighed not wanting to give up, not wanting
to admit that I was failing, not wanting to tell Malcolm to stuff
it when he was just trying to help. We’d find him? When? How? I
wanted answers.

We crossed the safe bridge. The green of the
trees blurred against the blue sky and the slight breeze moved my
granny dress against my legs.

Malcolm stopped halfway. “You might as well
take in the view. We did tell your dad we’d have some fun.”

Geese flapped their wings and skittered
across the lake to settle near the edge. Large tree branches dipped
their fingers into the edge of the water. Aimee would’ve loved it.
I leaned my head against his shoulder, refusing to give in to
tears. I didn’t want Malcolm to know how much it was getting to
me.

“So, dear, my memory is getting a little
fuzzy,” he whispered, his breath kissing my cheek. “Tell me again
about our wedding day.”

I stiffened a bit when he put his arm around
me. Very easily, I could’ve slipped into this role and forgotten.
Pretended that all was well, and felt safe and loved with the
warmth of his arm draped across my shoulder. Except I couldn’t
muster the energy to play his game.

“You can quit trying to cheer me up. It won’t
work.”

“I remember now,” he said. “We got married
under the Arc de Triomphe at sunset. It was almost perfect, except
for the flock of pigeons that pooped all over our family and
friends. We, of course, were safe under the arc.”