And before I could stop her, Roux turned and walked away in the opposite direction of our SAT prep class, not even turning around when I called her name.
Chapter 8
“And then she just walked off. She just left me alone sitting on a bench like one of those people who feed pigeons and I feel awful.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Are you even listening?” I stopped walking and turned to Jesse in the middle of the street.
“Of course I am!” He held up his hands in mock-surrender. “Roux left you in the park and you turned into a pigeon. See, crystal clear.”
I tried not to smile but my mouth gave me away. “You’re horrible.”
“I think you mean hilarious.” Jesse looped his arm over my shoulders as we started to walk again. We were going to Joe’s in the West Village for iced coffee and some much-needed catch-up time. I had spent the two days since Roux’s outburst researching everything I could about the 1933 double-eagle gold coin, Saint-Gaudens, and Dominic Arment. I also kept working on the lock that Angelo had given me, but I was no closer to cracking it. Jesse had spent those same two days in soccer practice and, after his dad found out that he hadn’t done any of his summer reading yet, poring over The Poisonwood Bible and Slaughterhouse-Five.
Both things were excellent cover-ups for the fact that we weren’t really talking. I mean, we were talking. We just weren’t … talking.
“So Roux was upset and left you alone in Washington Square Park.”
“Yes,” I said. “And she didn’t answer any of my texts like she normally does.”
“What do you mean?”
“She usually sends lots of emoticons and emojis and exclamation marks. If she could text actual fireworks, she probably would.”
“Well, I’m really glad now that Roux never texts me. Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jesse said, grabbing my arm and reeling me back as I started to stalk away. “Sarcasm off, okay? I’m listening.”
“No, you’re placating me.” I stood on the sidewalk as he held my wrist. “There’s a difference.”
“Yes, in the spelling. I’m sorry things are weird now between you and Roux.”
I was not feeling particularly charitable, though. I had spent two days doing ridiculous amounts of research, but without the Collective’s resources, it felt like walking on a tightrope without a net. My eyes hurt from the computer screen, my neck was all wonky from leaning forward to stare at the screen, and now I wasn’t even sure how to talk to my best friend.
“No, you’re not sorry,” I told Jesse.
“Now you’re pouting.”
“Am not.”
He smiled, the corners of his mouth quirking a little. “It’s pretty cute. Wanna stamp your foot, too?”
“Yes. Into your crotch.”
He drummed his fingertips against the inside of my wrist, making me shiver a little. “You’re cheating,” I said. “You can’t do that. I’m mad at you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Am I? Is this cheating, too?” He started to pull me to him and gently pressed his mouth against my shoulder, working his way up my neck.
“Such a cheater,” I murmured. “Okay, stop, stop,” I added when he started to kiss the spot just under my ear, the spot that he knew made me crumble faster than anything. “Jesse, seriously, we’re on the street. That guy by the fruit stand is staring at us.”
He gave me one last kiss before pulling away reluctantly. “Forgiven?”
“Perhaps. On one condition: you buy the coffee.”
“All men should be so lucky to have these terms,” he replied, then took my hand and laced our fingers together.
It was all I could do not to bury my smile against his shoulder.
At the coffeehouse, Jesse waited in line while I reserved a space for us on the bench outside. The city was teeming with people and kids and dogs and I watched from my perch, knees drawn up to my chest.
That’s when I saw the man again.
He was the same one who had been watching Jesse and me from the fruit stand. At the time, I had thought he was just a creeper, but he circled the block twice in front of Joe’s, walking with purpose, but not enough to seem noticeable, a newspaper tucked under his arm. Black T-shirt, black jeans, Converse sneakers, nothing distinguishable.
Which, in New York City, made him very noticeable to me.
When Jesse came back outside with our coffee, I stood up. “Let’s walk instead,” I said, holding on to the crook of his elbow. “We don’t get enough exercise.”
“What are you talking about? I have soccer practice three hours a day. And we never get to sit on the bench. Someone’s always parked here. Remember the time that Philip Seymour Hoffman wouldn’t leave?”
“It’s really nice out. C’mon, late summer, the heat wave is over. Let’s stroll.” I had clearly been spending way too much time with Angelo, but there was no way I was going to be a sitting duck while some suspicious guy orbited around me.
Jesse eventually agreed (not before giving me a huge, world-weary sigh, though), and we headed west on Waverly, exactly the direction that the man had headed in not two minutes earlier. “So,” Jesse said, handing me my iced coffee. “Have you talked to Angelo lately?”
“I have,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “He says hello.”
“Oh, cool, cool. Tell him I said hi.” I could tell that Jesse was putting the same amount of effort into keeping his voice light, too. “How is he?”
“Fine.”
“Good.” Jesse cleared his throat, then took a sip of his blended drink. “Did he, um, say anything? Like, interesting or useful?”
I glanced up at Jesse. “You are terrible at this.”
“We can’t all be spies, Mags,” he said. “I’m trying my best here.”
I laughed with him as we both crossed the street. “Yes, Angelo did have something interesting to tell me. And no, I can’t tell you.”
“Damn.”
