Going Rogue Page 16

“Dodging death and looking good in clothes? Pretty sure

  that makes me James Bond right about now,” Jesse said. “Like your Halloween costume that first time we met.” “The first night we kissed, you mean.” I looked at him, my heart swelling so painfully that it seemed to move my skin and bones, then leaned down and kissed him. “Love you,” I whispered against his mouth. “Now you know what it’s like to kiss a spy,” he replied, then kissed me again as I gave him a slow, sad smile.

  Chapter 26

  We flew all night to Paris.

  When we first boarded the flight, there were only a few businessmen in the first-class cabin with us. I came to a halt when I saw them, though, which caused Jesse to bump into me and Roux to bump into him. “Great,” I heard her mutter. “We’re the Three Stooges now. Wonderful.”

  “Do we—?” I started to say to Zelda, but she cut me off with a nod of her head.

  “They’ve all been vetted,” she said. “Take your seats, please. The plane is about to depart.”

  Jesse and I were across the aisle from each other, with Roux seated between me and the window. We settled in, but my hands wouldn’t stop moving. They unbuckled and rebuckled my seatbelt three separate times; moved my hair off my face, then pulled it back over my shoulders; flipped through the safety card until I could have recited the whole thing from memory. “Maggie?” Jesse said. “You’re a little, um …”

  “You’re twitchy,” Roux said. “Where’s the champagne? Don’t we get champagne on this flight?”

  As if on cue, Zelda came down the aisle with a tray of champagne. “Look, I’m psychic,” Roux said, then flagged Zelda over to us.

  “Forget it,” Zelda said when she realized what Roux was after. “You are underage in both the United States and Europe.”

  Roux’s face smoothed out into an eerie facsimile of her normal expression and I braced myself for what was about to come. Across the aisle, Jesse was more succinct. “Here we go.” He sighed.

  “Look, Zelda,” Roux said in a very quiet voice that I recognized as the calm before the storm. Three businessmen were getting settled into their seats and paying absolutely no attention to us, which was a good thing. “I don’t know how your evening went, but a madman tried to kill me tonight. And my best friend. And her parents. And her beloved older friend.”

  Jesse looked on in disbelief. “And?” he asked. “Who else was there, Roux?”

  “I was getting to that,” she said. “And Jesse. And I don’t know about you, Zel, but that sort of put a strain on my mental health. I just had to shampoo glass out of my hair. I’m a little—oh, how do the French say it?—on the freaking edge right now, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to take a glass of champagne and hopefully—fingers crossed, Zelda!—it’ll knock me out for the flight so I can temporarily forget that we’re all on the run from an insane lunatic who tried to kill all of us. Okay? Does that sound good to you?”

  I glanced up at Zelda, wondering if she would just put Roux in a sleeper hold before moving on to the rest of the passengers, but her mouth quirked up a little and I saw a brief glimmer of something pass through her eyes. Recognition? Respect? I couldn’t tell.

  Either way, she handed Roux a glass of champagne. “à votre santé,” she said.

  “You betcha,” Roux replied, then raised her glass in a mock salute before knocking half of it back in one gulp.

  “I thought you cut back on drinking,” I said to her after Zelda continued her path up the aisle.

  “I did. Consider this a cheat day. Here,” she added. “It’ll put some color in your cheeks.”

  I hesitated for a minute, then took a small sip. It burned a little and then warmed my stomach, but it didn’t calm me down. I was pretty sure that the only thing that would have calmed me down right then was an elephant tranquilizer, but I was too scared to ask if Roux had any of those on her. If she did, I didn’t want to know about it.

  Jesse shook his head at Roux. “You always have to make a scene,” he said, but he was smiling a little. “We can’t just fly to Paris after nearly being killed in a hail of gunfire like normal kids.”

  “Can’t hear you,” Roux trilled. “I’m floating away on a sea of bubbles to Paris.”

  “You know, not to burst your bubble—no pun intended—but this isn’t exactly going to be your run-of-the-mill vacation,” I told her. “We’re kind of on the run.”

