Spy to the Rescue Read Online Free Page B

room.
    â€œNo one’s saying it does,” Dad assures me.
    â€œBut the van was empty,” says Mom.
    â€œThere’s seventeen apartments in that building,” I say. “Some of them have four or five people in them.” I try to do the math and figure out how many potentially guilty parties that makes. I’m no good at math.
    â€œThe police have been able to make contact with them and they’ve all been able to account for what they were doing. All except . . .”
    I didn’t do it.
    â€œThe police haven’t been able to contact Carter,” says Dad. “He’s not answering his phone. If he’s in his apartment, he’s not opening the door.” He leans forward in his chair, making a gun with his hand. “Remember that Law & Order episode where Briscoe decided there were exigent circumstances and he didn’t need a warrant to gain access to the perp’s house? That could happen here. They could just break in.”
    â€œNo one’s breaking in,” says Mom. “We’re not anywhere near the stage where anyone’s considering pressing charges. I just think . . . has Carter made contact with you at any time today?”
    I need to be very careful how I respond to this. If I pick a fight with my parents over their lack of faith in Strike, which I sort of want to do, it will create a situation where they feel competitive with him and they’ll want toprove how responsible and protective they are. Which will result in me being watched a lot more closely. If I indulge in a hysterical foot-stamping tantrum, they’ll think he’s been overindulging me—maybe spoiling me with stolen gifts? I can’t be seen to defend him too aggressively. All I can fall back on is the one emotion that I’m honestly feeling right at this moment: confusion.
    â€œI don’t understand,” I say. “Why would he . . . I mean, he has that rug business . . . I don’t understand . . . This must be a coincidence . . . Will you tell me if the police find out anything?”
    Mom bridges the two-cushion gap between us and tries to my ease my distress with a soothing hug.
    â€œOf course we will. And if Carter calls you, you’ll let us know immediately?”
    Dad hauls himself up from the depths of his leather chair. He sits on the arm of the couch stroking my hair.
    â€œAnd maybe from now on, when you go over to his place, one of us should come with you.”
    Say nothing.
    I let my legitimately concerned parents continue to hug and stroke me. Strike’s innocent. I know Strike’s innocent. I’m pretty sure Strike’s innocent. Why would he steal software from one of my mom’s vans? He wouldn’t. Unless he hadn’t moved on. Unless he was stillknee-deep in secret spy business. Why would he send me those texts unless he knew he was going to be accused of something? Unless he really wanted me to believe he had nothing to with it.
    Unless, unless, unless . . .

CHAPTER FIVE
Mildly Liked
    â€œR eally, Bridget? Really? How much more awesome? How much bigger and better? Do you have a chocolate fountain made of gold?”
    Casey Breakbush’s face is bright red, her eyes are wild, her hair is perfect. Her two constant companions, Kelly Beach and Nola Milligan, purse their lips, put their hands on their hips, and shake their heads in synchronized disapproval. Casey’s face is inches from mine. I hear her breathe. She sounds like she just ran a mile. Except the energy she would have devoted to that, she’s using to hate me. And I don’t know why.
    I’ve been in school approximately ninety-six seconds. I have not looked at nor spoken to anyone. My thoughts, up until this second, have been exclusively focused on the elusive Carter Strike, who, since yesterday’s alarming texts, has remained off the radar.
    â€œWhy, Bridget?” Casey is revving up again. “For what? What does it get