Chloe cleared her throat and turned around to give me a pointed look.
“Oh,” I said, my brain still dedicated to wondering how a person would go about contorting themselves into a pretzel shape and why exactly they might feel compelled to do so. “Ready.”
“Ready,” all of the others said again, and I recognized the cheer-tone in their voices. “Okay!”
Unfortunately, my mind took that as a cue to launch into a mental rendition of our halftime routine as Tiffany and Brittany slipped out of the car and Bubbles (feet now a safe distance from her head) wiggled her way into the backseat.
A few minutes later, the twins’ audio clicked on. “Bangs.”
“Out.”
“Pointy-toed boots.”
“Depends on the color.”
“Designers whose last names are hard to spell.”
“In.”
“Heiresses.”
“Out.”
“Celebrity children.”
“In. When Angelina Jolie’s little boy grows up, he’s going to be a total babe.”
“Guys, we have audio.” Chloe took that moment to cut in on their game of “In or Out,” for which I was grateful. “When you get within a quarter-block of the building, hold back, Tiff. Give Brittany a ninety-second head start.”
“Uh-huh,” Tiffany said.
“Awesome,” her twin agreed.
I watched the plasma screen as the two visual feeds split. From the one on the left, I could see the back of Brittany’s head as Tiffany fell back, giving her sister a lead. On the right side of the screen, the other feed showed us a clear image of the building as Brittany approached.
As Chloe’s surveillance reports had predicted, security on the bottom level was relatively lax. There was a single guard, and if it hadn’t been for the length (or lack thereof) of Brittany’s skirt, he probably wouldn’t have looked up from his computer, which I was about eighty percent certain he was using to look at a website whose name I totally didn’t want to know.
When a flash of real, live cheerleader leg caught his eye,he turned his full attention to Brittany. “Can I help you?” he asked, the question coming out noticeably too fast.
Brittany leaned forward. “I’m looking for a bathroom,” she said.
“Tiffany, move to flank position,” Chloe said. “Brittany, you’re a go.”
Tiffany approached the building and held her position just outside the double-door entrance.
After the security guard stuttered out directions to the nearest bathroom, Brittany flounced off. Two minutes later, Tiffany made her way to the desk. “Which way did you say that bathroom was?” she asked. “I get lost really easily.”
This time, the guard just pointed.
They hit the stairs then, Brittany taking the lead. If I hadn’t been forced to endure the Cheerleading Practice from Hell the day before, I would have been surprised at their stamina, but now I knew better. To someone who could do two hours of kicking, jumping, and shouting out annoying rhymes without ever losing her larger-than-life cheer-smile, eight flights of stairs was nothing.
The door at the top of the stairs was locked, and for the first time, it occurred to me that April, who’d stayed back with Tara to party plan, might have actually come in handy. After all, her “special skill” was lock-picking.
As it turned out, though, the twins didn’t need April.
“Tell them to use the grape-flavored one,” Lucy said brightly. Chloe nodded.
“Guys? Use the grape-flavored one.”
