Live and Let Spy by Elizabeth Cage

retouching and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, utterly exhausted. “Man, what I wouldn’t give to be in Jo’sand Caylin’s shoes right now,” she muttered to herself. “This is slave labor.”
    As she finished perfecting the tree’s paint job Theresa caught a glimpse of Fake Anka leaving her dressing room. Theresa checked her paint-splattered watch: 12:05.
    â€œFinally,” she whispered.
    Lunchtime for the prima donna. That meant Fake Anka would be gone for at least an hour. Theresa shot Julius her hungriest look. Give us a lunch break, give us a lunch break, she silently commanded, hoping he’d catch her Psychic Friends Network vibes and let her get down to Spy Girl business.
    â€œ Ach , go and eat, you people,” Julius finally growled. “Perhaps food will make you better painters!”
    Theresa let out a huge sigh and dropped her brush into the thinner.
    â€œWanna join me, Tiffany?” Hannah asked, grabbing her coat from the corner. “There’s a café down the street that has unbelievable soup.”
    â€œThanks, but I need to run some errands,” Theresa saidwith an apologetic shrug. If breaking into someone’s office counted as an errand, then she wasn’t totally lying, she reasoned.
    The second Julius made his exit, it was showtime. Looking around the halls to make sure the coast was clear, Theresa slipped into the costume closet, her heart pounding.
    She locked the door and frantically searched the crowded racks for the right size bodysuit, tights, and slippers.
    Deep breath, Theresa, deep breath! she commanded herself as she slid out of her Gap wear and into her makeshift ballerina suit.
    As she pulled her hair haphazardly back into a severe bun Theresa reminded herself to grab the key ring and flash drive from her jeans.
    It would totally suck if she forgot those.
    She extracted them from her pocket, hoping she hadn’t forgotten anything else.
    Theresa took a deep breath. “Now or never.”
    She slowly turned the doorknob and poked her head out.
    Looked right. Then left.
    The hall was empty. She quickly slipped out of the costume closet and tiptoed down the hall.
    I sure don’t feel like a ballerina, she thought.
    Anka’s dressing room door was in sight. Just slip in and get the job done. Nice and neat. Better than Bond.
    She pulled the magic key ring out and fingered the key. Her sweaty palms made the metal slick.
    â€œCalm down,” she told herself.
    She began the final steps toward the door.
    A maintenance man rounded the corner right in front of her. A surge of panic swept through her.
    He gazed straight ahead and whistled softly. His belly jostled with each thick step.
    Oh no!
    Theresa ducked her head immediately. She held her chin in a southbound position and continued strolling down the hall.
    Just another ballerina . . .
    She prayed the maintenance guy wouldn’t see her face and bust her undercover mission wide open. She knewhe’d seen her around. She knew he knew who Tiffany was.
    His hulking shape tromped by.
    Theresa caught a whiff of tobacco. And intense BO.
    Ugh! It was so bad, she had to cover her nose.
    But thankfully the man’s footsteps grew fainter and fainter.
    Theresa sighed, grateful for the breath of fresh air. She was safe—for the moment. She chanced a glance over her shoulder. The maintenance man was gone. The hall was clear again.
    â€œMan, did he reek!” she muttered as she backtracked to Anka’s dressing room. Lifting the key up to her pursed lips and kissing it for good luck, she silently prayed Anka’s lock wasn’t one of the twenty percent in the world the key wouldn’t open.
    Slowly sliding the cold metal into the ancient knob, she held her breath and turned the key ever so slightly.
    Nothing. It didn’t budge.
    New panic pumped through her. What if she couldn’t get in?
    She tried again. It still wouldn’t