Dropping Like Spies - A Gallagher Girls Story

Chapter Three

“And all of the boys have cute accents,” Aunt Bex added with a wink, catching on to my game and very much wanting to play. 

“And those boys can all buy me drinks when we get off work,” I said with a nod.  Aunt Bex grinned at me.

Dad wore the look of a man who suddenly smelled a stink bomb and glared at me like I was the source.  He looked personally insulted as he said, “MI6 does not have the best training room in the northern hemisphere—who told you that?”

Aunt Bex and I just rolled our eyes at each other.  “Really?” she said, knocking her knees with Dad’s.  “Boys and drinking, but all you walk away with is the status of the training room?”

Dad shrugged, crossing his arms again.  “I’m just saying that the CIA training room is way better.”  He cut his eyes to me.  “Way better.”

“They are both excellent training rooms,” Aunt Bex settled, looking between my brother and I.  “And wither agency would be luck to have either of you.  You’re fine operatives.”  Which is one hell of a compliment to receive from Rebecca Baxter.  “You should be very excited, Matthew.  You’re going to be brilliant.”

“I think I’m going to be sick, actually,” Matt said, rolling down the window beside him and sticking his head out.  As he did, I peaked out the window and saw the line of limousines and town cars that stretched out behind us, bringing in a sea of girls from around the world. 

Aunt Bex let out a laugh.  I love it when she laughs.  It’s light and bouncy and exactly the sound you’d expect to come out of such a gorgeous woman.  “Don’t you worry,” Aunt Bex said, patting him firmly on the back.  “You’ve got backup.”

“Thanks, Aunt Bex,” he said, but he didn’t sound thankful.  He sounded queasy.

“Sir,” said our government-approved driver to my government-approved father.  “We’ve reached our destination.”

But we didn’t need our resident Michael Caine to tell us that we had reached our destination because Alice had already opened the door and stuck her head in before the car had even stopped.  “Hey everyo—oh god.  Is Matt okay?”

“No,” Matt groaned.

“Hi, Alice,” Dad said, ignoring the melodramatics of his oldest child.

“Hey there, Uncle Zachy,” she said, her perfect southern manners shining as brightly as he perfect southern smile.

Dad looked at her through the tops of his eyes.  “How many times have I told you, Alice?  It’s Zach.”  Alice didn’t look like she was paying much attention to him, and that’s probably because she wasn’t.  She had heard this speech hundreds of times and didn’t have any intention of changing her ways this time around.  Dad seemed to know this, smirking at her as he said, “Just Uncle Zach.”

“It’s just easier,” she said, repeating the same defense she had been using for the past sixteen years.  “I’ve always called you Uncle Zachy.  That’s how they introduced you to me.”

“Your parents introduced me as Uncle Zachary,” he reminded her.

She rolled her big eyes at him.  “Okay, but how many eight-month-olds do you know that can say Zachary?”

“Speaking of,” Dad said, giving up on the battle. “How’s your dad?”

“Just dandy,” she replied, a twinge of an accent slipping through in the way that it always did when Alice spent time with her mom.  “He and mom dropped me off yesterday, so I’ve been here.  Waiting.”