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.
And I was currently smashed up against a boy that I had kissed!
And at that moment kissing needed to be the furthest thing from my mind!
"What were you and Mr. Solomon talking about?" I said, because, frankly, I really needed to say something!
But Zach must have been immune to the kissing sounds. Or kissing thoughts, because he snapped, "You don't get it, do you?" He twisted me somehow so that our faces were inches away from each other in the black. "This is dangerous,
Cammie," he said, not Gallagher Girl. "This is—"
"Yeah. I kinda figured that out the day I woke up with a concussion."
"Don't make light of this."