Free Don't Judge a Girl by Her Cover by Ally Carter Page A

Secret Service should not be encouraging
rule-breaking—especially at this particular school during this particular
year."
    "Perhaps
the headmistress of the Gallagher Academy should try to remember that a spy's
life is, by definition, rules-optional," my aunt lectured back.
    "And
while we're on the subject," Mom said, her voice rising, "perhaps the
United States Secret Service should consider that it might be unwise to tell
Madame Dabney's eighth graders how to make their own chloroform out of Kleenex
and lemon wedges?"
    "Yeah,
I couldn't believe they hadn't figured out how to do that yet," Abby said,
as if the standards for her sisterhood had gone down considerably.
    "That technique was banned
in 1982!"
    "Hey, Joe said—"
    "I
don't care what Joe says!" Mom snapped, and this time her voice carried
fire. "Abigail, rules exist for a reason. Rules exist because when people
don't follow them, people get hurt." The words lingered in the air.
My mom seemed to be shaking as she finished. "Or maybe you've
forgotten."
    I've
known Aunt Abby my whole life, but I've never seen her look like she looked
then. She seemed torn between tears and fury while the storm raged outside and
the goulash congealed and I wondered whether any of us would ever feel like
dancing again.
    "Rachel, I—"
    "Get her."
    I
don't know why I said it. One minute I was standing there watching them argue,
and the next, the secret I'd carried with me all the way from Sublevel Two was
breaking free.
    Mom
inched closer. Abby stepped away. And outside, the rain was falling against the
mansion walls like the tide.
    "What
did you say, Cammie?" my mother asked in the manner of someone who already
knows the answer to her question.
    "I
remembered …" I sank to the leather sofa. Mom inched closer, but behind
her, Aunt Abby gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head—a warning. Be
careful what you wish for. "I remembered something…about Boston. I put
Preston on that window-washing thing, and they didn't really…care." Mom
was easing onto the coffee table in front of me, moving slowly as if afraid to
wake me from that terrible dream. "They said get her."
    "Cam—"
Mom started, but flashes filled my eyes again—a gray door, a black helicopter,
and finally a white piece of paper fluttering to the ground.
    "Preston's
agenda," I whispered, but this time I didn't look at my mother—I looked at
my aunt. "He was never supposed to be there, was he?"
    Mom
started to say something, but Aunt Abby walked past her and dropped onto the
leather couch beside me. "Nope."
    Some
people might wonder why it mattered—we'd known for weeks that Macey was in
danger. But sitting there, listening to the storm that had been a long time
coming, I couldn't help but feel like it made all the difference in the world.
The kidnappers weren't there for the son and daughter of two of the most
powerful families in the country—they were there for only one of them.
    And she was one of my best
friends.
    "It's
true, kiddo," Mom said. "Preston Winters wasn't supposed to be there,
so we can only assume that he wasn't the target."
    I
nodded. She smoothed my hair. But nothing could keep my heart from pounding as
I asked, "Who were they?"
    "More
than three hundred groups have claimed credit for the attack," my aunt
said, then added with a shrug, "which means at least 299 of them are
lying."
    "The
ring," I said, closing my eyes and seeing the image that was burned into
my mind. "I drew you a picture of that ring. Have you—"
    "We're
looking into it, kiddo," Mom said softly. I bit my lip, needing to know
where at least some of the pain I was feeling was coming from.
    "Why Macey?" I blurted,
turning to my mother. "She's the daughter of very powerful people, Cam.
They have very powerful enemies."
    And
then I asked the question more terrifying than anything I'd seen on the roof.
"Is she going to be okay?"
    My
mother and aunt looked at each other, two CoveOps veterans who had seen enough
to know that there was no