Free Two Lies and a Spy by Kat Carlton Page A

look like I need to steal anything? I bought this belt myself at Louis Vuitton.”
    “Really,” Rita says. “What year?”
    “Huh?”
    “What year?”
    “2010,” Lacey says, her voice ringing with scorn.
    “Yeah? Well that’s interesting, since Vuitton didn’t make that model until spring 2012, when my mother bought it. You’re a liar as well as a thief.”
    Two spots of red appear high on Lacey’s cheeks. “I’d be careful, Larita, real careful what you say, since you’re sitting there trying to hack my dad’s computer.”
    “You know what? We don’t have time for this,” I tell the two of them. I hold out my hand palm up for the eye shadow, and Lacey sullenly gives it to me. Then she adjusts “her” belt.
    I take one of her fancy makeup brushes and dust a fine layer of the shadow over Mr. Carson’s keyboard. Then I take a deep breath and blow it out, as if trying to extinguish birthday candles. Most of the powder dissipates, but some of it remains stuck to the keys.
    “Those,” I say, pointing them out, “are the ones that Mr. Carson uses the most.”
    “Brilliant,” Evan says.
    “Now we need to come up with combinations of letters and numbers that derive from just these ten or so keys. We’re running out of time.”
    “May I make a suggestion?” Evan asks.
    “Like anyone could stop you?” I say.
    “We’ve got to think like Mr. Carson . . . but like Mr. C trying not to think like Mr. C, if you know what I mean.”
    “Huh?” Lacey rolls her eyes.
    “He’s the head of the Agency. He’s not going to use his dog’s name as the password to his computer.”
    “We don’t have a dog,” says Lacey.
    Evan shoots Luke an expressive look. It asks, Is she really this stupid?
    “What he means,” Rita says acidly, “is that his password is going to be complicated, and probably made up of more symbols and numbers than letters.”
    Evan nods.
    “So let’s look at the symbols and numbers that are heaviest in eye shadow,” I order them.
    “Hel- lo ?” says Lacey. “Why don’t you just try asking me if I know the password?”
    We all turn and stare at her as one unit.
    “Do you?” Luke demands.
    “Well, duh.”
    “How?” Her brother queries.
    She shrugs. “Shoulder surfing.”
    I’m ready to strangle her. “Why didn’t you say so?”
    “Because you didn’t ask.” She smirks. “And besides, you’ve got little Larita with her gadget . . . so who needs moi , the ‘dumb blonde’?”
    “Little Larita” is poised to spring up and deck the bitch, so I have to hold her back by the seat of her six-hundred-dollar pants.
    “Lacey.” I take a deep breath. “Please. Nobody thinks you’re a dumb blonde. Tell us the password. I’m afraid that someone is going to kill my parents. I’m not kidding.”
    She evaluates me. “Fine. But you let me in on everything . No holding back.”
    I nod.
    So, before our disbelieving eyes, Lacey leans forward and types in the password, cool as you please.
    Disgusted, Rita removes her thumb drive and shoves it into her pocket.
    I move quickly to soothe her. “You would have gotten it too, with your program.”
    Rita shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I can tell she appreciates the credit. She logs on. “I’ll run a GREP now and I’ll pipe it to the most recently opened documents,” she says.
    “A who-what?”
    “It’s a geek thing,” Rita says. “You wouldn’t understand.” And just like that, she re-establishes her superiority over Lacey. Under any other circumstances, I’d have laughed.
    We begin to search through recently accessed files. The one we need will have been worked on in the past forty-eight hours, for sure.
    I crack my neck nervously as Rita opens and closes several files that have nothing to do with my parents. A car door slams nearby, and we all jump. Luke dashes to the window, but it’s a neighbor coming home from work—thank God.
    “Got it,” Rita announces. Her mouth forms an O as she scans the file, and I