pressure-cooking you over pop’s laptop.”
“Like there’s going to be a file on the desktop labeled ‘Andrews, What Happened to Them,’ ” Luke says, exasperated. “Rita, you have no idea where to look, even if I did manage to give you a half hour alone with the thing.”
“I happen to be very good at what I do,” she says hotly, pushing the pink Chanel glasses up to the bridge of her nose.
“Of course you are,” Evan soothes her. “No one’s in any doubt.”
Luke folds his arms across his chest. In terms of body language, it’s not a good sign for our cause.
“So,” Evan says. “We have a pair of vanished spies. We have, in Mitch and his counterpart, a pair of rogue agents—possibly moles, since they knew exactly where to find Kari and Charlie. Moles who are willing to go as far as kidnapping, and perhaps worse. And we have a police APB out on Kari and her brother, a well-publicized one, which suggests deliberate leaks by someone in power. I can’t say that’s good news.”
“What if it is, though?” Luke asks. “What if it’s Kari’sparents who leaked the info to the cops? And they want to make sure that their kids are picked up and safe?”
I shake my head. “They already knew where to find us. We set prearranged meeting points and times, and my parents didn’t make any of them. There’s something really wrong.” I am not pleased that pressure is forming behind my eyes, and that they’re beginning to sting. I’m not a blubberer.
Luke shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
“Not to mention that the Andrewses’ lives could be at stake,” Rita says.
Luke looks reluctantly at me.
I’m horrified to realize that my eyes are filling, and even though I blink furiously and order the tears back to wherever they came from, a couple of them escape and roll down my Gothed-up face.
Luke takes a step toward me, his hand reaching out.
“Got something in my eye,” I mutter gruffly, and use the hem of my black T-shirt to try to repair any damage to my funeral-black liner and mascara.
Evan raises an eyebrow at Luke. “You going to just stand here and let the poor girl cry, when you have the power to solve her problem?”
Luke stares at him, flinty eyed, for a long moment. Then he looks over at me and sighs.
“C’mon. Let’s go.”
Chapter Seven
We return my borrowed car and then pile into Luke’s Grand Cherokee. Luke lives in Great Falls, in a beautiful old two-story Greek revival home. I can just picture his sister Lacey in another century. She sweeps down the curved staircase in a ball gown and takes the arm of a beau who escorts her through the white columns framing the porch and up into a waiting carriage.
Evan murmurs under his breath, “How terribly Gone with the Wind .”
Unfortunately it’s the twenty-first century, and Lacey shows no signs of leaving, since her silver BMW 335i is parked in the drive. Luke parks his Jeep next to it.
Mr. Carson’s government-issue Lincoln Continental isn’t anywhere to be seen, and neither is the old silver Mercedes that Luke’s mom usually drives when she drops off the kids at school.
We troop into the house behind Luke, and I hope that his sister stays in her room instead of coming out to look at me like I’m some weird and disgusting species of insect. She cannot stand Rita—it’s probably a fashion rivalry or something—and since I’m Rita’s best friend, she despises me, too.
The house is full of antiques, and the huge kitchen has dark cherry cabinetry and a big granite-topped island in the middle. There’s an apron tossed on it that says CHEF DAD across the chest and a notepad next to it. Someone has scrawled:
Gone to get filet mignon and portobello mushrooms. Will stop at package store for wine, too.
The handwriting is bold and masculine. Is it possible that we’ve just gotten very, very lucky?
“My dad likes to cook,” Luke confirms. “My mom, not so much. She decorates.”
At the back of the house,
“Like there’s going to be a file on the desktop labeled ‘Andrews, What Happened to Them,’ ” Luke says, exasperated. “Rita, you have no idea where to look, even if I did manage to give you a half hour alone with the thing.”
“I happen to be very good at what I do,” she says hotly, pushing the pink Chanel glasses up to the bridge of her nose.
“Of course you are,” Evan soothes her. “No one’s in any doubt.”
Luke folds his arms across his chest. In terms of body language, it’s not a good sign for our cause.
“So,” Evan says. “We have a pair of vanished spies. We have, in Mitch and his counterpart, a pair of rogue agents—possibly moles, since they knew exactly where to find Kari and Charlie. Moles who are willing to go as far as kidnapping, and perhaps worse. And we have a police APB out on Kari and her brother, a well-publicized one, which suggests deliberate leaks by someone in power. I can’t say that’s good news.”
“What if it is, though?” Luke asks. “What if it’s Kari’sparents who leaked the info to the cops? And they want to make sure that their kids are picked up and safe?”
I shake my head. “They already knew where to find us. We set prearranged meeting points and times, and my parents didn’t make any of them. There’s something really wrong.” I am not pleased that pressure is forming behind my eyes, and that they’re beginning to sting. I’m not a blubberer.
Luke shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
“Not to mention that the Andrewses’ lives could be at stake,” Rita says.
Luke looks reluctantly at me.
I’m horrified to realize that my eyes are filling, and even though I blink furiously and order the tears back to wherever they came from, a couple of them escape and roll down my Gothed-up face.
Luke takes a step toward me, his hand reaching out.
“Got something in my eye,” I mutter gruffly, and use the hem of my black T-shirt to try to repair any damage to my funeral-black liner and mascara.
Evan raises an eyebrow at Luke. “You going to just stand here and let the poor girl cry, when you have the power to solve her problem?”
Luke stares at him, flinty eyed, for a long moment. Then he looks over at me and sighs.
“C’mon. Let’s go.”
Chapter Seven
We return my borrowed car and then pile into Luke’s Grand Cherokee. Luke lives in Great Falls, in a beautiful old two-story Greek revival home. I can just picture his sister Lacey in another century. She sweeps down the curved staircase in a ball gown and takes the arm of a beau who escorts her through the white columns framing the porch and up into a waiting carriage.
Evan murmurs under his breath, “How terribly Gone with the Wind .”
Unfortunately it’s the twenty-first century, and Lacey shows no signs of leaving, since her silver BMW 335i is parked in the drive. Luke parks his Jeep next to it.
Mr. Carson’s government-issue Lincoln Continental isn’t anywhere to be seen, and neither is the old silver Mercedes that Luke’s mom usually drives when she drops off the kids at school.
We troop into the house behind Luke, and I hope that his sister stays in her room instead of coming out to look at me like I’m some weird and disgusting species of insect. She cannot stand Rita—it’s probably a fashion rivalry or something—and since I’m Rita’s best friend, she despises me, too.
The house is full of antiques, and the huge kitchen has dark cherry cabinetry and a big granite-topped island in the middle. There’s an apron tossed on it that says CHEF DAD across the chest and a notepad next to it. Someone has scrawled:
Gone to get filet mignon and portobello mushrooms. Will stop at package store for wine, too.
The handwriting is bold and masculine. Is it possible that we’ve just gotten very, very lucky?
“My dad likes to cook,” Luke confirms. “My mom, not so much. She decorates.”
At the back of the house,
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