Spies and Prejudice

T
he only thing worse than a guy who cheats on his girlfriend? A guy who cheats on his girlfriend and doesn’t flaunt it enough for me to capture any proof on film. Mary Chris and I have been sitting in Sconehenge for two hours, waiting for this guy to do something skeezy. So far all I’ve got is a picture of his date looking insanely bored while he drones on about the horrific levels of pesticides in fruit.

Mary Chris glances over her shoulder to where the mark stuffs another fry in his mouth. “Is that his second basket of garlic fries? There’s no way she’s going to kiss him now.”

Mary Chris has never had the patience for stakeouts. She’s only here to field test the spy-cam she built for extra credit in her mechanical science class. The camera is embedded in the lens of a pair of fake eyeglasses that are so big, I’m sure I look like I’m channeling a fifties movie star. Still, the giant tortoiseshell frames camouflage the controls perfectly. I’ve got to hand it to Mare, this works infinitely better than anything on
spystuff.com
.

I turn toward the booth where the mark runs a greasy hand
through his hair. I tap my finger on the frame of the glasses to zoom in. I get a perfect shot of him talking with his mouth open, complete with a chunk of parsley on his front teeth. His girlfriend should dump him even if he’s not cheating.

“You don’t have to stay. The camera works great.”

“Nice try, Berry.” Mary Chris blesses me with an angelic smile. She’s pretty without trying, and while she never uses it purposefully, I can’t help smiling back. “But there’s no way I’m leaving now. Things just got interesting.”

“He is kind of a train wreck.”

Mare isn’t watching the mark. I follow her gaze to where two guys trail the hostess to a table in the back below one of the fake rock sculptures. The restaurant theme is supposed to evoke Stonehenge, but the rocks look more like a Disneyfied Mayan ruin.

I glance back down at the history book in front of me and attempt to read the same sentence I’ve already read at least sixty-seven times.

Mary Chris taps my arm. “Don’t you think the blond one is kind of cute?”

I look over my shoulder to where the two boys sit, accidentally making eye contact with the dark-haired guy’s ice-blue stare. He’s too good-looking to be called cute. Everything about him is sharp, from his strong jaw to his prominent cheekbones. His face is cut like he was sculpted that way, in hard, jagged lines. Even his hair is razored, hanging in points around his face.

I know the type. In twenty years, I’ll be snapping pictures of him so his first wife can maximize her divorce settlement before he moves on to his trophy wife. For now, he probably dates a cheerleader while
trolling the halls of his high school for underclassmen willing to make out and keep their mouths shut about it.

It’s not that every guy messes around, but I’ve been working for my dad’s private investigation company long enough to notice a few things. When a guy looks like that, his ego won’t let him say no to the throngs of girls throwing themselves at him forever.

“He looks sweet.” Mary Chris smiles into her diet soda.

“Sweet is not the word that comes to mind.”
Lock up your daughters
comes to mind.

“The blond one?”

“We’re here to catch a cheater, not check out guys.” I glance at the mark. His mouth is moving, but I can’t make out a word he’s saying. I pull my receiver out of my messenger bag. The receiver looks like an iPod, but works like a pocket amplifier, picking up sounds and magnifying them through the earpiece. In theory. About half the time all I get is muffled garbage or an annoying clamor of several conversations at once. It’s what I get for buying spy gadgets on the Internet.

Mary Chris grins at me while I put the earbuds in. “Your mark has no shot. Look at the way he’s shoveling in those garlic fries. We might as well have some fun.”

“I don’t get paid to have fun. I get paid for proof.” I keep my eyes deliberately focused on the mark as I tuck the receiver in my pocket. I flip on the volume control, but the voice I pick up is not the mark’s.

“The girl in the beige jacket? With the blonde ponytail and glasses?” The low voice reverberates through the earbuds, traveling down my spine and settling in the pit of my stomach with a soft hum. “Pretending to read a history book?”

I freeze, my hand still buried in the pocket of my beige hoodie. I keep my eyes pinned to the history book in front of me, forcing myself not to turn around and look at the boys behind me.

“Dude, she’s pretty,” another more normal voice says.

“She’s alright,” the bass thrums again. “But nothing amazing.”

Years of training fly out the window. I crane my neck to look at them. The guy with dark hair raises his brow smugly when he catches me looking, and I spin back to face Mary Chris.

“What?” Mare mouths. She knows not to talk when I have this amplifier on.

I shake my head. So what if some idiot thinks I’m pretty or not. There are more important things to worry about at the moment. Like finally catching this cheater in the act. I turn to the mark’s table in time to see him brush the girl’s arm as he reaches for the ketchup. I snap the picture too late, missing the shot.

I never miss the shot.

Mary Chris doesn’t even try to hide the fact that she’s looking over my shoulder to the guys’ table. She lifts her arm and waves her fingers.

“Did you just wave at them?”

Mary Chris just violated the number one rule of investigations: never, ever draw attention to yourself.

Mary Chris shrugs. “He waved first.”

The smooth voice comes through the receiver to my ears. “What are you doing?” Thrum, thrum, thrum. I curse my gut for reacting to the tone of his voice.

“Dude,” the other guy stretches the one-syllable word in nearly a whisper. “She waved back. I think she likes me.”

“Fine,” the smooth voice responds. “You take the hot one. I’ll take the friend. She might be tolerable if she loses those ridiculous glasses.”

I rip the earbuds out of my ears before I have to listen to another word. I have half a mind to walk over and dump what’s left of my Diet Coke in Mr. Nothing Amazing’s lap. Lucky for him, I’m on a stakeout.

Mary Chris watches me slam the receiver back into my messenger bag. “Is everything okay?”

I take a breath. “I’ve been tailing this mark for two weeks, and I still haven’t gotten a picture I can use. Dad’s going to pull me off the case if I don’t get something soon.” It’s a lie. Dad knows I have a better chance of catching this guy than he does. I’m his secret weapon when it comes to covert surveillance. Teenagers are practically invisible to adults.

I shift my focus back on the mark. The girl’s hand rests lightly on his arm. He leans forward and says something into her neck. Now we’re talking. I click the frame of my glasses and get the shot. Finally, a step in the right direction.

Until Mr. Nothing Amazing steps right in front of me. “Hello.” His hands rest in his pockets, his head cocked slightly to the side. A Doberman masquerading as a retriever.

“Sorry?”

He completely blocks my view of the mark. Apparently, it’s not enough for him to insult me. He’s got to ruin my surveillance too.

“Do you go to McHenry?” He gestures to the history book that’s still open in front of me.

“I might.” I concentrate hard on my book, hoping he’ll take the hint and leave.

He doesn’t.

“Cool,” he says, forcing me to look back up at him. “I’m Tanner.” He points to the table where the blond guy still sits. “That’s my brother, Ryan.”

Ryan nods and flashes us a goofy smile. Mary Chris waves at him again.

Okay. These guys look nothing alike. Ryan is softer all around. Wavy blond hair brushes his shoulders and round eyeglasses rest low on the bridge of his nose. He looks like a cross between a surfer and an accountant.

Amateurs. Ryan should’ve been the one to make the first move.

“Brothers?” I finally meet Tanner’s eyes, calling him out on the obvious lie.

“Stepbrothers.”

Ryan walks up with a friendly smile. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Mary Chris motions for Ryan to take the seat next to her.

Seriously? I lift my chin toward the mark’s table, hoping Mary Chris will get the hint. I am trying to work here. I have to crane my neck to the side to even get a glimpse of the mark over Tanner’s shoulder.