  “I know,” Roux said. “But we’re on the run with a huge network of subversive criminals. Could be worse.” She grinned at me, and now I knew that she was trying her hardest to cheer me up.

  “Good point,” I told her. “What could possibly go wrong?”

  “I’m sure you have an alphabetical list,” she replied, but before I could answer, the captain’s voice came on and told us to prepare for departure.

  I looked over at Jesse as we began to taxi down the runway. There had also been a hoodie in his bag and he was wearing it now, the hoodie pulled up over his hair and almost concealing his face. “Hey,” I said across the aisle, then extended my hand when he looked over. He reached out and took it, his fingers warm around my cold ones, and I reached around the divider between Roux’s and my seat and took her hand, as well. She squeezed back three times, a brave reassurance, and when I looked back at Jesse, he blew a quick kiss in my direction. “Relax,” he said as the plane started to rise into the sky. “We’re going to be fine.”

  We landed in Paris around noon, the skies cloudy and rainy. Roux, true to form, slept like a rock through the entire flight and even Jesse slept for a few hours, but I stayed awake the entire time, looking out the window, watching some stupid movie with English subtitles, and thinking. It took a few hours for the shock to wear off, but now that it had, I discovered that my brain was going into full-blown work mode.

  The first thing I had to do? Find out where my parents and Angelo were. I was hoping that they would be waiting for us in Paris, but I knew that wasn’t possible. It was way too dangerous for everyone to be in the same place at the same time. So I needed to find them. A tinier, darker voice kept reminding me that I would have to find out if they were alive first, but I couldn’t think about that. Of course they were alive. Markus said they got out. Of course they did. That wasn’t even a possibility.

  I also had to figure out how to get us to the address in Paris. Angelo had sent me there, of course, but I had no idea where it was. I knew that someone would get us there, but then what? Were we supposed to just wait for news? Were we supposed to go into hiding? Angelo hadn’t said what we were supposed to do while we were there. I knew this, though: if I had sit in some small apartment with Roux and Jesse and play Parcheesi while Angelo and Zelda and my parents and everyone else got to fight against these maniacs, I would lose my mind in less than a day.

  Both Roux and Jesse woke up before we touched down, and by the time our plane landed, we had taken turns freshening up in the plane’s bathroom. I avoided looking into the mirror as I brushed my teeth, though. I didn’t need to see what I already could feel: pale skin, drawn face, dark circles, frozen eyes.

  When we landed, Zelda held us back as the other passengers departed, then we followed her off the plane and out into DeGaulle Airport. “I haven’t been here in a few years,” I said as we followed Zelda toward baggage claim. Jesse walked next to me, his hand back in mine, his stride surprisingly assured for someone who had just flown halfway around the world.

  “Same here,” he said. “I came with my mom and dad when I was twelve. We did the tourist thing.”

  “Everyone’s been here but me.” Roux pouted. “This is embarrassing.”

  When we got outside, the air was warm and humid, pressing down into our clothes and hair. Zelda cut through a line of passengers and led us to a black Mercedes with tinted windows that was idling at the curb. “Au revoir,” she said as she opened up the back door. “My journey with you is done.”

  “Wait, but what about—?”

  “Hurry, hurry,” she said, waving us inside t
he car. “Bonne chance,” she said to me just before she closed the door, and the slamming sound made my heart jump.

  The driver pulled away from the curb, our eyes meeting in the rearview mirror. He gave me a quick nod and a curt, “Hello, Maggie.” I didn’t recognize his voice but I nodded back, realizing that I had no choice but to trust him. What else was there to do?

  “Roux?” I asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “Have you ever had an anxiety attack?”

  “Of course I have. I’m seventeen and I live in Manhattan.” She leaned forward on her seat to look at me. “Are you having one now?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “But I might.”

  “Um, not to add any extra anxiety—” Jesse began to say.

  “Why do I get the feeling that this is going to be one of the least helpful comments ever?” Roux said.

  “—but do you know where we’re going, Mags?”

  “The address that Angelo told me,” I said.

