The sound of wine glasses clinking rang in the air as he leaned against a wall, observing but not interacting. Suddenly, though, someone addressed him.

"Mr. Goode." He turned to face a gorgeous woman with bright blue eyes and dark hair, clothed in a long evening gown. Her voice was soft, but held an edge. For some reason, it sounded familiar. He struggled not to let his uneasiness show, instead feigning indifference.

"I don't believe we've met," he said. The woman arched an eyebrow. She was beautiful, he acknowledged, but he felt as if her beauty disguised a deadly sharpness beneath it.

"You don't remember me?" she asked, acting disappointed. Her eyes never left his. "I thought spies were supposed to have excellent memories." Again, a surge of uneasiness welled up in his chest. Who was this woman?

"I've met many people in my lifetime," he responded. "I don't make it a habit to remember every single one. Spies may have excellent memories, but they are also trained to have priorities," he remarked. The woman smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. She looked satisfied, though, as if she'd scored a point.

"Ah, yes. As I remember, in your high school years you definitely made a certain spy girl a big priority." Zach stiffened, thrown off guard. What did she know about his past? He forced himself to relax. The woman could be faking, after all. Spies did that.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about. And I don't know much about you, either." The woman folded her arms.

"Well, that's quite obvious," she said dryly. "I know quite a lot about you, even though, sadly, you know next to nothing about me." Zach shrugged.

"I'll admit, something about you is vaguely familiar, but forgive me for not remembering your name." At his remark, the woman stepped closer, eyes glittering. She leaned in, her voice deadly quiet.

"You may not remember very many names, but I'm sure you remember this one: Cameron Morgan," she said, scrutinizing him for a reaction. Zach recoiled, as if he'd been struck. The name dug deep into him, reawakening memories and hurt feelings.

"You're not Cammie," he whispered, his brain numb with confusion. The lady shook her head.

"You're right, I'm not. It's me, Macey," she replied.

"McHenry?" he asked, incredulous, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm a spy, too, Zach," she said, using his first name for the first time that evening. "Our paths haven't crossed up until now, and I'm not here on a mission. It's more of a personal matter."

"What does that have to do with Cammie?" he asked, frowning. Macey lowered her voice.

"Cammie's gone missing. I need your help."

"What about Baxter and Sutton?" Zach asked, disguising the fear that crept into his mind. Cammie's gone missing.

"They're involved," Macey confided. "But we still need your help."

"You need me?" Macey nodded.

"Yeah. You're dependable, and you're close to Cammie." Zach dropped his gaze.

"I can't," he said, his voice strangled. "I betrayed Cammie. She knew about my mom, and she still trusted me, but there were other things that I didn't tell her…and when she found out, everything was over." Macey sucked in a breath.

"Zach," she said, quietly, "Whatever happened between you and Cammie back then, you have to put it aside. If you help us and we find her, you can fix it. You can make everything right again."

"She won't look at me," he said bitterly. Macey shook her head.

"Look, Zach, you've always struck me as the strong, solid type. You can't just let the girl you loved walk out of your life and then act like nothing happened." She didn't wait for him to respond. "I know you've tried to go on and forget about her, but that's not going to work." She pressed a slip of paper into his hand. "Meet me there tomorrow," she instructed, before stepping back and turning away.

He stared after her. The hush and whisper of an evening gown trailing on the floor was the only evidence that she had ever been in the room.