Twenty-six
“I. . . um. . . stopped by to talk about Spy Games. Then you showed up with her.” I jerked my thumb toward his bedroom. “I felt stupid, so I hid in the closet.”
Malcolm flashed a wry grin, like he didn’t believe me.
“When you weren’t here, I decided to upload the info to your laptop.” So lame.
“Where’s the flash drive then?” he asked.
I smiled and cheese practically fell out my mouth it was so fake. “Darn. I forgot it. I’ll have to get it to you tomorrow.”
“What is going on?” the blonde said in her cute little French accent and slung her arm over his shoulder in an attempt to drag him back to the room.
“I have something I need to take care of. Maybe we should call it a night.” He leaned back and whispered in her ear. She gave me the evil eye before kissing his cheek.
“You live close enough to walk?” Malcolm asked as he followed her to the door.
“No worries. I will call friends. Bonsoir.”
The blonde left and the door clicked shut. Malcolm turned and blocked the doorway with his body.
Major adrenaline kicked in, causing my body to tremble. Somehow I had to get him away from the door so I could get out of here. I swiped the counters looking for something to throw at him but he was too clean. A cupboard hung partly open. I grabbed a plain white dish and held it out like a shield.
Malcolm stepped closer. “We need to talk.”
“Yeah right,” I said. His kind of talking probably meant torture of some kind.
“Give me one minute and then I’ll let you leave.” He poured on the innocence and charm with his little-lost-boy expression. “Please?”
“Fine.” I kept the plate up not really sure how it could protect me but it was better than nothing. “Talk.”
He moved away from the door. “What are you doing sneaking around my place? And don’t give me the same line about passing on information on Spy Games.”
“What are you doing asking so many questions about my mom?” I clenched my teeth and settled in for a fight.
He reached toward me as if to grab my hand but I stepped back and waved the plate like it was some kind of medieval sword. “Not one step closer until you answer.”
“I was just trying to get to know you. Is that so wrong?”
Any other girl might have been fooled, but Mom lied for months about her scrapbooking, which now I doubted if she ever cut even one piece of paper or glued one button into a book. After all that, I could now recognize the signs of a professional liar, the perfectly blank face and the relaxed shoulders and the casual pose. I was so tired of being lied to. So tired. “The truth. Now.”
He sighed. “I like you and wanted to get to know you better.”
My arms slightly trembled. The emotion built in my chest until I yelled, “LIAR!” In one bold move I threw the plate against the wall. It splintered and crashed to the floor. In the few seconds it took for him to register my actions, I booked it toward the door. The smell of old carpets teased me from the hallway. It was the smell of freedom. I was almost there.
Until he grabbed my arm and yanked me back into the room.
I struggled, but he was too strong. “What do you want with me? Just tell me.”
Not letting go of me, he kicked out a chair with his foot. “Sit.”
“No way.”
He dragged me over to the closet where he grabbed a stray piece of rope that looked familiar.”
“Nice rope you got there.”
He grimaced at the reference to his framing Peyton, which was another thing I didn’t understand. After he pushed me onto a chair, he tied my arms in the back. I got in a few good kicks.
“So now I’m your prisoner? What the hell is going on, Malcolm?”
“You’re not my prisoner.” He grew agitated and fumbled in a kitchen cupboard.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“I don’t want you running away before you hear me out.” He poured water into a small coffee maker then stood staring it. Every few seconds, his hand would run through his hair in the typical show of male frustration. Finally, he sat at the table across from me and opened his laptop, probably to catch up on his daily blog reading about how to be a jerk or how to lie to a girl effectively.
Minutes later, late-night coffee percolated. The smell filled the small kitchen and I kept thinking about the words I’d overhead from the freezer in Jolie’s. They talked about my mother. “I want the truth.”
He poured a cup of coffee but never took a sip. He placed it down too hard on the table. Coffee sloshed over the sides. “The thing is…I can’t tell you the truth. Just, please, stop poking around in Pouffant’s affairs for your own good.”
“I can’t,” I whispered. “I want to find my mom…and Aimee. You’ve got to understand that.”
He nodded. “I swear I’ll never hurt you, but I can’t promise that others won’t. Please, just go about your way and act like a normal teen.”
