The Profile Match Read online

  REPORT NUMBER: 11

  REPORT TITLE: I’m Surrounded by Amateurs

  SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Grace Thomas

  LOCATION: Brittany Holmes’s Residence, 2245 Sunset Plaza Drive, Los Angeles, California, USA

  DATE AND TIME: Saturday, November 10, 2:18 p.m.

  “Ving wants us to reel Spencer in,” Brittany told Meg.

  They were sitting in pool chairs on her patio, looking out at the city. Arne had made them drinks—Meg was having a mango smoothie and Brittany an orange wheatgrass.

  “That’s a great idea!” Meg pushed her sunglasses up onto her head and turned those famous brown eyes on Brittany. “Spencer would make a wonderful FLY, especially if he’s going to play college ball. Being on TV like that would give him the perfect recruiting platform.”

  That was true. Even as a teenager, Meg was a natural at the marketing and logistics side of the organization. Brittany was a more of a people person. She didn’t have the desire—or the time—to think about business.

  “Maybe you should go after Spencer,” Brittany said. “He’s never treated me the same since he overheard Ving and me after the premiere. Besides, I think he likes you.”

  “I don’t know.” Meg frowned and took a sip of her smoothie. “Relationships are risky. I mean, we hit it off and everything, and I think he might be interested, but what if things went south? You should probably ask Ving about it first. I’d hate for his recruitment of Spencer to fail because we broke up or got in a fight or something like that.”

  Brittany had to admit that was probably wise.

  “Besides . . . I mean, I like Spencer,” Meg said. “He’s really nice and cute and funny. I don’t like the idea of using him, and I don’t really want to let anyone use me.”

  “Meg, this is Hollywood. Using people is how you make things happen.”

  Meg lowered her sunglasses over her eyes. “Not me. If I lose all my contracts, at least I’ll be able to sleep at night.”

  What a prissy little angel! Valeria was going to eat her alive. “But you’re going to go to his game with me, right?” Brittany asked. Ving wanted her there, and she really didn’t want to go alone.

  “Oh, yes. That’ll be fun. I love basketball.”

  “Be sure and talk to him when you’re there. See if you can get him to start liking you.”

  Meg sipped her smoothie, then set it on the table between them. “He already likes me.”

  “As a friend.”

  “You don’t know that. But even if that’s true, then that’s good. Us being friends is more important. Until we know he’s interested in joining the FLYs, I’m keeping things between us platonic. That way we’ll be sure he joins for the right reasons.”

  Brittany wasn’t used to Ving’s new prospects bossing her around. She would have to talk with Ving about reassigning Meg a different mentor. It was so much easier to work with the international girls Diane recruited. They did everything they were told. And they stayed off the Hollywood big screen.

  “I’m still confused why Ving pretended to be Spencer’s dad,” Meg said. “That’s so weird.”

  “It was a misunderstanding,” Brittany said, spilling out the lie Ving had wanted her to spread. “Spencer’s mom dated Ving way back when, and she left Spencer a letter with information that led to Ving. The woman had them both believing Spencer was Ving’s son. But a paternity test proved it all wrong.”

  “Was Spencer trying to get money out of Ving?”

  “Nothing like that,” Brittany said. “He really thought Ving was his dad.”

  “But he wasn’t.”

  “Nope, and Ving feels really bad about the whole thing, so he’s trying to do right by Spencer, get involved in his life, like an uncle, or something. That’s why it’s so important to him that Spencer joins the FLYs.”

  “Ving’s so great,” Meg said. “And I’m glad we’re not pushing things with Spencer. He’ll be more committed if he joins the FLYs on his own. Not because he wants to hook up.”

  Brittany wasn’t so sure about that, so she sipped her wheatgrass to keep from having to respond. For years she and Valeria had been using their fame and influence to bring young men into the FLYs. She never recalled it not working before.

  She’d have to talk to Ving and see what he thought of all this. Because if Meg blew things with Spencer, Brittany would be the one in trouble.

