A Spy Like Me by Laura Pauling Page A

with
that one – when I found her. I picked up my pace. Peyton was on the
move. In this park.
    I could be moments from rescuing my
friend.








     
     
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.” but 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.