His words sounded familiar. That was exactly what Mom had said to me. Bingo. That was the last thing he should’ve said. Now I knew for sure that somehow this was all connected. If I kept my nose to the trail, I’d find my mom, but Malcolm had to think I’d given up. I let out a loud sigh. “Fine.”
He didn’t say anything. Seconds or maybe minutes passed. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore, and my eyes wandered over to him. His eyes peered into mine, open and honest, then dropped to my mouth. My heart rate spiked. Jiminy crickets, he was spying on my family. How could he look at me like he wanted to kiss me?
“What about the girl?” I tried to keep the hurt from my voice.
He moved into the chair right next to me and pulled it up, so his knees surrounded my legs. I closed my eyes.
“Savvy.”
“What about the girl?” I repeated.
He kissed my cheek. “You don’t have to worry about her.”
My body and heart were traitors to what I knew in my mind. That we couldn’t work out. That I was an assignment. That he was a liar and refused to tell me the truth.
He brought his lips inches from mine. “Do you still have that damn serving tray up your shirt?”
Nothing registered on my face, but he’d gone too far mocking my highly refined methods of defense. I’d wanted to play dumb the whole time, but I needed to push and get a reaction. It had nothing to do with the fact that he had my insides tied into knots.
The anger and hurt I felt bubbled up, and I didn’t have the desire to play games with him anymore. I spit out the words. “I know you work for Jolie and you’re keeping secrets. And you probably kidnapped Aimee too.”
My words spurred him on as if he didn’t care I knew his secrets. That’s where my plan went wrong. He reached around behind me, pressing his chest against mine. With a flick of his wrist, he untied the ropes from my arms.
“You win.” He picked me up off the chair and put me on the kitchen table. With one suave move, he whipped the serving tray out and let it clatter to the floor. He moved in to kiss me, but I pushed him away. My plan was backfiring. He was supposed to get mad, not get turned on.
“So you admit it?” I asked.
“I admit nothing.”
“Then I’m done here.” I gave him one final push and scrambled off the table, straightening my hair and doing my best to smooth my shirt. “I’ll see you later.”
“Savvy.”
“Skip it. I’m not interested.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Oh, I understand everything. You’re a man-whore and all that word implies. And I mean in more ways than in the bedroom sense. You also whored yourself out to Jolie for pay, while pretending to help me find my friend.”
I needed to leave before I hurt the poor guy. “I’m so outta here,” I said.
Halfway through the doorway, I heard him shout out, “The girl. She used to work for Jolie.”
I stopped. That sick feeling I’d got
ten my facts wrong sat in my gut. “What do you mean?”
“I hung out with her tonight and brought her up here to sneak in some questions about Jolie.” He gripped the back of the chair. “For Aimee. I’d hoped the girl knew something about her or had seen her on the job.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Did she?”
He lowered his head. “No.”
“Pfft. Right. I’m sure it was torture for you, cross-examining her.”
I turned my back and let his words run through my mind. It was hard to believe his night of seductive words and groaning had turned out to be nothing more than a spy mission. On my behalf. Should I believe him? I wasn’t that stupid, but he didn’t need to know it.
He crossed the room and grabbed my hand. He didn’t say anything at first but ran his fingers through my hair to tuck it behind my ear. “I’m afraid you’ll take it a step too far…and try to spy on Jolie by yourself. I want you stop the games and work with me.”
“Hmm.” I was willing to play along and see where this went, but I couldn’t say I trusted him. He rubbed his thumb over the skin of my wrist then kissed the red marks the ropes left behind. “I still have questions before I can trust you.”
He nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Did you have anything to do with Aimee being kidnapped?” I asked.
“No.”
“Are you working for Jolie?”
“Yes. I’m supposed to be spying on you, but I’m pretending in order to gain his trust and figure out if he has Aimee.”
“How come you didn’t tell me this before?” I shot out.
“Honestly?” He slid into the chair. “I didn’t want to scare you.”
“Hmm.” His story had more holes than Swiss cheese. “How did he trust you so quickly?”
“I’m a good worker. I earned his respect quickly.”
I rubbed my chin. I didn’t trust him for half a millisecond, but I needed him to believe I did. I needed to find out more about Jolie. And why they were talking about my mother.
“Okay, fine. Deal.” I stuck out my hand, and we shook on it.
He really shouldn’t have believed anything I said. Guess I’m a liar too. Because the only way to get to the truth was to spy on the big guy himself. Jolie Pouffant.