  REPORT NUMBER: 12

  REPORT TITLE: I Have Dinner with Criminal Masterminds

  SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond

  LOCATION: Irving MacCormack’s Mansion, 14217 Evans Road, Los Angeles, California, USA

  DATE AND TIME: Friday, November 16, 5:45 p.m.

  Friday afternoon, after personally informing Grandma of my plans, then calling Tony Watkins—apparently Jim Moreland never wanted to speak with me—I drove the Banana to Irving MacCormack’s mansion in Pacific Palisades.

  So weird to be here after Tito had kidnapped Grace. When I’d first come here with Kip, we’d both been drooling, we’d been so impressed with The Sanctuary, which was what MacCormack called his mansion and was also the name of the Light Goddess’s castle in the Jolt movies. Now I was just really creeped out.

  Richard Locke, MacCormack’s butler, answered the door. The guy was just a few inches shorter than me, bald, fit, and always wore a black suit and an earpiece. He looked more like a Secret Service agent than a butler. He led me into the same fancy living room Kip and I had been taken to before. There I waited for Locke to fetch the master. It was wild that there were people who actually lived like this. I couldn’t really fathom it. Though if my college basketball career went well and I got a chance to play pro, it could actually happen for me.

  I had no idea what I’d do with that much money.

  “Spencer! So glad you could make it.” MacCormack descended into the sunken living room and shook my hand. He normally reminded me of an insurance salesman, short, dressed in fancy suits with shiny shoes and slicked-back hair. Today he had the hair right, but he was wearing some kind of rich-man track suit that had lots of neon green mesh over black nylon. I felt like I had stepped through a time warp to the 90s.

  “Let me show you around,” MacCormack said.

  I followed him out of the sunken living room and through the sprawling house. We didn’t venture near the West Wing. That was where his office was and the creeper safe room where he’d kept me and Grace. What else was he hiding on that side of the house? Anya, perhaps? She and Diane must have arrived from Cambodia by now.

  Which made me wonder what was in Cambodia.

  MacCormack showed me a lot of cool. The man had a movie theater that sat fifty, each in individual leather recliners. He had a gym, complete with weights, treadmills, ellipticals, rowing machines, two massage tables, and a bunch of machines I’d never seen before. We also passed an indoor pool, a sauna, a hot tub room with a 50-inch TV on the wall. There were flat screens in just about every room. I wondered if they were all plugged into his video surveillance programs. I imagined him sitting in the jacuzzi, flipping between the game, the latest episode of Game of Thrones, and whatever poor sap Anya was working over in the creeper room.

  He also showed me the dining room where Kip and I had eaten before, a kitchen that was bigger than the one at my high school, a ballroom, a billiard room, a little art gallery, an armory of sorts with antique guns and swords, a recording studio, a music room with a grand piano and a bunch of instruments, a library of DVDs, a library of books, and a lot of bedrooms. Everything in this house had tall ceilings and doorways that were seven feet high. I never had to duck once.

  “You might like this next room,” MacCormack said.

  I followed him through a doorway and melted a little at the sight of the wall of video games, complete with an Xbox One S, a Nintendo Switch, Playstation 4, and a PC with a curved 34-inch gaming monitor. Then there was a wall of vintage stuff like a Sega Genesis, old school Xboxes and Playstations, several generations of Nintendo
s, an Atari, a Commodore 64, and a Virtual Boy. There was also a wall of standing arcade games. I saw PacMan, Centipede, Donkey Kong, Q-Bert, and Missile Command among them, and some pinball machines too.

  “And just across the hall is a suite I’ve set aside for you,” MacCormack said, “should you ever need a place to stay.”

  I wasn’t yet ready to leave the video game haven, but I followed MacCormack across the hall and into what looked to be a private apartment.

  “It has its own kitchen, should you want to keep your own food and cook for yourself,” he said. “Of course, you’re always welcome to ask Richard for something or eat with Diane and me. This suite also has its own entrance to the patio where the outdoor pool is.” He gestured to the far wall, which was all floor-to-ceiling windows. “That side door leads to a driveway that shoots off the main route”—he pointed to a door on the other side of the kitchen counter—“so you could drive right up to the door without using the front entrance. Lots of privacy. Come and go as you please. You’re welcome to stay for as long as you like.”

