A Spy Like Me Read Online Free

And then slowly backed out of our friendship? I
couldn’t handle losing my only friend.
    Aimee waved her hand. “Put away the menus. He
did not show for work this morning.”
    I gagged on my drink and spit it out on the
patio. “What?”
    “He did not show. I already asked.”
    Images of Malcolm being pulled from the
bottom of the Seine flashed in front of me, his body deathly white,
eyes vacantly staring at me. I groaned.
    “I have heard that groan before. After you
used your papa’s spy equipment to see if he ever talked to your
mother and he caught you.”
    I fiddled with the menu and sipped my latte.
I tried to focus on the good parts of last night: the picnic and
the effort Malcolm took to make it romantic, probably spending the
last of his money for the week. I remembered his quick kiss. I
remembered his fine-looking bare chest. But the color red bled into
my images and ruined the memory.
    “Share now, before I make a scene.” Aimee
stared me down, her grip tightening on her cup, and the blue flecks
in her eyes turning stormy.
    I whipped the cash out of my shoulder bag and
slammed it on the table next to a small metal tray. “We’ve got to
go. Now!”
    “Something must be terribly wrong if you
leave half your latte.” Aimee placed her hand on my arm. “What
happened?”
    I combed my fingers through my hair and tried
not to hyperventilate. “I’ll tell you on the way. Let’s go.” I
grabbed the tray from the table, and while Aimee fiddled with her
chair, I shoved the tray up my shirt. A girl can never have too
much protection.
    We half ran, half walked toward the Eiffel.
When we were almost there, I breathed a bit easier. Within minutes
I’d know whether or not my date took a big drink in the Seine.
    A little out of breath, Aimee said, “Start
talking.”
    That’s what I loved about her. Ever since we
met, she always cared. Wanting to know what was wrong without
wanting anything back. I took several deep breaths then summed up
the previous evening.
    “Beautiful sunset. Sparkling cider.
Fruit-filled pastries. Great conversation. A kiss.”
    Aimee clasped her hands together with a
dreamy look on her face. “Sounds romantic.”
    Then I told her the rest, almost. I talked
about his admission of guilt and the mock trial. And the part where
I tied him up and the fact that Malcolm wears boxer briefs, not
tighty-whities. When I tried to talk about the shooting and that I
didn’t know if he was dead or alive, my throat closed up. I
couldn’t do it.
    At first, her face showed nothing. Then her
lips twitched, and her eyes crinkled. She lowered her head while
her shoulders shook. Several times, she tried to rein it in and act
casual but to no avail.
    “Go ahead. Laugh. I get it. I’m an idiot.”
But the truth was nothing to laugh at.
    She stopped giggling, wiped at her tears, and
then grabbed my hand. “Oh, Savvy. How do you get into these
messes?”
    “No clue. I just need to know he escaped.” A
part of me wished I’d told her the truth.
    “I’m positive someone found him last night
after you left. I’m sure.” She cocked her head and suppressed a
grin. “Almost sure.”
    At the Eiffel Tower, I sprinted toward our
picnic spot, with Aimee right behind me. The cops were already
gone. The river searched. Not even a bit of yellow police tape was
visible. The dewy grass soaked my sneakers, and I shivered at the
bite in the air. He was nowhere.
    “You sure about all this?” Aimee asked, a
hand on my arm.
    “Yeah, I’m sure.” I slumped to the ground,
not caring that my homemade bullet-proof vest jabbed into my
stomach or that the wet dew was seeping into my pants, and I’d have
a spot on my butt for the next hour. What if he was lying in a
foreign hospital or tied up as a hostage? I couldn’t let myself
think he might’ve died. “What if something terrible happened?”
    “I doubt that.” Aimee crouched next to me.
“Do you like him?”
    “Heck, no.” Even if I did, what did it
matter?