But then the arms released me and I spun to face my best friend. "What are you doing in here?" I asked.
She smiled. "Guess who else made the drive up from Roseville?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.
"Bex, it's Saturday. I'd really rather not take a quiz if I can help it."
Then she gripped my shoulders and turned me around. "Look."
The first time I ever saw Joe Solomon, he was strolling into the Grand Hall during the welcome-back dinner of my sophmore year. None of us knew where he'd come from or why he was there. Standing in the shadows, it wasn't hard to remember how that had felt.
"He's hot in a tuxedo," Bex said, and I started to snap because…well … it kind of went without saying, and also we had other things to worry about. Some seriously important other things. Because just then Mr. Solomon wasn't alone anymore.
"Ooh, he has a hot tuxedoed friend," Bex teased. But I knew better—I'd seen that man and his wild white hair and crazy eyebrows before. I'd seen him. In Boston.
The two men spoke for a moment, then Mr. Solomon turned and started to walk away, varying his pace in order to hear the footsteps of anyone who might be following in the dark tunnel, a textbook countersurveillance procedure if ever there was one. Bex winked at me, more than up for the challenge, then slipped into the tunnel a safe distance behind our teacher. But I just kept staring at
the guy left in Joe Solomon's wake.
Someone Mr. Solomon knew.
Someone Mr. Solomon seemed to respect.
Someone who had a knack for being where Macey—and I—happened to be.
Maybe it was some inherent hotness that Bex had seen and I'd missed. Maybe it was the way the man with the white hair had straightened in the dark tunnel and moved with grace that didn't belong with the rest of his body. But for some reason, I thought back to the way Mr. Solomon had stood in "Art's" uniform and told us how the art of deception and disguise isn't complex—it's simple: just give the eyes something new to look at so that the mind doesn't truly see.
My mind flew from Boston and back again, the deja vu growing stronger, the pieces of a puzzle falling into place. I closed my eyes and saw eyes and not eyebrows, a mouth and not a mustache. I stripped away the cover piece by piece until I stood in the dark, finally seeing.
"Zach."
I have to admit that at that moment I had seriously mixed feelings about the situation. I had seen Zach! Sure, he was wearing a disguise. Sure, all boys (much less Blackthorne Boys) are probably experts at the art of deception!
But that didn't change the fact that I'd thought I'd seen him a dozen times before actually coming face-to-face with him in Ohio. And at that moment, I knew better. I breathed, realizing that, on the one hand, I hadn't had Zach on the brain in Boston. My mind hadn't been playing tricks on me. I wasn't boy—or any kind of—crazy.
On the other hand, I'd had him on my tail, and as a spy I didn't know which was worse.
The Secret Service was standing guard at the ends of the tunnel, but a small service hatch was open, a cart loaded with trays of food and crates of beverages was waiting to be wheeled on board. Zach walked slowly toward it, and then in a flash he vanished.
For a second I had to blink, but there wasn't a doubt in my mind where he'd gone. The only thing left to wonder…was why.
I could see Bex nearing the end of the tunnel, still keeping her distance from Mr. Solomon. As soon as she left the tunnel and got back reception on her comms unit, she would tell Liz that she had eyes on our teacher. In the distance, the string quartet was playing the same song we'd heard in Ohio, following the same speeches. Steam gushed from the train beside me. I heard the metallic groan of a machine that wouldn't be held back for long.
And I did the only thing I could.
I got on board.
Chapter Nineteen
I learned a lot that day. Like never let Bex pick the snacks during road trip stops. Always bring a spare pair of shoes. And a half hour later, I knew to add one more thing to the list:
Never, ever volunteer to do surveillance on a moving train.
Especially if the train is also occupied by your aunt, one of your best friends (who doesn't exactly know you're there), and thirty-seven members of the United States Secret Service!
The train was seventeen cars of narrow aisle and armed guards, of tight compartments and people high on polling numbers and caffeine. So I lowered my head and squeezed down the aisle and tried not to forget that, when faced with being somewhere you're not supposed to be, rule number one is simple: be someone else.
I picked up the nearest clipboard and moved purposefully down the crowded aisle. The engines squeaked, coming to life. The compartments buzzed. And I kept moving, smiling,
acting like I was thrilled to be a part of history.
Zach could have been anywhere, and judging from his disguise-and-deception abilities so far, he could have been anyone. So I kept pushing my way down the corridor, rocking with the moving train, until one of the interns called to me. "Hey, where are you going?"
"New speech for Peacock," I said, flashing the clipboard and rolling my eyes.
"Oooh," one of the guys said, making a sympathetic face. "Compartment fourteen," he said, pointing to the next car. "Have fun," he mocked, and I knew Macey's cover was still firmly in place as I opened the door to the connecting car.
I eased down the crowded aisle, not knowing what I'd find. But just then I knew I might have made the biggest mistake of my life. Behind me, I heard a very distinct voice coming through the crowd, saying, "Peacock is moving."