  Stay here? Was he nuts? “I’m still in high school,” I said.

  “I know, but if you ever need a weekend away. Want some privacy from your grandmother. You could bring some friends over, throw a party. Bring your girlfriend here.”

  Yes, I’m sure Grace would love to return to the scene of her kidnapping. Sharp thinking, Ving. But, man . . . If I’d met Ving three years ago, before I’d changed my juvenile delinquent ways, this kind of bribery would have sucked me in. Not that it wasn’t trying to suck me in right now, but I was resisting. Barely.

  I walked into the kitchen and set my hands on the counter, leaning against it as I took in the view out the windows to the pool. This kind of temptation was so not fair.

  I noticed a set of keys on the counter and picked them up. Vertigo engulphed me.

  I’m standing in a hospital room, walking toward a bed surrounded by IVs. A woman is lying under a thin, white sheet. Anya.

  “Help me,” she whispers.

  “Spencer?” Ving’s voice pulled me back.

  I looked at him, focusing on his face, trying to act normal. “Yeah?” I ask.

  “You all right?”

  I held up the keys. “Are these for me too? They go to the outside door or something?” Because maybe Anya had stayed in this apartment before.

  “I don’t think so. Let me see.” Ving took the keys and examined them. “Ah, these are the keys to the Corvette. Richard has been looking everywhere for these.”

  “You have a Corvette?”

  He grinned. “Want to see it?”

  He led the way to his garage.

  I’d thought Brittany’s four-car garage was big. I’d never seen a ten-car garage. Didn’t even know they built garages that big in residential homes—not that Ving’s home was normal. This garage had some pieces of art inside, let me tell you. Bimmer? Check. Land Rover? Yep. Aston Martin. Yes. A Hummer? Right there in spot number four. Porsche? You got it. Mustang convertible. Uh huh.

  “I couldn’t help but notice your car is a bit old,” MacCormack said.

  “It’s a hand-me, hand-me down,” I said.

  “I’d be happy to buy you something new—anything you want.”

  I spoke quickly, before I talked myself into saying yes. “Thanks, but I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

  “Well, feel free to borrow any of my vehicles, should you like. Just ask Richard for the keys, and he’ll get them for you. Or you can help yourself, but please remember to put them back so we don’t lose them.” He hung the Corvette keys on a wall of hooks with many sets of keys. Each hook had a label over the top of it with the make of the car.

  “Uh, thanks,” I said, eyeing the yellow Corvette at the end of the line. Had Anya driven that car? Was that why I’d had the glimpse when I touched the keys?

  Would it be so bad to take that Corvette for a spin? Moreland hadn’t exactly given me any rules to follow, and if Anya had been in the car, that gave me reason enough to snoop around. Before I could wrangle up the courage to ask for the keys to the Vette right then, Richard’s voice pulled my attention to the door.

  “Dinner is served, sir, whenever you’re ready.”

  “Thank you, Richard.” MacCormack turned to me. “Shall we dine?”

  I’d wanted to say, “Why, yes, my good man. We shall.” Instead I said, “Sure,” and followed him back into the house.

  A few minutes later I found myself seated on one of the long sides of the dining room table. MacCormack sat on one narrow end, Diane on the other. They came across like some lord and lady of a grand British estate, especially Diane with her blond, chin-length hair with stripy black highlights, her gray suit, and her pink, white, and green flowy scarf. Several strands of pearls coiled around her neck, and two fat ones perched on her earlobes. The woman seemed to have a thing for pearls.

  “Spencer, hello,” she said, which broke the elegant mood, because when this woman spoke, her voice was so high, it was like she was channeling Minnie Mouse. It just felt wrong. She smiled then—that fake smile of hers, like I’d given her a dead tarantula as a Christmas present, and she was trying not to be rude about it. “I’m so glad you decided to come see us again.”

  “Yeah, thanks for having me,” I said, fake smiling back. “This is a nice place.”

  “Ving said you were willing to talk about our proposal,” Diane said.

