“Sure.” I follow her to an alcove half hidden by a string quartet.

“I’ll keep this short.” She presents me with an antique key. “Happy birthday.”

Stunned, I take the key, rolling it between my fingers.

“I need an answer by the end of the night. And I trust you’ll speak of this to no one.”

Before I can respond, with a swish of her skirt, she’s gone.

Dazed, I head outside. Finding a quiet corner of the porch, I lean against the railing, pretending to contemplate the moonlit trees as I twist the key’s filigree head. Inside is a tiny scroll. I study the handwriting, feeling my sinuses clear as I read.

Target: Audio tape labeled “Conversation with Jackie Kennedy, December 17, 1964.”

Location: Andy Warhol Museum, Pittsburgh, time capsule number 78.

Details: Andy Warhol kept an ongoing record of his daily life by consistently sweeping the contents of his desk into a cardboard box he kept at his feet. There are 610 boxes sealed in the time capsule exhibit at the Warhol museum in Pittsburgh. Use whatever means necessary to obtain the audio tape in box 78. Once the tape is in your possession, send a message from the loft on Railroad Street.

“What did Allard want?” Stewart asks, appearing next to me.

“Unfortunately, I can’t share.” I stuff the scroll back into the key and squeeze his arm.

“I figured as much,” he says, smiling. “But let me know if you need a code breaker.”

Rayelle and Sophia join us. “You’re not coming to Vegas with me this summer, are you?” Rayelle asks.

“No.” I shake my head. “There’s been a change of plans.”

“I’m not surprised,” Sophia says. “You’re definitely the best girl for any job, but let us know if you need us.”

“Thank you for being my friends,” I say, resting my head on Rayelle’s shoulder. “You have no idea how much it means to me.”

The four of us stand, united, staring up at the stars.

“And I promise you this,” I say. “I will always say die.”

Turn the page to start reading Malice by Pintip Dunn!

And keep reading after that for a sneak peek at Incognito by Katie Delahanty!

Preview of Malice

Chapter One

Blue ink spreads like ants across my brother’s skin. He moves the pen over his palm, dipping into the hollow of his hand and rising up again. Never stopping. Never slowing.

“Archie—” I start to say.

“Hold on,” he mutters. He doesn’t say any more. He doesn’t need to. I learned long ago not to interrupt when his genius strikes. He needs to write the equations down—fast—before the insight flees, lost forever in the ether of his brilliance.