Free A Spy Like Me by Laura Pauling

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 ones and find the truth. Did he kinda like me? Or was this
some big game to him? And why was I even thinking about that when
my best friend was missing?
    Then I whispered, “There’s one exception to
the rule.”
    “And 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.”

 
     
     
Thirteen
    Malcolm whispered in my ear. “Does some
super-secret evil villain live here?”
    I elbowed him in the gut. “Somehow rose
trellises and flower boxes don’t say evil to me.” I loved the
old-time feel of Aimee’s family’s cottage, the paint chipping off
the sides and the old stone chimney and crumbling walkway. I was a
bit jealous of the stability of living in the same place for so
long.
    “I’m trying to figure out how this is
training,” Malcolm complained.
    I approached the door, trying to ignore the
guilt of not following Dad’s instructions, but then I remembered
how he blew off my conspiracy theory on Aimee. Someone had to find
her.
    Over my shoulder, I said, “You’re shadowing
me, following the lifestyle of a Spy Games staffer. Deal.”
    Before I could knock, a shrill voice yelled
at us in French. Aimee’s grandmother, Marie, stormed across the
neighbor’s tiny yard.
    “What is she saying?” I whispered.
    Malcolm raised his eyebrows. “She’s basically
telling us to scram. Who is she?”
    I looked at Marie and stared back at the
cottage in front of me. “I’ve got the right place.”
    Malcolm muttered, “She’s on the attack.”
    Marie stopped in front of us. Her wispy white
hair was held up by bobby pins and she wore a faded, flowered smock
that looked like a relic. She scolded us. In French.
    “Marie?” I coughed and spoke louder. “It’s
Savvy. Aimee’s friend?”
    A look of understanding and a bit of
apprehension crossed her face. She switched to English and pasted
on a smile.
    “What was I thinking? I did not recognize
you. It has been far too long.” She held out her arms and gathered
me into a hug and kissed both my cheeks. “ Bonjour , Aimee’s
young friend.”
    That was what I loved about Aimee and her grand-mere . They both spoke English. In fact, that was
probably why Aimee and I were friends—because she could talk to
me.
    “I keep asking Aimee when you are going to
visit again.” She released me and noticed Malcolm. “And who is
this? A special man in your life?” She kissed both his cheeks.
“Marie.”
    “Malcolm.” He didn’t hesitate for a second
when Marie enveloped him in a hug too.
    She opened the door and entered the cottage
with a wave of her hand. “I was visiting next door. You must come
inside for some tea. A bit of young love is just what I need.”
    “Yeah, about that.” If I didn’t straighten
out the story, she’d have us married before we left.
    Malcolm put his arm around me and squeezed.
“I was lucky to find such a gem.” He leaned over and planted one on
me.
    He slowly let me go, and I had trouble
finding my breath. I didn’t know whether to belt him one or throw
him to the ground and