  “And the guy driving us knows where that is?”

  “Yes,” I said, even though I wasn’t one hundred percent sure. “He does. This is how we work, Jesse, okay? Just … please just trust me.”

  He took a deep breath and pushed his hoodie off his head. His curls were a riotous mess, almost like they were rebelling from his scalp, and Roux giggled before she could stop herself.

  “What?” Jesse snapped at her. “I have bedhead, okay? At least I still don’t have pillow creases.”

  Roux kept giggling. “It’s cute!” she protested. “You look like you’re five years old! Adorable!”

  I bit my lip so I wouldn’t start laughing, too, but it was hard.

  “Oh, you too?” Jesse asked me. “You’re going to make fun of my hair now?”

  “It’s cute,” I admitted, starting to giggle with Roux. “Here, let me just …” I reached up to flatten it with my hand, stroking the curls back into place.

  “Do you have a hairnet?” Roux asked, barely able to keep her voice from shaking. “Or maybe a shower cap? That might work. We could just lasso it maybe …”

  Jesse just groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I can’t believe that I’m on the run with you two,” he grumbled. “This is so not okay.”

  “There there,” Roux said. “You’ll always have your hair for company.”

  That was all it took to send both of us into hysterics.

  We calmed down as the car took us into Paris, though, and by the time we were gliding through the sixth arrondissement, the three of us were silent. Even Jesse’s hair seemed to sense the seriousness of the situation because it wilted a little back into its normal position. The city was as gorgeous as I remembered and across the seat, Roux was glued to her window. “It’s so much better in person,” she said softly as we passed by a small park, and I felt a small stab of anger at her parents for never taking her to Paris or Bora Bora or probably anywhere else, for that matter. And then I thought of my parents and that stab quickly spread into worry. “They’re fine,” I whispered to myself.

  “What?” Jesse asked, glancing down at me.

  “Nothing,” I replied. The car was slowing down at the curb as my heart picked up speed and when we came to a stop, the driver said, “Wait here,” before he came around to open the car door, his eyes glancing up at the buildings around us. I knew what he was looking for, but I didn’t want to say it out loud.

  When we opened the door, we tumbled out in front of a set of large black lacquered doors. Each door had a golden lion’s head door knocker, the ring tight in the lion’s mouth, and there was a brass doorknob directly in the center of the door on the right.

  I looked at the driver. He looked at me.

  “Okay then,” I said, then went up and knocked on the door. The sound echoed, which told me that there was an empty hallway just on the other side.

  “Uh, I’m pretty sure they’re not going to open the door,” Jesse said, his hoodie pulled back up because of the steady rain that was falling. Roux had shoved her hair down the back of her sweater and was standing next to him with her arms crossed, glancing skyward just as she had seen our driver do.

  “Who’s they?” Roux asked him. “Like you know who’s back there. Maybe there’s no one.”

  “A really comforting thought,” I said.

  “Sorry.”

  “Try the door,” Jesse said, gesturing to the knob. “Maybe it’s open.”

  I looked at him. “Even less comforting.”

  The driver was no help, still watching the buildings around us, and I took a deep breath and pulled on the doorknob. The door stayed shut, but a tinier one built into it swung open, almost like something from Alice in Wonderland.

  And then I saw what was behind the door.

  “What’s that?” Roux asked.

  “That looks medieval,” Jesse added. “Like full-on bubonic plague medieval.”

  “Lovely imagery,” Roux said.

  “Well, I’m just saying …”

  “It is medieval.” I sighed.

  Sure enough, it was the lock that had been frustrating me for the better part of six months. The lock that Angelo kept encouraging me to open, the lock that I could never open, was the only thing standing between us and getting through the door into safety.

  “Wait,” Roux said slowly, recognition dawning across her voice. “Isn’t that the lock that you were working on last week? The one you couldn’t open?”

  “Way to be positive, Roux,” Jesse whispered to her.

  “Excuse me, we’re standing next to a man who’s scanning for snipers, probably!” she hissed back. “Forgive me if I’m not Little Mary Sunshine.” Then she looked at me and smiled. “Good luck, Mags. No pressure, okay?”

