“I do. Taking her phone was a crime of opportunity, which happened somewhere around here.” He did a slow pivot to survey the four corners of the room.
Kyra jerked her thumb at the ceiling. “No more cameras with a better view of the store?”
“No. They’re mostly geared to the counter to catch any funny business at the register or a robbery.” He tipped his chin. “She did point out some regulars, and I wouldn’t mind having a chat with a couple of the men who hang out here.”
Her gaze tripped from one table to another, hosting mostly single people with their laptops stationed in front of them, stacks of papers, note cards, books and the occasional cup of coffee littering the tables. “What are all these people working on here?”
“My guess.” Jake spread his hands. “Scripts, treatments, whatever you call them. This is LA, after all.”
She nudged him. “C’mon, don’t you think you have one good script in you from your experiences?”
His hazel eyes widened for a split second. “You really don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
“I’ll tell you over coffee.” He leveled a finger at the counter. “Let’s get a couple of those fancy drinks and sit outside to survey the scene for a while.”
“You’re on, but it’s my treat this time. You got the pho yesterday.”
“Was that just yesterday? Seems like a lifetime ago.”
“Yeah, my lifetime.” She put a hand on his arm as he fell in step with her. “I’ll get the drinks. You nab a table.”
“I’d rather get a first-hand look at what Rachel saw.”
“Good point.” They fell in line behind an older couple with matching gray braids down their backs.
Jake tipped his head to hers, his lips close to her ear. “Wanna bet they smoke weed and say things like namaste?”
She flattened her lips to contain the bubble of laughter that threatened to explode. “You shouldn’t stereotype.”
“Hell, that’s part of the job. Isn’t that part of your job? Don’t you make assumptions about people when you first meet them?”
“Sure, I do, but a lot of times the therapy proves them to be false, and then I’m humbled. Aren’t you ever humbled, Detective McAllister?”
“Often.” He stepped to the counter and hunched forward to peer at the menu board on the wall.
“What can I get for you today?” The young man behind the counter smiled, which made his cheeks bunch up like apples.
He looked like a fish out of water among the other baristas and even some of the customers, with their piercings and tattoos and alternative hairstyles.
“Ma’am?”
Those apple cheeks flushed an appropriate red, and Kyra realized she was staring. “I’m sorry, yeah, I’ll have a peach iced tea.”
“And I’ll have an ice coffee, plain. I’ll add my own poison.”
As the barista rang up the order, Kyra said, “You look like an escapee from another store.”
“Ma’am?” A furrow formed between...Jordy’s eyes.
“I just mean, you look too—” she leaned in and whispered “—clean-cut for this store.”
He laughed. “It’s not my regular store. I also work at one of our stores in Studio City.”
“Not an aspiring actor, are you?”
“No, ma’am.” He handed her a receipt. “Have a nice day.”
They shuffled to the side to wait for their order, and Jake poked her in the ribs. “You just did it.”
“Did what?”
“You stereotyped Jordy, the barista, because he didn’t have tats or piercings. You didn’t think he fit in with the West Hollywood crowd.”
“And I was right.”
“And I’m probably right about the braids.”
“I wish spotting a killer was that easy.” She sighed.
“Me, too.” Jake rested an arm on the counter that lined up against the window with tall stools pulled up to it and USB ports in a row. “Rachel could’ve waited for her coffee here. She could’ve even plugged in her phone here to charge while she waited.”
“And left it here.” Kyra traced one of the ports with the tip of her finger. “Could’ve happened that way. She picked up her drink and forgot the phone.”
“The killer saw it unattended and took his chance.”
“This is a busy store.” She nodded toward the door. “One of the street cameras showed just how many people walked in and out of here.”
“Could’ve been any one of them.”
A barista called out from the pickup counter. “Order for Kyra.”
Jake shouldered his way through the clutch of people waiting for their drinks and grabbed theirs. He handed her the tea and then followed her to the sugar station.
Jake dumped a couple of packets of sugar into his drink, while she opted for the fake stuff.
They wended their way to a table outside, drinks in hand, and sat across from each other in the shade of a Ficus tree, its roots buckling the sidewalk.
Kyra popped the lid off her tea and dumped in the sweetener. She swirled her straw in the amber liquid until all the white crystals disappeared and took one long sip before replacing the lid. “So, what don’t I know about you, except just about everything?”
He shook his plastic cup, knocking the ice together. “You don’t know that I already wrote a screenplay.”
“What? No, you didn’t.”
“Do you remember the movie on Netflix called Shots Fired, starring Tito Valenti?”
“That wrestler?”
“The same. Did you see the movie?”
“I think I missed that one.” She sipped her tea and raised her eyebrows. “That was you?”
“I wrote that screenplay and a second one called Two Shots Fired.” He shrugged. “That one never got made, but they optioned it.”
“I’m impressed. Did they pay you well?”
“Well enough to buy a house in the Hollywood Hills, not too far from here, actually.”
“Super impressed.” Why hadn’t she heard that about him? Probably because she’d never asked. People knew she’d been working with Lizbeth at the time Lizbeth had double-crossed Jake and he’d gone after her in a rage. They probably figured
