Mr. Nice Spy Read Online Free PDF Page A

know this isn’t a good place for a late-night walk. “Did we do something wrong?”
    “This land is the property of the American government,” First Guy informs me.
    If my eyes get any rounder, they’ll roll away. Talia and I glance at one another in mock horror. “We are so sorry,” I apologize again.
    Other Guy frowns at me. “And what are you doing here?”
    “Just out for a walk.” I swing our interlaced fingers between us.
    “And you had to hide your bikes?” First Guy turns to cast a meaningful look at the paved path next to the road.
    “We didn’t know,” Talia says. “We didn’t want someone to drive off with them, you know.”
    “Sorry.” I hope they’ve been here long enough to recognize the classic accommodating attitude.
    First Guy frowns at Other Guy this time. Kind of ironic that we’re out here trying to protect Americans, while these guys are protecting the people inside, including the real threat.
    At a minimum, the guards could probably get away with frisking us, and the parabolic mic is bound to raise a red flag. I can’t help the thought drumming a steady beat in my mind, like I can telepathically push them: let us go, let us go, let us go.
    But their silent conversation has my signal jammed. My heartbeat echoes in my ears. Not. Safe.
    The guards continue their wordless debate. I edge a little closer to Talia. Not sure whether it’s from our cover or real protectiveness.
    She goes with it, leaning against me. I let go of her hand to slide my arm around her. Again, the cover mixes with reality. Fake-me and real-me both want to get her out of here safe. I’m the second priority.
    I focus on Talia. In my peripheral vision, I can see the guards still scrutinizing us. If we sell this hard enough, we can get away unscathed.
    Talia plays her role — or not — to the hilt, too. She looks up to me, all innocence and fear and take-me-home-and-protect-me-forever-ness on her face.
    “It’s okay,” I whisper. I tuck her loose, soft hair behind her ear. Something in her eyes changes, slips somehow, like she’s struggling to separate the cover from who we really are.
    Because I’m a totally objective observer here. A click in my chest echoes that change in her eyes, and suddenly the guards aren’t the only reason for my racing pulse.
    After a good two minutes, one of the guards breaks their conference. “All right. We’ll let you off with a warning — this time.”
    “Oh, thank you.” Talia slathers on the gratitude thick, pulling away from me. She grabs her bike, and I do the same.
    We made it. “Satisfaction” doesn’t begin to describe the relief, sweet and free, flowing into my veins as my heartbeat settles back into the right rhythm.
    We walk a few more feet, then Talia hops on her bike. I have to follow suit fast to keep up with her, which is kind of important, given our cover.
    It’s half a mile to our first stop, a casual sweep through a convenience store where our agency sedan waits. We load our bikes onto the rack on the trunk and leave for the next stop. In silence.
    Spies make a career out of reading people, but sometimes the people closest to you are open books in a foreign language. I can’t even tell what alphabet Talia’s using tonight with all the mixed signals. Folded arms, neutral-to-friendly expression, crossed legs, bouncing foot.
    Something is happening here, something I’m not quite getting. Something I’m not sure I mind.
    I catch Talia watching the dash clock. “You’ll make your meeting,” I reassure her.
    “I’m not worried.” Her tone isn’t nervous or unusual. Unremarkable. Like nothing happened, like nothing’s going on.
    That little moment in the glare of the guards’ flashlights replays in my mind, the way the cover slipped behind her eyes. They’re hazel. I’d never noticed.
    We run through the rest of the SDR — nobody’s following us — and reach our original rendezvous.
    I park and turn to her. Do I say something or let it