  “None at all,” I agreed, then took a deep breath, knelt down, and got to work.

  Chapter 27

  Opening that lock on a good day was difficult. But in Paris? In the rain? Six, twelve, eighteen (my time zones were all screwed up) hours after being shot at and going on the run? Let’s just say it was challenging.

  Our driver, Mathieu, was nice enough to offer me a little lock-picking kit. I eyed him, then pulled my own out of my pocket, where I had stashed it a million hours ago when I broke into Dominic’s house for the second time. Mathieu nodded, a sign of respect. I wondered how good he was at breaking into safes.

  I hoped I was better.

  I readjusted my stance in front of the door. The street was empty, the sounds of traffic far away, and I wondered if that’s why Angelo sent me here. If people were gone during the day, it was always easier to sneak in and out of a location.

  Or, in my case, to break into one.

  The wet ground soaked the knees of my jeans almost instantly and it became painful a few minutes later. The first of the four locks was always the easiest, the second one was a bit more difficult, but by the time I got to the third one, my muscles were starting to shake. It wasn’t easy even during the best of times, but I hadn’t eaten or slept in a while.

  “Shit,” I whispered when the third lock slipped away from me. “Damn it, okay. Sorry, I just have to start over.”

  “Take your time,” Roux said, but she was shivering a little in the rain. It was still humid out, but colder than it had been at the airport.

  It will open when you need it most, Angelo had said, but his words just hurt when I thought about them now. I needed a lot of things right now, and part of me wanted to fling the tools away and stop opening the lock until someone—anyone—explained what I was doing here and why someone tried to kill us and where in the world my parents were. As soon as I had answers, then maybe I might open the lock, but until then, no deal.

  But none of that was going to happen, so I kept working.

  The third locked slipped again, then once more. The rain wasn’t helping either, and our driver Mathieu eventually herded Jesse and Roux back into the car. I couldn’t blame him. Having two people standing around staring at me breaking into someone’s apartment w
as not inconspicuous.

  “If he drives away with us, I’ll go ballistic on him,” Roux assured me as she slid into the car.

  “You do that,” I replied, then shoved my hair out of my face and tried for a fourth time.

  By the tenth time, I was near tears. Sometimes opening a lock is like a sprint, other times it’s a marathon, but now I felt like I was in some never-ending Ironman competition. My arms were starting to tense up, but when I loosened my grip on my tools, the lock would slip and I’d be back to square one. My legs shook from squatting in the same position for so long. My hair was now getting wet, not just damp from the light rain, and above all else, I knew that my best friend and my boyfriend were waiting for me in what was probably a bulletproof car, waiting for me to open this door and get them inside to safety.

  I hated this lock. I hated Paris. I hated my job, I hated being a spy, I even hated Angelo for teaching me how to pick locks in the first place. I hated my parents for not following me for the first time in their lives. I hated myself for wanting them to give me more space, more responsibility, more independence. Now that I had it, the world felt too big, like I would never find my way home again. “Our home is wherever we are, Mags,” my mom had said, but now I didn’t even know where they were.

  I gritted my teeth and anchored my biceps, trying to get that third lock again. Sometimes you use talent to break into something, and other times, you have to use emotion instead.

  “I hate you so much,” I whispered, then pushed at it one more time. “I just want to go home.”

  I felt the third lock suddenly jolt into place and I gasped when my tool moved forward, anchoring it open. “Oh!” I said, then carefully let go and moved on to the fourth lock. I had never gotten this far before. I had never wanted something so badly before.

  The fourth lock was tiny, barely big enough to fit the jimmy in, but I managed to wiggle it open. Even though my thigh muscles were trembling, my hands were still as steady as always, which made me feel a bit better. Steely McGee, my dad used to call me, and I could hear his voice now as I carefully slipped through the gears and moved them apart. I held my breath, scared that even a puff of air would make everything fall apart. It was like building a house of cards, when one wrong movement could destroy everything.