I was away from school. And in a disguise. And wearing a very little black dress while my favorite (and only) aunt was coming up behind me!
A door stood on my left, number fourteen. I pressed my ear against it but heard nothing. I tried the handle. Locked. Of course.
"Yes," Abby's voice was saying, growing closer.
I was desperate. I knocked. "Ms. McHenry, are you in there? May I have a word?" I asked, still clinging to my cover.
"Absolutely," Abby said behind me. "A four-hundred- foot perimeter should be more than ample."
I was really desperate. I pulled a bobby pin out of my hair. And tried the lock.
I felt the lock turn just as Abby pushed free of the crowd, and in the next second I was surrounded by darkness.
I felt someone grab for me, but I dodged it.
A hand grabbed my hair—or what it thought was my hair—and pulled the wig free. Abby's voice was louder now—right outside—and inside the tiny compartment everything went still.
There was a faint yellow glow in a small crack beneath the door, and in the light I saw Zach look from the wig and then to me and then back again.
"You aren't supposed to be here, Gallagher Girl." It wasn't playful. It wasn't fun. He wasn't smiling or flirting. He was…Mad.
Mad like I'd never seen him. Mad like I didn't even know he could be. I've always known that Zach was strong (a girl doesn't spar with a guy in P&E for a semester and not figure that out), but right then he was like stone.
The first thing that hit me was the shock. The second…was the anger.
"You're telling me that I shouldn't be here?" I snapped. Sure, my aunt and half the United States Secret Service were probably right outside the door at that moment, and yet I couldn't stop myself,
"It's dangerous," he said.
"In case you haven't noticed, I can take care of myself."
Unfortunately, the train picked that moment to lurch, and despite the best protection-and-enforcement training in the world, I found myself stumbling, falling into Zach's outstretched arms.
I started to pull away, but he held me.
"Shhh," he said as the voices in the hall outside faded for a second.
And then the scariest thing of all happened: Zach looked like he wanted to kiss me…
But he didn't.
He was the same boy who had dipped me movie-style in front of my whole school in the middle of finals week, and yet there we were, crammed together in the dark of a moving train, adrenaline and drizzle hanging all around us, and he didn't make a single move.
"Nice disguise," he told me, smiling at last.
"You too," I said. I thought about that moment—what it meant, how long I wanted it to last, and what I was willing to give up to find the truth. So that's why I added, "It looked even better in Boston."
There are moments in a spy's life when time speeds up, and then there are seconds that last a lifetime. And this… this was one of those instances that seemed to go on for years. In the narrow space, with Zach's arms still wrapped around me and voices still echoing outside, I watched his expression shift from confusion to shock to the look of someone desperate for a plan.
"Yeah, I—"
Someone was knocking. My eyes were wide as they stared into his.
"Here," he said, gesturing to the collapsible overhead sleeping bunks that, before that moment, I'd only ever seen in old movies.
More knocking.
Outside, someone yelled, "Who's got a key for this?"
But by the time the door burst open, Zach and I were nowhere to be seen.
(Note to self: don't become a spy if you're even a little bit claustrophobic.)
"What's going on, Zach?" I whispered through the pitch blackness of the little collapsible bunk. That we had cob lapsed. With ourselves locked inside.
His arm was around my waist. His breath was warm on the back of my neck. Sure, I could hear Aunt Abby in the tiny compartment saying, "Macey, I don't want to argue about this anymore. Just wait in here," but I didn't really care.
"You were in Boston, Zach."
"Shhh," he whispered, pulling me closer with a jerk around my middle.
Outside our tiny bunk I heard more voices coming from compartment fourteen. I would have known Macey's speech pattern anywhere. But the other voice was familiar too, and yet I couldn't quite…
"You know," the deeper of the two voices said, "I've been told this is my best suit."
Preston!
I heard more talking and music, but all of that seemed a million miles away as I lay there, my mind racing faster than the train.
"That's how you knew about the laundry chute," I hissed, another piece of the puzzle falling into place. "Why were you there, Zach?" I whispered, growing desperate.
"Not now." His voice was soft but strong.
"And don't say it was because we were in danger, because at the time we weren't in any danger."
"You want to take a nap or something?" he whispered.
"Yeah, and while we're on the subject, why are you here?"
"I could ask the same thing of you, Gallagher Girl, except we should be shutting up now."
Which was a very good idea because the voices outside had stopped. Macey and Preston weren't talking anymore, but the spy (not to mention the girl) in me knew somehow that they were still out there. Because there were sounds. Sounds I recognized. Sounds I really didn't want to think too much about. Because I think they were the sounds of kissing.