“That’s why Roux got upset. Because I wouldn’t tell her anything. See, you weren’t listening!” I playfully slugged him in the shoulder and he pretended to wince.
“Nothing, though? We’re pretty trustworthy, right? We’ve proven ourselves.”
“Of course I trust you.” I sipped at my coffee as I dodged an open restaurant basement door. “I just don’t want you to know anything because it makes you liable.”
“You mean like if we get tortured for information?”
I stopped dead in my tracks. “Jess, don’t even joke about that.”
“Are you serious? That could really be a thing?”
I didn’t want to think about the boatload of problems that could have happened if Jesse and Roux had too much information. “Look,” I told him. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, okay? Believe me, I want to tell you everything. I just don’t want to risk anything. Last time was …”
“An aberration?” Jesse offered.
“Yes. Wow. Good word.”
“It’s all that summer reading.”
“Well, either way, it’s not happening again. I’m not letting anyone shoot at you, chase you, or even—”
But I stopped myself when I saw the same man walk down the other side of the street. It was official: he was walking in circles. Large circles, to be fair, but circles nonetheless.
“Let’s go this way instead,” I told Jesse, spinning on my heel and making a sharp right onto Grove Street. “View’s better.”
“Why? What’d you just see?”
“Nothing.”
“Maggie? I may be a bad spy, but you’re a terrible liar.”
I rolled my eyes, but he was right. Everyone said so. “I just thought I saw someone.”
“Someone like … ?”
“I just thought someone was tailing me. Or us. Probably me. I don’t know. He’s been walking in circles for the past five minutes.”
Jesse looked around us, which I thought was pretty cute of him. “What does he look like? Do you want me to kick his ass
?”
“Oh my God, no. Definitely no ass kicking allowed. C’mon, look, there’s a bookstore. Let’s go inside and see if he follows.”
“What if he does, though?”
“Then we pull the fire alarm and I’ll go for his knees while you slam him in the face with a fire extinguisher.”
“Really?”
“Of course not. See?” I added, poking him in the ribs. “I’m not such a bad liar after all.”
I led Jesse toward Three Lives & Company, where we went inside and hovered near the front windows for a few minutes. I kept my eye out for the guy while Jesse thumbed through the fiction section. “More required reading.” He sighed. “Do you see anything?”
“Nope,” I said, resting one hand on an enormous atlas so I could peer down the street. “I guess it was a false alarm.” I wasn’t sure if it was or not, but I didn’t want Jesse to think otherwise.
“You sure?”
I turned to him and smiled. “Absolutely. Jumpy girl here, I guess. And you can’t be too careful.”
“Hmm” was all Jesse said, but he picked up my hand off the atlas and ran his thumb over my knuckles. “Hey, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“Spy humor. I get it.” Jesse didn’t exactly look amused as we left the store. “Anyway, my mom’s going to be in the city on Friday night. Do you still want to go to dinner with us?”
I could tell from the apprehension on Jesse’s face that this was a Big Deal. “Sure,” I said. “Of course, I’d love to. Why is she coming back into the city?”
Jesse took a deep breath. “She’s thinking about moving back here.”
“Jesse!” I squealed before I could help it. “That’s amazing! Oh my God, you must be so happy!” I reached up and flung my arms around his neck, hugging him tight. “Does your dad know?”
“I’m not sure. They’re not getting back together or anything, but she said last week that she was really missing it here.” Jesse’s eyes were sparkling a little and I knew how happy he must have been. He didn’t talk about his mom very much, but I knew how much her leaving last year had hurt him. It’s the words he didn’t say that always told me how he felt.
“So you’ll come?” he asked. “Seriously?”
“Of course! Even if I’m followed by a thousand creepers, I’ll be there! They can’t stop me!”
Jesse untangled my arms from his neck and held me out to stare at me. “Please, Maggie, don’t bring the creepers with you.”
“Okay, no creepers.”
“You’re sure you’re cool with this? I know you’ve got a lot going on, what with your parents and everything.”
“You,” I said, poking him in the chest, “are important to me. Yeah, things are crazy right now, but I can handle this. This is all going to be solved and wrapped by the time school starts, trust me. And I’m a spy but I have to eat, too, right?”
“Right,” Jesse said, then kissed my nose. “I love you, you know that?”
“Of course you do. I can kick your ass.”
He smiled against my mouth and this time, I didn’t care who was watching us.
Chapter 9
My parents were making dinner when I got back to the loft that evening.
“Thanks, Jeeves,” I said to the fingerprint scanner as it let me through the front door.
“Who’s Jeeves?” my dad called from the kitchen, where he was chopping onions and getting ready to probably wreak havoc.
“Dad, it’s still too hot to cook,” I protested. “This is going to be something that you can prepare in the freezer, right?”
“Nope,” he replied. “Who’s Jeeves?”
“Our fingerprint scanner. I decided to make friends with him.”
“Him? How do you know it’s a man?” my mom asked. She was attempting to do the New York Times crossword puzzle, which inevitably ended with her crumpling it up and tossing it into the recycling bin while muttering that she doesn’t need a newspaper to make her feel illiterate, thank you very much.
“Because it’s cold and impersonal and never asks how I am?”
