Ends of the Earth Read Online Free

that filled the open-plan office. Fluorescent lights flickered on overhead. A woman’s voice said, “And what brings
you here so early, Geoff?”
    “The bloody Pemberton account,” said a man, presumably Geoff.
    Stupid
, Cinnabar chastised herself. She’d gotten careless, and now she and Wyatt would have to find a way to sneak past these employees.
    “Be a love and make us a pot of coffee?” said Geoff.
    “It’s the twenty-first century,” said the woman. “Make it yourself.”
    Geoff grumbled and a jolt of alarm chased off the last of Cinnabar’s sleepiness.
Coffee?
Her gaze swept the break room and landed on the coffeemaker.
    Uh-oh.
    “Wyatt!” she whispered.
    The lump that was Wyatt Jackaroo stirred on its makeshift bed of sofa cushions. “Nngh?”
    “Now!” Cinnabar motioned toward the door.
    Wyatt sat up, blond hair tousled, blue eyes wide. Like her, he had slept in his clothes, with an overcoat for a blanket.
    Cinnabar pointed to her own jacket, and Wyatt snagged it from the couch, tossing it over to her. No sense braving the November chill without protection. Just because Jason Bourne never caught
cold didn’t mean they wouldn’t.
    Wyatt joined her at the door. “Why didn’t you wake me earlier?” he whispered.
    “Why didn’t
you
wake
me
?” she shot back.
    He blinked. “I was asleep.”
    Cinnabar rolled her eyes. Honestly, for a techie whiz kid, Wyatt could be awfully thick sometimes. She risked a peek out the doorway.
    Seeming to float along the top of the partitions, the head of a handsome, ocher-skinned man was moving their way. They had only seconds to react.
    Cinnabar and Wyatt couldn’t afford to get caught. The police would surely throw the two orphans back into the foster care system, since nobody at Merry Sunshine Orphanage (the cover for
S.P.I.E.S.’s operations) was answering their phone.
    And if Cinnabar and Wyatt went back into foster care, they couldn’t rescue Max from LOTUS. Not acceptable. Not acceptable at all.
    She eyed a gap in the cubicles opposite the doorway. “Let’s go,” she hissed.
    Staying low, they scurried across the passage like rabbits under the shadow of hawk wings. But not fast enough.
    “Hey!” the man called. “Who’s there?”
    “What’s wrong?” the woman asked, from another part of the wide room.
    Cinnabar and Wyatt hurried down a narrow corridor between dividers, angling toward the office door.
    “Two kids,” Geoff said. “Must have broken in.” His voice sounded closer. “Come on out now, children. You’ve got no business being here.”
    The junior spies reached an intersection in the warren of cubicles.
    “This way,” whispered Wyatt, pointing straight ahead.
    “No, this way,” said Cinnabar, pointing left.
    A blocky redheaded woman appeared at the end of the corridor straight ahead. “I see them!” she gasped. “They’re over here.”
    Wyatt winced. “How come you’re always right?” he muttered.
    “Because I’m a girl,” said Cinnabar.
    They took off running down the left-hand corridor.
    “Stop them!” cried the woman. “They’re heading for the door.”
    Cinnabar scanned the scene. The entrance was still another forty feet off, and she could hear Geoff’s footsteps pounding away on course to intercept them. Windows lined one side, and a row
of offices ringed the other side of this cubicle city.
    Time for Plan B.
    She ducked into a cubicle.
    “You can’t hide here!” Wyatt whispered, staggering to a stop. “They’ll find us!”
    Cinnabar held up her hand in a
wait
gesture. She snatched a stapler off the desk, cocked her arm, and hurled it toward the window side of the room. It landed with a clatter in another
cubicle.
    “They’re over by the windows now!” called the redheaded woman.
    “What’s the plan?” asked Wyatt, fidgeting. “We’ve gotta move it like a rat up a rope.”
    Cinnabar leaned close. “Make for that office,” she said, indicating a darkened room in the corner where a door