Parker raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“I can’t tell you everything.” Gilroy lowered his voice. Everyone in the car leaned closer. “But I’ve been deep undercover for the last year with the Bulgarian mob. Today—somehow—I was burned.”
Teri winced. “Where?”
Daryl scoffed. “It’s what it’s called when a spy’s cover is blown.”
“Impressive.” Gilroy gave a ghost of a smile, then his troubled expression returned. “I don’t know how they found out. But they drove me away, and I knew I was about to get…” He hesitated.
“Whacked?” Chris supplied.
Gilroy nodded, looking disconcerted. “Well—yes. I was trying to figure out my exit strategy the whole drive. When we stopped for gas, I knew it was my opportunity. I fought my way out of the car. I knew I needed to get away. To hide. There was a yellow rental car filling up. I saw my chance. I got into the trunk. And was trapped in there until you let me out.”
“So what now?” Teri asked. She hoped the answer was now you go home and never mention this to the Stones.
“I have to get my go bag.”
“Your what?” Teri asked.
“It’s what all spies have stashed somewhere,” Chris explained, her voice patient. “Money, passports, a change of clothes.”
“I’m impressed,” Gilroy said. “But yes. If I have even a chance of surviving, I have to get it and go to ground. Because if I was made… it means there might be a mole in the department. That I don’t know who I can trust.” Gilroy shook his head, laughing quietly to himself. “You know, it seems like the only people I can trust right now… are you four.”
“We can help,” Chris piped up. Teri shot her a look. “Isn’t it what our teachers are always telling us to do? Be helpful?”
“Well,” Teri started. She wasn’t sure Chris’s teachers actually meant things like help a spy start a new life in Mexico.
“I’m so sorry to ask this of you,” Gilroy said. “If I had any other choice…”
His words hung heavy in the car—the fear and desperation behind them.
“We can help,” Teri said, making a decision but still feeling uneasy. “We’ll drive with you to get your go bag, but it can’t be too late. These three have a bedtime.”
“Teri,” Chris whined.
“You’re embarrassing us in front of the secret agent,” Daryl hissed.
Parker dropped her head in her hands.
“I’ll get you back in plenty of time, don’t worry.” He looked at all of them in turn, emotion visible in his dark eyes. “Thank you all, so much. And your country thanks you too.”
He started the car and Teri released her vise grip on Parker. “So—where are we going?”
Gilroy signaled, then pulled back onto the highway. His jaw was set. The expression in his eyes far was away. “North.”
CHAPTER 14
Kat
After a few minutes, I could decisively say that by far the best way to get around New York City was to ride on the back of a scooter driven by a cute boy.
It was my first experience with this particular mode of transportation, but it was already easily outpacing cars or taxis or buses or the subway, and I had decided I never wanted to get around New York any other way.
I’d hesitated only a moment before taking the helmet he’d offered to me, then said a silent farewell to what was left of my waves as I pulled it on over my head.
“Feel secure?” Cary asked. “Nod your head.” I did and felt the helmet slide slightly forward. “This’ll help,” he said. He took a step closer to me, then paused. “May I?”
“Sure,” I said, enjoying my up-close view as he leaned forward and pulled the strap under my chin tighter. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and his eyelashes were so long they were practically casting shadows on his cheeks. I knew that there was enough going on tonight that I shouldn’t have been paying attention to things like how attractive this guy was, but… I mean, I was only human.
“Better?”
I nodded, hoping none of my recent thoughts were readable on my face, and my helmet stayed put. “Perfect.” I looked at the scooter. “Now what?”
Cary showed me where I’d sit behind him, and told me to be sure to keep my leg away from the tailpipe—that it got really hot, and you didn’t feel it sometimes until you’d gotten a serious burn.
I tried to remember all of this as Cary got onto the bike, and then I climbed on behind him. I was grateful that the skirt of my dress was so twirly, because it meant that climbing onto the back of the scooter wasn’t a problem. I didn’t know what I would have done if I’d been wearing a tighter skirt—ride sidesaddle and hope for the best?
I settled myself on the bike, and then put my feet on the little tilted rests that seemed to be there for that purpose. I held on to the bar behind me and evaluated the situation. There was some space between us—it wasn’t like I had my legs wrapped around him or anything. But… we were very close together, and I tried to sit as far back on the bike as possible. A second later, I shifted forward a little, worried about falling off the back and getting hit by a taxi.
I felt a sudden urge to check the time—I was finding myself tonight, for the first time ever, wishing that I had a watch. I couldn’t let myself get too distracted here. I had to focus on making sure I got to the play. I was about to ask Cary to double-check the alarm settings, when he took the key and turned the engine on.
“If you need to hold on to me, you can,” he said over the sound of the engine, turning his head to look at me. “I mean,” he added quickly, “if you feel comfortable. Just… whatever works best.”
“Thanks,” I said, giving him a quick smile and tightening my hands on the back bar.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Ready.”
Cary revved the motor, pulled out into traffic—and we were off.
At first, my heart was hammering as I was sure, in every moment, that we were about to die a horrible death and be talked about gravely on NY1. We were in the traffic in a way I’d never experienced in a car. We zoomed around taxis and squeezed past cars to wait at stoplights. Then, when the light turned green, we took off again with a force that sent me backward each time.
Cary suddenly braked hard to avoid a car swerving out into traffic, and I nearly lost my balance. For one heart-stopping second, I thought I was about to fall off the bike. A volley of insults from all around us followed; the driver yelled back, giving as good as he got. My pulse was racing triple-time, even as I righted myself on the seat and told myself that it was fine, that I was safe. But the problem with holding on to the bar behind me was that it threw my weight backward—so that I was already partway to losing my balance whenever the bike swerved or stopped suddenly. And after that close call, I didn’t want to hold on to the bar anymore. All of which meant I was going to have to hold on to Cary.
Any reservations I might have had about this—because it was significantly more than just flirting with someone in a bodega—went away when compared with the fact that I’d just come pretty close to falling into New York traffic. So as Cary slowed for the stoplight turning yellow at Forty-Ninth Street, I took one hand off the back bar and grabbed onto the fabric of his brown leather jacket. I was trying not to hold on to him—even though he’d said it was fine—but figured that holding on to his coat was a good compromise. I reached around with my other hand to grab his coat on the other side—just as the light turned green and the scooter jolted forward. I instinctively stopped holding the fabric of his coat and gripped onto him, holding either side of his waist.