She grinned. “That’s my girl.”
“Hey!” my dad protested. “Sensitive male standing right here! Look, I’m actually crying while talking with you, that’s how hurt I am.”
“It’s the onions,” my mom and I chorused.
“Perhaps. Hey, don’t toss that crossword puzzle. Save it for me.”
“So,” I said, sitting on a barstool so I could supervise my dad (and possibly get to be a taste tester). “Can I ask you two a question?”
“Of course,” my mom said, leaving the crossword puzzle behind. “Is it about today?”
“Kind of,” I admitted. “I just saw Jesse.”
My parents exchanged a glance that I’m sure they thought I didn’t see. They’re so adorable that way. “Did you tell him about our new developments?” my dad asked.
“Yes,” I admitted. “He needed to know. I can’t lie to him again, you know that.” I drew a heart with my finger on the concrete countertop. “How did you two meet?”
This time, they didn’t even try to hide their shared look. “Well,” my dad started to say.
“It was a long time ago,” my mom interrupted him. “Details are fuzzy.”
“Are you serious?” I scoffed. “C’mon. I remember the very first time I saw Jesse and I’m not even married or pregnant with his baby.”
Major, major tactical error.
“Why are you thinking about pregnancy?” my dad cried.
“Is that what you want to talk about?” my mom screeched.
“Oh my God, no!” I screamed, putting my hands over my eyes. “I was just talking about how you two are married and had me and, ugh, can we please not talk about sex? I think I’m having an aneurysm.”
“You think you’re having an aneurysm?” my dad muttered. “Am I going to need a drink for this conversation? Just tell me now.”
“I just wanted to know how you two met!” I said. “That’s all! Wow, this went so wrong, so fast.”
I had never heard two sighs of relief as loud as my parents’.
“Much better topic,” my mom said, smiling.
“Cancel my martini,” my dad added with a weary grin.
“And, like, how did you know you were in love? And how did you know you wanted to be together forever and have me and still be spies and not sacrifice your careers for love, and I guess I’m just confused how you do all this and still love someone.”
My parents stared at me before my dad finally spoke. “Is it too late to reorder that martini?”
“I take it Jesse’s not exactly thrilled by ‘all this,’” my mom said gently while getting a beer out of the refrigerator for my dad.
“Not really,” I admitted. “But I have to do it. Was this what it was like when you first met? Were you both spies way back then?”
“Way back then?” my dad repeated. “How old do you think we are?”
“You didn’t even have DVRs back then. Or cell phones.”
My dad took a swig of his beer in response.
“Your dad and I,” my mom said, shooting him a look, “met in Paris. In high school.”
“In high school?” I cried. “You were my age?”
They both nodded.
“We were both at boarding school,” my dad said. “We were juniors, and your mother did a science project about this thing called the Internet, and I was smitten.” He winked at her. “I still am.”
She grinned and reached across the table to clasp his hand. “And your dad asked me out in Swahili. I thought it was so romantic.”
“Wait, wait, waaaaait a minute. Let’s back it up a continent. You met in school?”
“Boarding school,” my dad clarified. “We were both on merit-based scholarships. I saw your mother in the computer lab, and that was it.” He pretended to flutter his eyelashes at her. “It was love at first byte. Get it? B-Y-T-E?”
“That is so cheesy,” my
mother said, but she was blushing and there is nothing more weird than watching your parents flirt, ugh.
“So then what happened? Did you both want to be spies?”
“We were recruited,” my mom said. “Angelo was teaching a course in New World architecture, and he noticed both of our records, and he introduced us to the Collective.”
“Angelo knew you as teenagers? Hold on, my brain is exploding.”
“Why do you think he’s always taking you all over the city?” my dad asked. “Everywhere you go is an architectural landmark. He loves it.”
“So what did you do in Paris?”
My parents looked at each other again. “Watched movies.” My mom shrugged. “We watched movies all the time. Explored the city. Went in some of the underground tunnels. Studied hard in school. Maybe kissed a few times.”
My dad wiggled his eyebrows.
“Stop, stop, stop!” I said. “Innocent child present here.”
“And then after we graduated from high school, we just joined the Collective and that was that,” my dad said, adding the chopped onions to the hot oil already in his pot. “Our life was set.”
“That was that?” I repeated. “I feel like you just skipped a bunch of stuff.”
“We joined the Collective and then had you,” my dad added. “Exciting times. Sleepless times. It’s all a blur.”
I thought for a few seconds. “Is that why you never mentioned Dominic Arment?”
My parents both stopped what they were doing and looked at me. “Angelo?” my dad guessed, and I nodded.
“I just think it’s weird you knew someone from so long ago and you never mentioned them to me.” I wasn’t looking at either parent now, choosing instead to trace patterns onto the countertop with my finger. “Why?”
“Dominic wasn’t—well, he isn’t, I guess I should say, someone who works like us. He’s always been a little shady.” My dad stirred at the onions before they started to burn. “He was always trying to figure out how to monetize the Collective, how we could make money by doing our jobs.”
“I feel like you’re not telling me everything,” I said. “Like there’s more I should know.”