The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year

by Ally Carter

Of course, I’m not offended that you’d accuse me of murder. I’m offended you’d think I’d be bad at it.

“Either we’re”—Maggie made a gesture—“finger-gun buddies—” “I don’t think that’s a real thing.” “—or we’re not. But please don’t try to gaslight me into thinking we’re friends when you don’t even know my name.”

“You know, some women think I’m chivalrous.” “Some women think the earth is flat.” “Oh.” He bit back that million-dollar grin. “You wound me.” Maggie smirked. “Is that an offer?”

“So how will we pass the time? Wanna make out?”

There was no teasing, no taunting, no too-cool, too-clever, too-charming grin. It was as if a mask had slipped and for one split second, she saw Ethan, the man and not Ethan, the Guy in the Leather Jacket. And for that split second Maggie forgot how to breathe.

“So what you’re saying is, you think about me in bed.”

“Because even though I’m a sucker for an only-one-bed romance, I don’t know if it counts if there’s a second bed on the other side of the wall.” “But I like your bed being on that side of the wall. I like it even better when you’re in that bed. And— Wait. You read romance?” “Sweetheart”—Ethan lowered his voice and his eyes—“I absolutely read romance.”

It was like a reverse Clark Kent. He’d put on his glasses and revealed his superpower, and Maggie couldn’t help but like him just a little.

“Well, thank you, Mr. Boy-Scout-Assassin-Spy—” “Secret Service.”

I want to stop feeling like life is a game of tag and you’re base. I want to forget that base hates me.”

But Ethan grew serious, thinking . . . remembering . . . deciding. “I thought you looked like forever.”