Arriving at the bar, she ordered a club soda with lime. She’d have to drink real alcohol when he arrived. She was standing outside surreptitiously watching for her quarry. Her excuse for standing around outside was an imaginary phone call. She spoke in hushed tones to the heroine of the last book she read, explaining to her that she was stupid for leaving the protection of her husband’s castle over a tiff. The woman knew there were killers after her.
The target entered the bar half an hour after Jess arrived. He was in his mid-twenties, but already had a receding hairline. He was on the short side in height, but about average in weight. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up and his tie loosened. She ended her imaginary phone call feeling a little better for having talked through her frustration.
Back inside, she set down her glass of club soda on the bar and ordered a glass of red wine. The bar wasn’t crowded yet, so she sat one stool down from the target.
She wore no makeup, and her clothes were cheap. She knew she looked pretty, not unapproachably beautiful. The guy was a five and she looked like a seven. Rating people by appearance was rude, but it helped when targeting someone. He wouldn’t believe an eight would be interested in him. Seven was a safer number.
Jess rested her forearms on the bar and hunched forward. She was taller than the target and had to make herself look less imposing.
Halfway through her glass of wine, it paid off.
“You work around here?” he asked.
Her first goal was to get the location of his employer.
“Yeah, GM. My boss is out of town, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have to put up with his crap all day,” Jess said.
“Same here,” he said.
“Your boss is out of town?”
“Yeah, not for long enough, though,” he replied.
“My boss is in Paris so now my hours are all screwed up,” Jess said.
“It’s not that bad for me,” he said. “My boss is in New York. His wife wants to see something on Broadway.”
He was perfect. He gave out information about his boss’s private life so casually. Now she had to get the name of his boss’s son’s school.
“My boss isn’t married,” Jess said, “but he’s got a daughter. She’s okay, just kinda spoiled, you know? She’s got a car that costs more than my house and she goes to this uppity private school. I forget the name.”
“St. George?” he asked. “That’s where my boss sends his son.”
“That’s the one,” Jess said cheerily.
Now the kid’s grade.
“She’s in high school. Maybe she knows him,” Jess said.
“I doubt it. He’s in sixth grade.”
“I guess not, then.”
“He’s a good kid. He’s dyslexic and the school has been great for him.”
“Really?” Jess asked. “My niece is dyslexic. You say they have a good program?”
“They’re really good. Josh’s teacher, Mrs. Mulveny, is a Godsend.”
That was it. Jess was done for the day. Damn, it was easy.
Conversation recorded, Jess pretended to get a text and said she had to go. She paid her tab and headed out to her SUV. She sent the audio file to her supervisor and then headed back down Parmer Lane to MOPAC and then toward her home in Southwest Austin. She’d supplied proof for two of her firm’s clients that they had security problems. One was concerned with network security. The other was concerned about privacy and the safety of his family after someone sent threatening messages to his son on social media.
No employee should be telling people where their employer’s children go to school, much less the name of the child and their teacher. Kidnapping was unlikely, but online harassment was already taking place. He deserved anonymity.
The suspected dirtbag threatening the child was connected to the personal assistant on social media. Could he have gotten the information from the personal assistant? Yes.
She was happily singing along to the Foo Fighters song “Chasing Birds” when the music stopped, and she was informed of a call from her boss over the car’s sound system. She answered it with a press of a button on the steering wheel.
“This is Jess,” she said.
“Good job today. I have a special assignment for you all the way from the top,” Clarence said.
“The top? You mean the mysterious Mr. Drake?”
“The same. It’s unusual, but the pay is good, and you’ll get a fifty-thousand-dollar bonus when it’s over.”
“That’s a lot of money for one job. Is he wanting me to plan a Thomas Crown level caper?”
Clarence’s laugh rumbled through her sound system. “No, nothing so interesting. You’re going to work at a coffee shop turned bistro. You will act like any other employee. It’s not an investigation, he just wants one of our people there.”
“In a bistro. Why the bonus?”
“No idea. The man wants what he wants and that’s you in a bistro. He asked for you by name.”
That was surprising. She didn’t know the recluse who owned the company even knew her name, but she supposed it shouldn’t be a shock. He was in the security business. He had extensive files on all his employees.
“There has to be more to it than that,” Jess said.
“I asked. He said you just have to be there. It’s a favor for a family member. That’s all I know.”
“I’m one damn expensive barista. Would you take this job?”
“You kidding? Hell yes. You get your regular pay on top of what the shop pays you and then there’s the bonus. You’re set up with a furnished apartment and everything. If he wants to throw money at you, I don’t see why you’d dodge.”
“Apartment? Where’s this
