[Gallagher Girls 01] I'd Tell You I Love You But Then I'd Have to Kill You

by Ally Carter

  "Yes, sir."

  "Your team was tasked with retrieving a disk with pertinent information. You were captured and are being held for interrogation. The retrieval team will be after two packages. Care to guess what they are?"

  "The disk and me?"

  "Bingo."

  "You can't be certain that they can track you to this location." I heard him step away, his feet scraping across the concrete floor.

  "Are they Gallagher Girls?" I asked.

  "Yes."

  "Then they'll be here."

  Fifteen minutes later, I was locked in a room. I was blindfolded and tied to a chair and thanking my lucky stars that they'd made it so easy on me.

  They'd left me with Mr. Mosckowitz.

  "I really do feel bad, Mr. M," I said. "Really."

  "Um, Cammie, I'm pretty sure we're not supposed to be talking."

  "Oh, right. Sorry." I shut up for about twelve seconds. "It's just that if I'd known it was a test, I never would have used one of the forbidden moves—I swear!"

  "Oh." A heavy silence filled the room as I waited for Mr. Mosckowitz's inevitable, "Forbidden?"

  "Don't worry. I'm sure you're okay. It's not like you're light-headed or seeing spots or anything."

  "Oh, dear."

  For the world's foremost authority on data encryption, Harvey Mosckowitz was pretty much an open book.

  "Hey, Mr. M, don't worry," I said, trying to sound all fake-calm. "It's only a problem if the red splotches appear on the small of your back. You don't have red splotches. Do you?"

  That's when I heard the sounds of a certified genius spinning around in circles like a dog chasing its tail.

  "I can't…Oh, the light-headedness is getting worse." (I didn't doubt it—he'd been spinning pretty fast.) "Here." He ripped the blindfold off. "You look."

  Sadly, it was just that easy, and it would have been a lot easier if I hadn't been afraid to use any of the actual forbidden moves (mainly because I like Mr. Mosckowitz, and I didn't have written permission from the Secretary of Defense and all). Still, Mr. Mosckowitz was a pretty good sport about it.

  "Oh, you girls," he said in a very awshucks way, once I had him tied to the chair.

  "Just sit tight, Mr. M. It'll be over soon."

  "Um, Cammie?" he asked as I headed for the door. "I wasn't too bad, was I?"

  "You were awesome."

  The first thing I had to do was get out of that room. The disk wasn't there—if it was, no way would Mr. Solomon have left only Mr. Mosckowitz to guard it, so I darted through the empty warehouse to an exit door, checked it for sensors and alarms, then rushed out into the shadows of the complex.

  Outside, I felt my eyes adjust to the black. A little light escaped from the building I'd just left, but otherwise I was surrounded by nothing but old rusty steel, and dark, cracked windows. A cold wind blew through the maze, whistling between the buildings, blowing dead leaves and plumes of dust along the gravel lot. I squinted through the night, trying to sense movement of any kind, but if it hadn't been for the glistening new wire of a tall chain fence and some very well-hidden surveillance cameras, I would have sworn the place was a ghost town.

  Then I heard crackling static and a familiar voice.

  "Bookworm to Chameleon. Chameleon, do you read me?"

  "Liz?" I spun around.

  "Chameleon, it's Bookworm, remember? We use code names when on comms?"

  But I wasn't on comms! I was on a mission to break up with my secret boyfriend. I wasn't exactly prepared for active duty. But then I remembered the silver cross that dangled from my neck.

  Before I could even ask, Liz explained. "I got bored one weekend and decided to fix your necklace. And upgrade it. What do you think?"

  I think my friends are both brilliant and a little scary, is what I think. But of course I couldn't tell her that.

  "So, how'd it go with your project?" Liz asked, and I remembered that half the school was probably listening. "I mean, were there complications or—"

  "Liz," I snapped, not wanting to think about Josh or what I'd just done. The time for crying with your girlfriends about a broken heart is over chocolate ice cream and chick flicks—not stun guns and bulletproof vests. "Where's the disk?" I asked.

  This time, it was Bex's voice that answered, "We think they're in the big building on the north side of the complex. Tina and Mick went to recon, and we're holding here."

