A Spy Like Me

  Twelve

  I found the note confirming Malcolm’s story. Fine. I’d train him but I’d look for Aimee too. The first stop would be Les Pouffant’s to sign up for that Extravaganza thing. Even though she’d never texted back, I clung to the small shred of hope she’d be waiting for me with the sun sparkling off her hair, smiling and waving.

  At the café, Malcolm and I hovered at the edge of the outdoor patio. I searched the flow of customers but Aimee was nowhere to be seen. Malcolm babbled on about espionage in a newbie sort-of excited way, something about night vision goggles.

  I placed my hand on his arm to shut him up. “I’m going to check inside. You keep watch. I’ll be right back.”

  I walked into Les Pouffant’s and strode over to the glass case. No one noticed me because some woman was crying and babbling in French into the arms of Pouffant himself. He snapped his fingers and the maitre d’ scurried over with a steaming cup of cocoa. Watching him listen and care for her made me feel a bit empty. I missed my friends and my mom.

  The official Extravaganza sign-up was taped to the front counter. Prize money would be offered to the contestant who made it to the finals a month from now. The preliminaries were in less than two weeks. Mom’s words came back to me about meeting at some pastry thing. This Extravaganza was it.

  I signed up then hurried back outside.

  Malcolm was leaning against a lamppost with his legs crossed, so casual and relaxed. He held a cup of coffee in his hands. “Is this part of the Spy Games route? You and your friend came here often enough.”

  I took up guard next to him, my eyes glued on the moving faces. “It’s not part of the route, but we started every morning here.” I felt like a robot, shooting out the answer to his question without any thought. Muscles in my arms and legs tensed, willing Aimee to appear. Strangers weaved through the tables, and I wanted to scream at them to move out of the way. I couldn’t leave until I was absolutely sure.

  “How do you start a typical work day? After coffee and croissants, that is.”

  “We meet at the warehouse, my dad introduces the mission, the staff does a bit of training. Blah, blah, blah.” I couldn’t stop glancing at the table where Aimee and I usually sat, hoping she’d appear. Just yesterday morning, before the start of the games, I’d told her about my date with Malcolm. Maybe I’d been so busy talking about myself, I’d never given her a chance to talk. Maybe she couldn’t break through my blabber to tell me she was leaving.

  “You want to talk about it?” Malcolm interrupted my thoughts.

  “Right, the debriefing. Wear long johns because it gets kinda chilly hanging from the rafters. Don’t forget gloves for the bat poop.”

  “I meant talk about whatever it is you’re worried about.” His head tilted to the side and it was like every fiber of his being was focused on me.

  “I was thinking about Aimee.”

  “The friend you meet here?”

  I nodded. “The one who supposedly quit the games to travel the world.”

  “But you don’t believe that.” He blew on his coffee, meeting my eyes over the rim of his cup.

  “Not really.” I longed to hold a latte, feel the warmth on my hands, a simple distraction. But I probably wouldn’t enjoy another one until I found Aimee.

  “Sometimes people make impulsive decisions. Ones they might regret later.” Malcolm emphasized the word regret and didn’t take his eyes off me.

  Inch by inch, the slow burn of embarrassment crept across my neck and face. By the tiny quirk of his lips and the glimmer of mischief in his eyes, I knew he was referring to me. Time to get this out in the open. “Yeah, um, sorry about the other night and you almost getting killed. That usually doesn’t happen on my first dates. And thanks for helping me out with Peyton.”

  Malcolm pressed his lips together and paused, as if to stretch out my ultimate humiliation. “Apology accepted. I just wish the kiss had lasted longer.”

  My face turned the color of a crimson sunset, or that was what it felt like. I tripped over my words, until I managed to ask the question burning on my mind. “How’d you get home?”

  “I can’t tell you all my secrets.” He leaned into me and whispered, “But I am known to like a bit of revenge.”

  As soon as he said that, he pulled back. Was he flirting? I couldn’t tell, so I changed the subject. “Enough.” I wanted to pin him to the floor and hold a butter knife to his neck until he took our problems, my problems, seriously.

  He tipped his head back for the last drops from his cup.

  I grabbed a small metal serving tray off a table and hit him in the stomach with it. “Let’s go.”

  I started to walk away, but Malcolm didn’t move. The tray was in his hand.

  “Well?” I asked. “Slide it up your shirt for protection.”

  “Er, right.”

  I straightened my back and tucked my hair behind my ears. “As your official Spy Games mentor, I’m responsible for your safety. Now it’s time to get started.”

  Malcolm grabbed his backpack. “I’m ready for anything, boss.”

  Our eyes locked, and I tried to see past his charcoal-flecked ones to find the truth. Did he kinda like me? Or was this some big game to him? Why was I even thinking about that when my best friend was missing?

  I whispered, “There’s one exception to the rule.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Always listen to your gut.”

  My gut still didn’t have a read on Malcolm’s feelings for me, but it was definitely telling me that Aimee didn’t leave on a fun holiday to Eastern Europe.

  I shook it off, stepped back, and grabbed my bag filled with spy gadgets. “Let’s go.”