  Well, she didn’t waste any time, did she. “That’s right.” I figured I’d let them do most of the talking, as long as I could, anyway.

  “You’re sticking with your story of not knowing the identity of the First Twin?” she asked.

  “It’s not a story,” I said, then finished the sentence in my head, “because I truly didn’t used to know who she was.”

  When lying, it helped to twist false statements into some form of truth. First, because it amused me, and second, because as long as I was telling the truth, I didn’t show any tells.

  “Do you know many twins?” Ving asked.

  “Just Mary and Martha Stopplecamp and those twins I met in Okinawa.” And Christophe and Jean, and now my dad and Kimbal. Man! I knew lots of twins. “Mr. S doesn’t think it’s any of them, though. He said it could be years before I figure it out.”

  “The prophecies I’ve seen said it will happen soon,” Diane said.

  “Where do you see prophecies?” I asked.

  “I don’t see them now,” she said, “but I used to. A long time ago. It’s how I first came to learn about the First Twin.”

  Richard pushed a tray into the room that held plates covered in shiny silver domes. He’d already been in twice, first to serve drinks, then to bring us individual salads with dark leaves, sugary nuts, and purple dressing. I wondered what was under those domes.

  “Ving mentioned he spoke to you of using your prophecies in lucrative ways,” Diane said.

  “Yeah, what’s that about?” I shoveled one last forkful of salad into my mouth.

  “I’ve always called it dream dealing,” Diane said. “A Dream Dealer must prove himself by sharing several prophecies. This convinces potential clientele that he’s authentic.”

  “I suppose that makes sense,” I said. “But how? I can’t make myself have a prophecy.”

  “Every Dream Dealer is different,” Diane said, “but many learn how to trigger the gift by touching a subject or meditating on them. Once you see something, you share the prophecy and wait for it to be fulfilled. Once it has, you earn respect. Have you had any prophecies about us that might prove your ability?”

  Was she kidding me? She actually thought I’d start telling her stuff like that? “Off the top of my head, I can’t think of any,” I said.

  Richard removed the domes, collected my salad, and replaced it with a dinner plate containing a juicy steak, some kind of fancy potatoes, and asparagus.

  “Thanks,” I said. “This looks great.”

  “Then you must spend more time with us,”
Ving said.

  “Yes,” Diane said. “Surely then something will come to you.”

  I sliced off a bite of steak and decided to end this conversation. “How’d you two meet, anyway?”

  So Ving told the story—the same one I’d read online.

  “We met at a charity fundraiser for inner city youth,” Ving said. “Back then Diane taught English at an all girls’ private high school in the valley. She’d started a successful after-school program and wanted to branch out into other areas.”

  “Specifically, the inner city,” Diane said. “I grew up in the Cincinnati slums, so while I loved my job at Stonefield, my heart had always been for teens like I’d been. Teens who pretty much raised themselves and had very little adult support.”

  “Diane and I got to talking,” Ving said. “I was intrigued by all she’d accomplished, and even though I was there for another cause, I donated to hers as well. Made plans to meet her to work out the details. The rest is history.”

  They smiled at each other—real smiles this time, which made me feel weird. I knew they were criminals, but I guess even criminals fall in love.

  That was pretty much the gist of the night. We talked about basketball—college and pro teams. Richard served cheesecake for dessert. Ving talked about Jolt V, which was in development. I told him I’d gone to visit Brittany and how she’d promised to invite me to a FLY event.

  “You should go, Spencer,” Diane said, the fake smile back on her face. “You’ll love it.”

  Oh, I’d be going, all right, but not to enjoy myself. To bring this woman down.

  And then I got ready to leave. Ving again tried to talk me into taking one of his cars. I admitted I had my eye on the Corvette, but I told him I needed to ask Grandma first.

  I needed to ask Moreland too, but I didn’t tell Ving about him.

  REPORT NUMBER: 13

  REPORT TITLE: Famous Actresses Come Watch Me Play Ball

  SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond

  LOCATION: Pilot Point High School Gym, Pilot Point, California, USA