“Have you told Roux yet?”
I shook my head. “No. I just found out this afternoon and I don’t really want to text her about this.”
“She’s going to lose her mind.”
“Oh yeah, she is. It’s going to be so ugly.”
“I’ll probably be able to see the exact moment her head turns into a mushroom cloud.”
I started to laugh at the image. “Mount Vesuvius spotted on the Upper East Side.” I giggled. “News at eleven!”
Jesse wasn’t laughing, though, and he looked down and put his hands in his pockets, avoiding my eyes. “Hey,” I said softly. “I meant what I said. I might not be able to tell you everything, but I’ll always come back, no matter what.”
He nodded and swallowed hard before kissing me. This kiss was different from our train station one earlier. Jesse wasn’t comforting me anymore. This kiss was all about us. I ran my fingers into his hair and pulled him closer to me, afraid to let go, afraid of the day when I wouldn’t be able to touch him, see him, find him.
“Love you,” he whispered when we pulled apart. “I love each and every one of those passport girls.”
I smiled and blushed. “You always know just what to say,” I said.
“I also know when to shut up.” He grinned, then leaned in to kiss me again.
Spy romance. It never gets old.
Chapter 5
I slept in the next morning after crashing late. I had been too wired to sleep and had spent most of my night practicing on Angelo’s stupid lock. I was so close to cracking it, but every time I almost did it, the pins would collapse back into place and I’d be shut out. I worked until 3:00 a.m., hunched over my desk and probably ruining my posture before dragging myself to bed, and when I finally woke up, the sun was streaming in through the windows and the air already felt steamy.
My parents’ bedroom door was still shut, and I could hear their worried murmurs leaking through. I stood there for a minute, trying to listen, and almost fell into the bedroom when my dad yanked the door open.
“Are you spying?” he accused as I righted myself.
“How dare you?” I replied. “Accuse me of all people of being a spy.” I smoothed my hair down. “I never.”
I was trying to make him laugh, but all I got was a muscle spasm that was either a repressed smile or a minor stroke. It’s hard to tell with parents sometimes. “You shouldn’t be eavesdropping on your parents,” he told me. “It’s rude.”
“Well, you’re the ones who raised a spy, sooooo …” I shrugged. “What can you do?”
My mom poked her head out from the bathroom where she was brushing her teeth. “Oo nee ta klee or moom.”
I glanced at my dad. “All the technology in the world couldn’t decipher what she just said.”
“You need to clean your room,” he translated. “And she’s right.”
“I didn’t know that Mom brushing her teeth was an official language.”
I could hear my mom spitting and rinsing. “Clean your room!” she yelled from the bathroom.
“Am I the only one who remembers what happened yesterday?” I cried. “Excuse me, but why aren’t we making a plan?”
My dad just pointed at something on our kitchen counter. “Angelo will fill you in,” he said.
“I bet none of the Avengers had to clean their rooms,” I muttered, but went to inspect the piece of paper.
I would have known it anywhere, a calligraphed A printed on heavy cream card stock: Angelo’s card. I turned it over and looked at the drawing on the back. It was a statue of a man riding a horse with what looked like an angel standing in front of them. It looked like a thousand statues in Manhattan.
“Angelo.” I groaned, dropping my head into my hands.
Sometimes he’s too clever for his own good.
***
An hour later, I had done some sleuthing and discovered that Angelo wanted me to meet him at the northern corner of Grand Army Plaza in Manhattan (not the one in Brooklyn), next to the Sherman Monument. I was showered, dressed, and caffeinated, and ready to kick ass and take names. The first wave of humidity hit me as soon as I stepped outside, though, and before I could change my mind and go back upstairs into our air-conditioned loft, I spotted Angelo out of the corner of my eye.
He was standing next to a light post, reading the French newspaper Le Monde and wearing a crisp, white cotton dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and dark pants. His shoes were impeccably polished, of course, and when he saw me, he gave me a wave and a wink.
“Lovely to see you again, darling,” he said, giving me the requisite kiss on both cheeks. “You look as fresh as ever.”
“What are you doing here?” I said, kissing him back. “I got your note, I was on my way to meet you.”
“Well, that’s good. I thought you might not be able to solve this one.”
“I’m smarter than you think.”
“Yes, Google is a very useful tool, isn’t it?”
I pretended to punch him in the arm and he chuckled. “It’s good to admit you need help every now and then,” he replied, offering me his arm. “And I thought I might escort you there.”
My fingers gripped at his elbow as I stopped in the street, nearly causing a collision of people behind me. “Escort me?” I said. “Why?”
“Because it’s a beautiful day and I happened to be in your neighborhood.”