Eighteen
Malcolm grabbed my hand. “Slow down, dear. Let’s enjoy the day.”
What he really meant was, “Stop running through the park like a schoolchild when you’re supposed to be 70 years old.” I couldn’t help it. It had already been too long. What do they say? After twenty-four hours the chance of finding someone decreases?
His eyes darted back and forth along the perimeter of the park, but the only somewhat suspicious movement was a mime performing for a big family picnic and a young couple riding a tandem bike. I pictured me and Aimee riding on the bike, dodging squirrels in the path until we’d give up and walk. Or coming here with her grandmother, who could fill us in on the history behind this place. Because every place in Paris has a history.
After shuffling through the winding paved paths that rolled with the landscape, he stroked his long beard—quite convincingly I might add. “I bet I know where he’s headed.”
He led me down narrow paths overhung with tree branches and ferns, and with no one around, we jogged. The smell of damp earth and leaves brought me back to working in my dad’s herb garden and walking through the woods behind our house. But those memories were safe ones, and there was nothing safe about what we were doing now—following a potential madman.
We turned a corner and a humongous rocky bluff jutted into the sky. Ivy clung to its side, crawling toward the gazebo-like temple at the top. I shivered a bit because the cliff towered over a lake. Even though the water sparkled in the sun and seemed pretty harmless, it was a long drop from where we stood. A wooden-slat bridge that didn’t look very safe seemed to be the only way across. It started a few feet ahead of us, way too far up for me to consider crossing. I swayed with dizziness just looking at it, and I gripped Malcolm’s cane. “I need this more than you.”
“Did you see him?” Malcolm pointed and peered across the bridge.
I followed his gaze, fearing and hoping that he’d seen someone. “Who?”
“A man just ducked into the woods over on the cliff.” He cupped his hand to shield the sun from his eyes. “I think it was Peyton.”
“Why, what did you see?” Maybe I needed glasses. Dark shapes moved in between the trees.
“Tall, dark hair, an obnoxious swagger. Sound like him?”
Sounded exactly like Peyton. “Are you sure?” Adrenaline rushed through my body. “Oh my gosh, an island would be a perfect place to hide a hostage.” Aimee could be tied up under a tree, hidden by long willowy branches, she could be shivering from cold and shaking from starvation, she could be terrified thinking no one would ever find her.
“Stop and breathe.” Malcolm rubbed my back.
After gasping a bit, I stepped onto the first wooden plank, swallowing down my breakfast and refusing to look below.
“We can cross the safe and legal one.” Malcolm grabbed my hand, trying to pull me in the other direction.
“It would be too late.” I growled and ripped out of his grasp. “We cross now and have him lead us to Aimee.”
Ignoring the sign with a big circle and a line through it, I started across the bridge, my eyes on the temple. The wooden slats creaked and swayed under my weight. I didn’t care about the rules or the danger. I wanted to find Aimee, and I couldn’t give Peyton any more of a head start than he already had.
Halfway across, Malcolm stopped and the bridge creaked. I groaned, my fingers digging into the railing. Through sheer determination of will I made it, and then dropping the granny act, I sprinted across the top of the rocky cliff calling Aimee’s name. The leaves and ferns brushed my face and arms. I found nothing but fox dens or rabbit holes. After looking under every rock and tree, my adrenaline crashed. Nothing.
Malcolm called out, “I found something. Over here!”
With a surge of energy, I ran through brush and ducked branches until I found him, standing by a tree, holding back the big drooping branches. The heartbreak in Malcolm’s eyes told me everything.
“This doesn’t mean she was here. This could be anything.”
Underneath lay the scattered remains of what could’ve been Aimee’s meager captivity, frayed rope and a power bar wrapper. I pulled out the tracker and we both looked at it.
Malcolm blew out a breath. “Sorry. He’s leaving the park.”
The leaves and rope blurred in front of my eyes. It couldn’t be. Some pieces of trash weren’t real clues. But then why did I feel my hope slipping away? I couldn’t stand there, next to Malcolm, so I ran and ran and ran until I couldn’t breathe. I needed to be alone.
I arrived at the other bridge—the safe one—and slumped against a tree, welcoming the jagged bark piercing through my shirt into the skin of my back. Pain was good, a reminder that nothing should matter but Aimee.
Malcolm was soon with me, gently lifting me up by the arm. “Honestly, I don’t think she was ever here. I should never have pointed it out. That could’ve been anything.”