  "Where's here?"

  "Look up."

  Two days after my dad's funeral, my mom went on a mission. I never understood it until then—that sometimes a spy doesn't need a cover so much as she needs a shield. Crouched on the roof between Bex and Liz, I wasn't a girl who had just broken up with her boyfriend; I looked at my watch and checked my gear instead of crying. I had a mission objective and not a broken heart.

  "Okay," Liz said, as the majority of the sophomore class circled around her. "My guess is the school actually owns this place, because someone has sunk some serious cash into it." She pointed to a crude diagram, which my superspy instincts were telling me was made out of Evapopaper and eyeliner. "There are motion triggers on the perimeter. The windows are rigged to an alarm." Bex lit up at the sound of this, but Liz stopped her enthusiasm cold. "A Doctor Fibs original. No way we're cracking it in the middle of the night with minimal equipment."

  "Oh." Bex deflated as if they weren't going to let her have any fun.

  Eva pointed a device that looks like an ordinary radar gun but is really a body-heat detector toward the building across from us and swept it side to side before saying, "Bingo. We have a hot spot."

  At least a dozen red images walked back and forth across the screen, but the majority of the red figures were huddled in the center.

  "That's our package," Bex said.

  "Doors are problematic," Liz said, reeling off options. "Windows are out. You'd better believe they're watching the heating ducts and—"

  "You know what that leaves," Bex said, her voice like a dare.

  Liz looked at us one by one, realizing what we were all thinking—what our only mission option was—and that we had twenty pounds on her.

  "No!" Liz snapped. "I'll get tangled or decapitated or—"

  "I'll do it." And that's when I turned to look at Anna Fetterman—Anna, who had clutched her class assignment slip just months before as if CoveOps was going to be the death of her, was stepping forward, saying, "I'm the right size, am I not?"

  And that's when I knew that Dillon was going to see Anna again someday, and then he'd be the one who would need saving.

  Beep.

  What was that? I wondered.

  Beep-beep.

  "Is it a missile?" Anna snapped, looking to the sky.

  Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep.

  "We're locked in as targets of a heat-seeking tranquillizer dart!" Eva yelled.

  Beeeeeeeeeeeeep

  "Okay, everybody, freeze!" a male voice behind us cried out.

  Some of my classmates did as they were told. I did too, but for an entirely different reason. I'd never thought I'd hear that voice again, but there it was, saying, "I've…I've…already called nine-one-one. The cops are going to be here any—"

  But the Gallagher Girls didn't let him finish. The nine-one-one thing had been the totally wrong thing to say, because in a flash, two of the girls were on him, and I had to cry, "Eva, Courtney, no!"

  Everyone was staring at me—Josh, who was surprised I wasn't tied up or dead; and all of the sophomores (besides Bex and Liz), who couldn't imagine why I would have stopped them from neutralizing someone who had such obvious honeypotness.

  "Josh!" I snapped in a harsh whisper as I turned off the power to the tracking device and headed toward him. "What are you doing here?"

  "I'm here to rescue you." Then he glanced around at my black-clad classmates. "Who are they?' he whispered.

  "We're here to rescue her, too," Bex said.

  "Oh," he said, and then nodded blankly. "There was a van … I saw you … I…"


  "That?" I said with a wave of my hands. "It's a school thing." I tried to sound as casual as possible when I said, "Kind of like… hazing."

  Josh might have believed me if the entire sophomore class hadn't been standing on a warehouse roof, dressed in black and wearing equipment belts.

  "Cammie," he said, stepping closer, "first I find out you go to that school, and then you tell me you're leaving, and then I see you kicking like a madwoman and getting kidnapped or something." He took another step, accidentally knocking over an old piece of metal that then skidded off the side of the roof and crashed to the ground below.

  Sirens started wailing. Flashing lights streaked across the ground below us. Liz looked down, then cried, "He tripped the alarm!"

  But that didn't matter, because I couldn't see anything but Josh. I couldn't hear anything but the fear in his voice when he said, "Cammie, tell me the truth."

