"We've been invited," Macey says, waving a cardstock invitation with gilded edges above her head. "This is happening. This is going down."

"I thought we got invited yesterday?" Bex calls up from the basement.

"That was verbal, Bex," Liz says patiently from where she's hacking into the Holden server. "This is the one we'll show to the bouncer, the one that proves that we're supposed to be there."

"If we go," Zach growls. "And I still think it's a terrible idea."

"Yeah, well, plenty of people thought bellbottoms were a terrible idea, but that still happened," I snap back at him from the safety of the couch. "Groaning and moaning does not change make."

"When the hell did you become a freaking fortune cookie-"

"STOP," Macey hisses. "It is too early in the morning for me to deal with your sexually frustrated fights, okay. Too. Goddamn. Early."

"Macey," Liz says patiently. "It's 11:15."

"My hours are from 12 to 12," Macey says primly, and Zach and I groan in unison.

(What can I say. Spend enough time spying with a guy, and eventually you start getting synced.)

"Liz, how's it going with the illegal hacking?" I ask her, swinging my legs off the couch and heading up to the kitchen, where Liz is. "Are we in yet?"

"Cammie, you know I could hack into NASA on the bus ride home from an amusement park, but this is serious stuff." Liz shakes her head. "This firewall is crazy. I know you only wanted the guest list, but whatever the Holdens have on their server, it is a lot more valuable to them than a menu."

"Can you find out who did the firewall? Isn't there some kind of technological signature left behind?"

"If it was meant to be a secret? No. But the firewall's existence isn't the secret; it's whatever's behind it. It's got a Miami sig on it. If I had to guess, I'd say it's Walker work."

"Walker…?" Nick sighs. "You say these names like I'm supposed to know them, and it really hurts my self esteem when I don't."

Macey tuts, and Liz sighs. "Yanev Walker. He's famous on the underground hacking scene. He likes to live the high society life, runs some Fortune 500 company, but he hacks in his spare time. If anybody could put up a military-grade firewall who isn't actually in the military, it's him."

"But why do the Holdens need a hacker?" I say, frustrated. "Why not just go the legal route, hire some ex-NASA computer geek to do it for them, rather than risk going to jail for hacking?"

"They need to hide something," Zach declares. "They can't do it legally because they're covering up something illegal, and any NASA personnel they'd hire would need a consistent and substantial pay off to keep it quiet. Plus, they've got to have someone who has as much to lose as they do if anything comes out."

"But what are they hiding that's so illegal?" Nick muses. "Why invest in a military-grade fire wall? Why hire a known hacker and risk jail time? They can't be your regular multi-billionaires. But if they're not…"

"Then what are they?" I finish, and the kitchen takes on an ominous air.

"Only one way we're finding that out," Grant says, all his joviality from yesterday gone. This is serious!Grant. "We have to go to that party."

His words have an air of finality.

"Alright, then," Macey says finally, breaking the silence. "When are we shopping for evening wear?"


The Holden house.

Is.

Lord.

The thing is almost stupidly big, but it doesn't give off the air of opulence. There's nothing flashy about it; it's just a normal brownstone the size of Rhode Island.

Cars full of people are parked outside, but one of the perks of being a government-funded spy is that it's okay for you to print out illegal valet passes and pass them off as your own.

Ba-Bam.

Macey, Bex, Liz, and I glide up to the main entrance, while the boys share cologne and straighten bow ties a few paces behind us, and woah.

This place is full of ball gowns and suits and champagne flutes and waiters; it literally looks like an 09er party from Veronica Mars.

(Before you judge me, how was I supposed to grow up the daughter of two spies and not watch Veronica? She was a private eye who did a helluva lot of spying, for Christ's sake.)

Upon walking in, we run into Jacob within five yards of the ballroom.

"Glad you could make it," he says, and his words are sincere but his smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Feel free to look around. Father's impressionistic art gallery is quite eye-catching."

"Oh, thank you, Jacob," I gush. "But I'm looking for someone I've heard is a friend of yours. A Mr. Yanev Walker?"

Jacob's voice tightens a fraction. "Ah, you know of my father's friend." He sighs. "He's probably making himself at home by the bar, if you're looking for him."

"I am," I reply. "But Noah is much more interested in that impressionist art collection than watching me chitchat with Mr. Walker, aren't you, Noah?" I smile all dimples at Zach, and he glares at me. "Would you mind very much showing him that while Jess and I socialize?"

"But of course," he says, gentlemanly and with a smile that once again doesn't reach his eyes.

You don't trust me, I think. You're wary of me. Which is a good thing, because I'm wary of you, too.

Of all the Holden boys, Jacob's the one who reminds me of his father.

