Dropping Like Spies - A Gallagher Girls Story

Chapter Twenty-Two

For as long as I can remember, Matthew Goode has been a messy person.  The same goes for Rebecca Baxter.  Put the two together in the same apartment and the results are in line with what you’d probably expect.

Bags and purses were scattered along the wall.  Coats and scarves were strewn across the couch, covering miscellaneous passports that didn’t belong to either of the residents.  Mugs lined the coffee table, most of them still half full of settled tea, and I could hear the faucet dripping into the pile of dishes in the sink.  There were no pictures hanging on the walls and no plants that needed watering, but the smell of leftover Chinese was more than enough to create that distinct lived-in feel.  This place was, however temporary, their home.

“Honey,” Matt called, swinging the door open and adding to the pile of mismatched shoes just inside the door.  “I’m home.  And I brought guests.”

Aunt Bex called back from somewhere in the kitchen, an amusement in her tone.  “Morgan Ann, your father is positively going to kill you.”

The words settled on my shoulders, all that guilt finally catching up with me, and I spun on my brother, pointing a very aggressive finger in his direction.  “You said no one would know.”

Matt looked to the kitchen and then back to me, squinting more and more as each second passed.  “They’re not supposed to.  The only way they’d know is if they—”

“Your father’s a spy, kids,” Aunt Bex reminded us, stepping out of the kitchen and taking a seat on the raggedy sofa.  The two of them were living like a pair of college kids.  They probably hadn’t eaten anything more substantial than Ramen in weeks.  Who had thought that letting these two live together would be a good idea?  “There’s only so much mischief you can get away with and sneaking off to Romania doesn’t make that list.”

“Speaking of Romania,” Matt said before I even had a chance to wonder how long I’d be grounded for.  “We might have to move again.”

Aunt Bex threw her head up to the sky, letting out a dramatic groan.  “Do you know how hard it is to find a three-month lease?” she moaned.  “Just once, I’d like to actually make it until the end of the three months.  Just once, Matthew.”

“It’s not my fault this time,” Matt defended, plopping himself down in an armchair that he looked absurdly comfortable in. 

Aunt Bex just kept dipping her tea bag, utterly bored with the news.  “Well go on then,” she said with a sigh.  “Let’s have it.”

He looked up at Collins and I, both of us still standing in the doorway like two kids on an awkward play date—invited inside, but not sure where we were supposed to sit.  “I don’t know, actually,” Matt admitted.  “I wasn’t there when it happened.”

This seemed to grab her attention and she snapped her gaze in our direction.  “Weren’t there when what happened?”

Collins just sort of stood there, his usual confidence gone as the memory of the hotel replayed in our minds.  Rustling papers and shattering glass.  The voices.  The threats.  “We had a tail in Romania,” I blurted.  “Or, I guess, Collins did.”

Aunt Bex looked between the two boys, trying to determine if they were telling the truth or if this was just a really lame practical joke.  “That was a clean mission,” she said.  “No one knew you went and even if they did, there was no reason for anyone to put a tail on you.”

Matt drew in a breath, but Collins spoke before he could.  “Well, due respect ma’am,” he said.  “They weren’t tailing us.  They were tailing me.”

Collins was shifting his weight from foot to foot and I realized that he hadn’t known Aunt Bex from the day he was born.  To him, she was Agent Rebecca Baxter.  Aunt Bex must’ve seen this too, because her tone switched from cool aunt to strict superior.  This seemed to put him at ease.  Superiors, he could handle.  “I see,” she said, her eyes thin.  “You seem pretty certain about that.”