  The truth. I could hardly remember what it was. I'd been eluding it for so long that it took me a moment to remember what it was and what had brought me to that rooftop.

  "I do go to the Gallagher Academy. These are my friends." Behind me, my classmates were moving, preparing for the next phase of the mission. "And we have to go now."

  "I don't believe you." He didn't sound hurt then—the words were a dare.

  "What do I have to say?" I snapped. "Do I have to tell you that my father's dead, and my mom can't cook, and that these girls are the closest thing I have to sisters?" He looked past me to the girls of every size, shape, and race. "Do I have to say that you and I can't ever see each other again? Because it's true. It's all true." He reached out to touch me, but I jerked away, saying, "Don't come looking for me, Josh. I can't ever see you again." And then I looked into his eyes for the first time. "And you'll be better for it."

  Bex handed me a piece of gear, but before I took it, I turned to face him one last time. "Oh," I said, "and I don't have a cat."

  I turned to hide my tears and stared into the deep expanse of night that lay before me. I didn't stop to think about all that lay behind. Free of my secrets, free of my lies, I told myself I was doing what I was put on this earth to do. I ran. I jumped. I stretched out my arms, and for ten blissful seconds, I could fly.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Okay, so it wasn't flying so much as skirting between two buildings on a zip line, but still, it felt good to be weightless.

  Josh was behind me. I zoomed toward what lay ahead, and at that height and that speed, I didn't have a chance to look back. I touched down, and it felt natural to hear Eva tell Tina, "We're heading for the breaker boxes."

  It was only right that Courtney should say, "Copy that," and drag Mick toward the fire escape on the west side.

  We were Gallagher Girls on a mission—doing what we do best. So I didn't think about what had just happened, not even when Bex asked, "You okay?"

  "I'm fine," I told her, and in that adrenaline-filled moment, it was true.

  We ran to the south side, and Bex used a small tube that looks like a lipstick but really is a super-intense acidic cream. I totally don't recommend getting them mixed up, by the way, because, just as soon as Bex drew a big circle in the roof, the acid starting eating away, and thirty seconds later I was rappeling down into the warehouse below.

  The building was a maze of tall metal shelves stacked with pallets. I imagined the beeping of forklifts as Bex and I crept through the south side of the building, trusting that our classmates were simultaneously creeping through the north.

  "He's taller than I expected," Bex whispered as she waited for me to silently clear a corner.

  "Yeah, whatev—"

  But just then, a guy I recognized from the maintenance department jumped from a high shelf. He'd descended through the air like a big, black crow, but Bex and I had sensed him, felt his shadow. I stepped aside, and he landed with a thud against one of the shelves. He didn't even hesitate before spinning around to kick, but Bex was ready and slapped a Napotine patch right in the middle of his forehead. (I am really glad Dr. Fibs quit smoking, by the way, because, besides the obvious health benefits, the idea of putting tranquilizers on stickers is awesome.)

  Bex and I were moving again through the dark maze when she said, "You're gonna find someone else. Someone even hotter. With even better hair!" Lie. But a nice one.

  We crept farther down the aisle, carefully listening, sensing our surroundings (after all, if Mr. Solomon had called in favors from the maintenance department, then he was taking this finals thing seriously.)

  "Beta team, how's it going?" I asked, but was met with static-y silence. Bex and I shared a worried glance. This is not good. "Charlie team?" Nothing from that end either.

  I felt like a rat stuck in a maze, looking for a block of cheese. Every corner was dangerous. Every step could be a trap. So Bex and I looked at each other, recognition dawned, and we did what great spies always do: we looked up.

  After climbing twenty feet to the top of the shelves, we could see men patrolling the paths beneath us as Bex and I moved stealthily above, drawing closer to the small office in the center of the building.

  The office had interior walls that were probably twenty feet tall, far shorter than the warehouse roof that loomed, dark and cold, above us. We stopped and Bex held a pair of binocuglasses to her eyes, then handed them to me. "One guess who's sitting on the package?"

  I peered into the small room and said, "Solomon."