Which, let me tell you, is not a compliment.

Zach glares daggers at me as I ship him off with Jacob, but Macey and I make a beeline for the bar, and I forget to care about Zach's feelings.

I'm getting in the schmooze zone.


Yanev Walker is twenty-eight years old and an alcoholic.

It's quite a sad story, really; pothead mother, little brother with cancer, deadbeat dad. I'm moved by it.

But the part that catches my attention is when he bring up the newest late Mrs. Holden (apparently there's been several.)

"Caroline was her name," he recalls. "And if ever a woman could hold down a drink, she was it. But she was good. Not a bad word to say about her."

Except, perhaps, her taste in men.

"Mr. Walker," Macey purrs, leaning forward. "How is it that a man like yourself became acquainted with the Holden family?"

"Oh, you know," he says vaguely. "Companies meet. Businesses merge. Community brunches. That sort of thing."

Macey giggles, and I turn my head away from the small talk for a while, just in time to see Jacob Holden, who is apparently playing Holden host for this particular party, say something into Robbie Holden's ear.

They walk away together, heading the direction Jacob took Zach, and I think to myself, either I'm going crazy, or some shit is about to go down.

(Let's be honest, though. Really, it could be either one.)

So I do what I've been trained to do, what I'm here for.

I slip away from Walker and leave him to Macey, who'll be able to handle him and suck him dry of any info he's got by herself, and I follow them.

At a safe distance, of course. I don't need Mama Goode getting all pissy about me putting my life in danger unnecessarily.

(As if he'd care, I grumble to myself. Bastard had a thing with my best friend.)

(Classy, Zach.)


Jacob and Robbie are about ten paces ahead of me when they make a sharp left turn, and the guests, along with the cover they gave me, are left behind.

I'm soft and careful with my steps, and Robbie's loud and careless with his, easily masking any sound I make, but I'm still kind of maybe freaking out right now.

They stop in the middle of a hallway (lined with impressive art picks) and stop to converse; I press myself against the wall and hope to hell they don't see me.

And also I eavesdrop because /points to self/ SPY.

What the hell did you expect?

"I can't believe this," Robbie is saying. "We told him to be more careful!"

"Obviously he didn't listen," Jacob says shortly. "He's too emotional, Robbie. He cares too much, and he can't control himself, and that's going to hurt us. We need to eliminate the threat. Kill it before it kills us."

"We can't," Robbie shakes his head adamantly. "Do you know what Dad would do-"

"I don't give two shits about Dad," Jacob snaps. "What I care about is the company and the two of you. It's my job to protect you and Elijah, Robbie, and if in order to do that I have to handle this, then I will handle it."

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, are they talking about actually killing someone right now? Did Jacob just plan a homicide?

"What about Walker?" Robbie says nervously.

"What about him? He's dad's problem. Not ours. Call Micah, get him over here. Two o'clock tomorrow. Tell him I need to see him."

"He'll be scared."

"Of course he will," Jacob says and his voice is low and dangerous. "He knows how I handle threats."

Jacob Holden.

Is about.

To kill someone.

Can I just say, I knew he was sketch.

This means we are definitely coming back here tomorrow.


I hightail it out of there before they even see me, and when I'm back in the main ballroom, I see Zach and Grant glaring daggers at each other.

"So, boys," I says cheerfully, coming up behind them. "How'd we like the impressionistic art?"

"Screw. You." Grant grunts, and I pat him on the back.

"You'll thank me one day. One day a madman is going to put a gun to your head and say name two pieces of impressionist art, and you'll say-"

"Yanev Walker worked for the Raminoa," Macey comes up behind us.

Hopefully not that.

"Is this real life?" Grant asks mournfully as we all just soak in that information. "Because it kind of feels like a crossover between Mission Impossible and Attack of the Clones."

"A bad crossover," Zach says. "A really, really, really, really, really bad crossover."

"A fucking terrible crossover."

"How is it," I say. "That Walker works for the Raminoa? How do you even know?"

"He got drunk, I got frisky-"

"Wait, what?" Nick butts in, but Macey ignores him.

"And he said that he's in Miami most of the time, but he's thinking about heading down to Puerto Rico for some business. And when I asked him whose, he told me it was a Motorola thing."

"Motorola, like the car?" Bex wrinkles her nose.

"Motorola, like the Ramiona safe word," I say grimly. "But why the hell would the Holdens hire a Raminoa member to do hack work for them? That's jail time just for breathing the same air as a Raminoa."

"Maybe," Nick says quietly, "They're in with the Raminoa, too."

"Yeah, or maybe," Liz says, coming up behind us, "There's something a bit more sinister involved. Jonas and I hacked the mainframe, guys. And you may want to see what we found."