“What was the question?”
“What sort of trouble are you in?” Simone felt him close to her, warmth coming off him and touching her shoulder like the early sun. She stepped farther away.
“The usual kind, I guess.”
“You have no idea, do you?”
“I have too many ideas.”
“Well, do me and you a favor and drop them all.” His voice rose in frustration.
“No promises.”
“Of course not,” Peter sighed. They continued downtown in silence, walking an awkward space apart, trying to maintain a buffer of air, but sometimes knocking lightly against each other when the bridge swayed or the wind came on strong. Then they would put their hands out flat as if to apologize for that soft touch, to put more space between them again. The air smelled like salt and sweat.
When Simone unlocked the door, the memories of when she would bring Peter here after a night out washed over her for a moment. She pulled her hands through her hair, tugging at the roots.
“Everything is in the office,” she said. He followed her and handed her a compression card, which she laid down on her touchdesk. She pulled up the file marked 31-42-21, not minding if Peter saw it. If anyone could figure out her file-coding system, it would be him, but he wouldn’t give it up, either. She dragged the file to the compression card and waited as the two linked up and everything copied over onto the card—the photos of The Blonde, Linnea’s information, the recordings from Henry’s office, the video of Anika. She hoped that wouldn’t lose her a client. There really wasn’t much, it turned out. She handed the card back to him.
“Thanks,” Peter said. “Sorry you had to get mixed up in this.”
“It’s my job,” she said, smiling at him. She was sitting behind her desk; he was standing at the door. They looked at each other a while.
“I’ll let myself out,” he said and left. Simone took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She still had all her own copies of the files, but she was nearly content to let the case drop. There wasn’t much left to go on, and chances were Linnea wouldn’t be paying her anytime soon.
Then she checked her messages.
Most of them were junk, but the one that caught her eye was from Danny. The subject was “Found her again.”
There was no text, just a photo attachment. It was clearly yanked from a security camera somewhere in the city and was fuzzy, with poor color quality. Simone recognized both figures in the photo. The first was The Blonde. She was smiling, wearing a trench coat and pushing her hair from her face. The other was Caroline Khan.
SIX
SIMONE FOUND THE BONDS of friendship to be more akin to tightrope wires that she had no balance for. Consequently, she rarely walked them. Caroline was the exception.
Simone had met Caroline when she’d been hired to investigate whether the mayor was receiving under-the-table payments to favor certain city councilmen’s bills. She quickly realized that there were discrepancies in the mayor’s public itinerary, events where Caroline would stand in for him last minute, leaving his whereabouts unaccounted for. Seeing these absences as an opportunity to tail the mayor to a possible secret meeting, she tried to find the next gap by accessing Caroline’s schedule, guessing that she would know about her stand-in duties ahead of time.
She had thought Caroline would be spoiled, appointed for her family connections, and an easy mark. She had used a short-range EMF blocker to cause Caroline’s touchdesk to malfunction, then posed as an IT specialist. Caroline laughed as soon as Simone came in and, still laughing, waved Simone back out the door. Simone tried to get a word in, but Caroline just shook her head, still laughing. Outside, she got a text on her phone: “If you think I wouldn’t know what the PI investigating the mayor looks like, you must not think very highly of me. But thanks for the laugh. CK.”
Simone had tried a few more tricks, like hiring actors to stand in for her, but Caroline laughed them out of the office each time, and sent Simone a friendly text after each attempt. It wasn’t until Simone held a network extender outside the office and had Danny hack into Caroline’s touchdesk that she finally got what she needed. She tailed the mayor the next time he went off schedule—only to find that he was going home for a nap. She had Danny hack the network again and this time was surprised to find in Caroline’s schedule a note that said “1 p.m.—Coffee with Simone Pierce, MochAfloat.”
Simone decided to keep the appointment, where Caroline bought her coffee and proceeded to explain that the mayor was lazy, but not corrupt—or at least not corrupt in the way Simone thought he was. Caroline was vague about anything outside the scope of Simone’s investigation, but she knew who had hired Simone and why, and explained to her the overreaching political implications of such a hire—how the investigation itself was the tool, not what it turned up. Before long, she was laughing as she complained about the odd details of her job. Simone liked her. She was smart, respectful, and sarcastic. She drank hot coffee through a straw. She ended it by telling Simone she would help her finish the investigation, if Simone wanted, because she knew she was right. Simone didn’t take her up on the offer, continued investigating on her own, and turned up nothing except that the mayor was, indeed, very lazy. She reported as much to her client. The next week, the papers were all writing articles about the private investigation into the mayor’s practices. When that faded away, they suddenly were reporting that the mayor took naps.
She had Danny hack into the system again and put in another coffee date for her and Caroline. Caroline showed up, and this time Simone bought. She felt she owed Caroline something—maybe an apology—and they both understood that this coffee was that apology, if not in words. They talked about the various pressures of their jobs, about not being taken seriously, about their families. Simone had thought originally she could cultivate a good contact in the mayor’s office but was surprised by how naturally the friendship floated into place. It was something Simone had never had before. Sure, she was friends with Danny, but she always knew that that relationship was based on the fact that Danny owed Simone his life, and that made her feel more secure. Other friends were more like acquaintances—people she could nod at in bars or contacts in the field. And there was Peter… but that was different. Caroline was an equal. Her friendship was earned and genuine. Simone always valued that, and was a little afraid of it, too. It meant she had to trust Caroline, and trusting people was never her first instinct.
Simone looked hard at the photo. Caroline and The Blonde were smiling, as though they’d just shared a private joke. Simone had smiled like that with Caroline.
She closed the photo on her touchdesk screen, her hands numb and barely aware of what they were doing. She stood, not sure what was happening for a moment, her mind blank, and then walked to bed, stripped off her clothes, and went to sleep.
THE NEXT MORNING, BEFORE she had time to think about anything, Simone went to get a cup of coffee and heard whistling from her waiting room. She peeked her head out. There was a man there. Had she forgotten to lock the outer door? He was sitting patiently in the chair in front of her non-receptionist’s table, reading the paper. He looked up, wicked grin on his face, when she came into the room. She was wearing a worn set of sweatpants and a tank top, and her hair was a mess. He was perfectly put together in a white shirt, gold tie, and gray herringbone suit that still glistened like diamonds where the waves had hit the hem. He was around her age, maybe a little older, with perfectly parted hair that grayed at the temples and a straight-edged smile. He had the good looks of a movie star, and the acting skills not to call too much attention to it.