  Bex put her hand to her ear and said, "Beta team and Charlie team. We are in position. I repeat, Alpha team is—"

  But before Bex could finish, I felt something grab my foot. I kicked, trying to free myself I turned to Bex, but she was gone. There was scuffling on the ground. I turned, saw the beefy hand that held my ankle, heard boxes falling to the floor below.

  I couldn't jerk free, and soon I was falling past the heavy metal shelves, so I reached out and grabbed one, and hung there for a moment, trying to turn my momentum and pull myself back up. But it was too late.

  Something pulled again, and this time I hit the floor, felt the cold, dusty concrete beneath my hands, and saw a pair of size fourteen work boots staring me in my face.

  This is not good.

  I tried to roll, to kick, to flip up and catch my opponent in the chin with my feet, but before I could budge, I realized my arms had stopped working.

  "Come on, Cam," Bubblegum Guard said. "It's over, girl. I got you." He righted me and steered me around the corner, where Bex was being held by two maintenance guys (both of whom were bleeding).

  "Nice going, though," Bubblegum Guard whispered as he dragged me toward the office door. Somehow, I don't think real international bad guys will be that nice. But I can hope.

  I reeled through my options: damsel in distress, twisted ankle, fake seizure, head-butt to the nose? Something told me Bubblegum Guard wasn't going to be taken down by any of them. He had at least fifty pounds and fifteen years on me, but, as my mother says, I've always been a squirmer.

  "I'm sorry, Ms. Morgan," Mr. Solomon said, strolling out of the office toward me. "But it's over. You don't have the disk. You have failed to meet your mission—"

  It looked like it was over. He sounded like it was over. But, on cue, Liz cut the power and the lights.

  Dark silhouettes flew from out of nowhere. It almost seemed to be raining Gallagher Girls. I wish I could include a blow-by-blow account, but everything happened too fast. Fists flew. Kicks struck home. I heard heavy bodies fall to the floor as Napotine patches made contact with skin.

  The building must have been equipped with emergency lights, because, after a minute in the dark, an eerie yellow glow grew within the enormous space, and everything seemed to go still as the lights came on. I saw Bex level one of the guards and then bolt for the office, but just as she reached the threshold she must have tripped a motion detector, because an alarm sounded, and the room turned from office to prison as bars shot up from the floor, building a cage around the very thing we needed.
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br />   Bex banged against the bars, as behind her, Joe Solomon said, "Sorry, ladies, but I'm afraid this is the end of your mission." He shook his head. Instead of looking triumphant, he seemed sad, almost heartbroken. "I tried to tell you how important this is. I tried to get you ready, and now look at you." We were bloody and sore, but we were still standing, yet Mr. Solomon sounded guilty and disappointed. "How were you going to get out of here? What was your extraction plan? Were you really willing to sacrifice three quarters of your team for nothing?" He shook his head again and pulled away from us. "I don't want to see any of you next semester. I don't want that on my conscience."

  "Excuse me, sir," I said. "But does that apply even if we have the disk?"

  He laughed a quick, tired, barely audible laugh, reminding us all what our sisters have known for centuries— that men will always underestimate girls. Even Gallagher Girls.

  "That disk," I said, pointing behind him to the cage that completely surrounded the small office except for the thin gaps where the floor opened up to allow the bars to shoot through. The space was far too small for a grown man to fit through. No, for that it would take a girl—preferably one the size of Anna Fetterman.

  Dumbstruck, Mr. Solomon and the rest of his team stared as little Anna waved then slithered back through the gaps in the floor and out of sight. Some of the men bolted after her, but Joe Solomon stared on.

  "Well," he said, "I guess—"

  But before he could finish, a loud crashing sound filled the air. The room seemed full of dust and smoke and the sound of splintering lumber. Bubblegum Guard threw me against the wall, putting his body between me and harm as steel bent and shelves toppled, one right after another, falling like dominoes stacked in row.

  It seemed like it took forever for Bubblegum Guard to let go of me. I think he was dazed—I know I definitely was. After all, it's not every day you A) break up with your secret boyfriend, B) get kidnapped by (sort of) former government operatives, and C) have the aforementioned secret boyfriend attempt to rescue you by driving a forklift through a wall.