“Or it could be everything. Wasn’t that the same kind of rope we found in Peyton’s apartment?”
“Possibly. It’s pretty common rope.” He held out his hand. “Let’s go back and regroup. He’ll be on the move again and we’ll find him.”
I sighed not wanting to give up, not wanting to admit that I was failing, not wanting to tell Malcolm to stuff it when he was just trying to help. We’d find him? When? How? I wanted answers.
We crossed the safe bridge. The green of the trees blurred against the blue sky and the slight breeze moved my granny dress against my legs.
Malcolm stopped halfway. “You might as well take in the view. We did tell your dad we’d have some fun.”
Geese flapped their wings and skittered across the lake to settle near the edge. Large tree branches dipped their fingers into the edge of the water. Aimee would’ve loved it. I leaned my head against his shoulder, refusing to give in to tears. I didn’t want Malcolm to know how much it was getting to me.
“So, dear, my memory is getting a little fuzzy,” he whispered, his breath kissing my cheek. “Tell me again about our wedding day.”
I stiffened a bit when he put his arm around me. Very easily, I could’ve slipped into this role and forgotten. Pretended that all was well, and felt safe and loved with the warmth of his arm draped across my shoulder. Except I couldn’t muster the energy to play his game.
“You can quit trying to cheer me up. It won’t work.”
“I remember now,” he said. “We got married under the Arc de Triomphe at sunset. It was almost perfect, except for the flock of pigeons that pooped all over our family and friends. We, of course, were safe under the arc.”
I relented and couldn’t help but smile. “Did we enjoy our honeymoon?”
Malcolm didn’t say anything but traced his fingers down my back. My legs grew weak, and I leaned into him a little bit more.
He kissed the side of my head and whispered, “Oh, yeah.”
I just about lost my breath when he said that. For once I didn’t have anything to say. My heart was lodged in my throat. He ran his fingers down my arms and goosebumps quickly followed. He laced our hands and pressed his face into the crook of my neck.
“I’ll play out any fantasy for you, Savvy Bent, if it will keep a smile on your face.” He gently kissed my cheek.
If my life were a movie, that would be when the music started, and Malcolm and I would’ve engaged in one of those long kisses that made all the girls swoon. Maybe even some of the men if they were being honest. But we didn’t. Instead, tears slipped down my face. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had gone out of his or her way to try and make me smile again, and all it took was a few simple words. It was much more than that. Without any complaints about the lack of training, he was helping me in every way he could. Maybe, just maybe, I could call him a friend. I didn’t have many.
A shot rang out, ripping a hole through the fantasy.
Birds burst from the trees like fireworks. Malcolm wrapped his arm around my waist and sla
mmed me to the bridge. I hit the wood with a muffled clang. All my breath shot out my mouth, leaving me gasping. I was inches from the edge. My vertigo maxed out. I stared at the water far, far below us, just waiting for a victim to fall into its clutches.
“Are you still wearing that stupid tray?” Malcolm asked.
“It’s not stupid if it saves my life, thank you very much.”
Malcolm moved to get up, then swore, and we watched the black tracking box falling toward the water.
“Forget about it,” Malcolm said. “When I say three. Run. Off the bridge. Don’t look back.”
My heart pounded for a completely different reason. “What about you?”
“I’ll be right behind. THREE! Go now.”
Another shot shattered the air.
I scrambled to my feet, gathered my skirt and sprinted. My granny shoes clicked against the bridge, until I finally kicked them off. I pumped my arms and tucked my head, hoping my wig wouldn’t fly off. I tore down the winding paths, ducking the tree branches, and leaping the cracks in the pavement. My lungs were screaming when I finally stopped near a bench and sucked in air, doubled over.
“Quick, follow me.” Malcolm dove under the nearest sweeping tree branches.
My whole body shook. The muscles in my legs quivered like I was trapped in a room with a mountain lion. I gripped the bench to stop the shaking in my arms. Who would shoot at us? Peyton? He was mad, but was he completely psycho? I hoped not for Aimee’s sake. And mine.
“Come on! Now!” Malcolm urged.
I froze wanting to dive under the tree and wanting to sprint toward the entrance and make my escape. The crunch and snap of branches breaking behind us motivated me to take the dive. I squeezed in next to Malcolm, trying to keep my breath from sounding like gunshots.
A Spy Like Me Page 19
