Ruby Redfort Take Your Last Breath Read Online Free Page A

the subject of Ruby’s agent activity, but Ruby just wanted to hear about Twinford life and what was going on with Clancy and his efforts to train his dog, Dolly, and had his sister Minny managed to get out of trouble or was she going to be grounded for life?
    Clancy saw Ruby wasn’t in the mood to talk about herself, and if she wasn’t in the mood, then there was no point trying.
    So instead they talked about Clancy’s week, and after that they discussed Redfort home affairs: in particular how Consuela, the brilliant if temperamental chef loathed by Mrs. Digby, had resigned in the most dramatic of ways and left to go work for the Stanwicks.
    And when they had exhausted these topics, they talked about the amazing events of just one month ago, the museum, the bank, the gold, and the Jade Buddha of Khotan. They talked about Nine Lives Capaldi and the diamond revolver she had held to Clancy’s temple.
    They talked about Baby Face Marshall, now safely incarcerated in a maximum-security prison somewhere far from Twinford. And they shuddered when they remembered the Count, still at large and free to practice his evildoing. Where in the world was he?
    When the sun had gone down and it was beginning to get chilly, Clancy and Ruby climbed back down the oak, picked up their bikes, and set off in opposite directions.
    “So see you tomorrow!” shouted Ruby.
    “My place or yours?” Clancy shouted back.
    “Mine!” called Ruby as she disappeared around the corner.

THE NEXT DAY WAS A SCORCHER. It came out of nowhere, and the whole of Twinford seemed to have unfolded their lounge chairs and lit their barbeques.
    Ruby Redfort and Clancy Crew were sitting on the roof, reading comics. It was late afternoon, but the sun was still warm and Clancy was sporting a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses; they were his sister Lulu’s. Nothing wrong with a thirteen-year-old boy wearing heart-shaped sunglasses, nothing at all; plenty of hip boys his age might want to express their sense of style and individuality by wearing heart-shaped sunglasses. But Clancy wasn’t wearing them as a style statement: he didn’t know what a style statement was; they were simply the first thing in the form of eyewear that came to hand. No one could accuse Clancy Crew of vanity — he always wore exactly what he felt like wearing. Didn’t matter how ridiculous he looked. It was one of the things that Ruby liked most about him.
    “Hey, Rube,” he said. Ruby was concentrating hard on the RM Swainston thriller she was reading and didn’t respond.
    “Rube! Can you hear me?” He prodded her with a stick.
    “Huh?” She peered up at him. The large red floppy sunhat obscured most of her face, and she managed to appear at the same time comical and stylish — neither look, however, was intentional. Like Clancy, she wore what she liked; unlike Clancy, she had an innate sense of style. Style was just something she had. She even managed to lend a certain chic to her T-shirt, which bore the less-than-elegant words shut your piehole. Most of Ruby’s T-shirts were emblazoned with upfront messages of this kind; her mother, in particular, loathed them.
    “So?” said Clancy.
    “Huh, what?” said Ruby.
    “You were gonna tell me about your training in Hawaii, remember?”
    “Oh, that,” said Ruby. “It’s kinda confidential. I’m sure you understand.”
    Clancy started flapping his arms. “What are you saying, confidential? You promised me you were gonna tell me — you promised, Ruby, you weasel.”
    “I’m just kidding with you. Don’t get your underwear in a bunch,” said Ruby.
    She put the book,
The Strangled Stranger,
under her chair, took a breath, and paused; she did this not only for the sake of drama, but also because, well, everything she was about to tell Clancy was strictly confidential. Classified information. Spectrum had forbidden her to tell
anyone
anything
about the code breaking and undercover work she was doing for them, but then Clancy Crew