a Touch of TNT (An Everly Gray Adventure) (25 page)

Marcy meeting with Jerry Applegate. Oh, yeah. A perfect place to start, and I had a sudden craving for a cinnamon latte. What better place to imbibe than the Coffee Time shop by North Construction? Coffee shops were public property. Safe. So, none of my keepers could object to an afternoon shot of caffeine. Well, not much.

If I thought about it I’d back myself into a moral dilemma, so I grabbed my handbag and headed out. It took twenty minutes to get to North’s office building. I cranked up the radio and sang along to keep from thinking, but reached for my cell a half dozen times. It was strange not to check in with Adam or Annie.

I eased into a parking place a few blocks from Coffee Time because I wanted to take my time approaching the building. A few of my favorite shops were located on this street, so I took my time, ambling along sidewalk, peering into windows, acting like my primary goal in life was to spend money. Stalling? If the knot between my shoulders was an indication—yup, scared witless and definitely stalling. I passed the building that housed North Construction, and my spidey sense zapped me with an image of Marcy Blaine.

How could I have ignored the fact she worked in that building? Stupid. There was a decent chance Marcy would show up at the coffee shop for an afternoon hit of caffeine. The same Marcy who’d switched addresses, who was possibly behind the death of my VW Bug, and who might be trying to kill me.

What was I thinking coming here?

I pushed rational thought aside, slid my palm through the door handle, and pulled. Awkward, but I wanted to censor as much ESP input as possible. The scent of freshly brewed coffee drifted outside, and my taste buds sprang to life. I edged inside, using my foot to prop the door open. There were a few people standing in line, but everyone was focused on the menu or whatever, and didn’t turn to witness my clumsy entrance. Surely that was a positive sign from the Universe that I was on the “chosen path.”

The inside of Coffee Time was cozy. The décor was a warm mix of rust, deep peach, and golden sienna. The tables and an assortment of cushy chairs and sofas were empty. Must be an off time for business, but that could work to my advantage. I cued up behind the last person in line, then turned to survey the street. I didn’t want to be surprised if Marcy happened to bop in.

“What can I get you?” Bored. Monotone.

I spun to face the barista—a short, sullen, young man with an unfortunate green cast to his complexion. Hopefully, it didn’t indicate anything contagious.

“Sorry. I’d like a tall, skinny, decaf cinnamon latte please.” I inhaled deeply catching the odor of burned coffee grounds hidden under the scent of warm milk.

The barista punched a series of keys on the register. “That’ll be three-sixty-nine.”

I dug in my wallet and flashed him a grin. “Have you been working here long?” Maybe it wasn’t the smoothest conversation starter. But, hey, I’d never cozied up to a potential snitch before.

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, ma’am, ’bout a twelve month stint.”

“Stint?” My gaze traveled over his piercings, and I wondered about his life before Coffee Time. Juvie, maybe.

He wiggled his fingers, palm open waiting for the cash.

I handed him the money, and then dropped a huge tip in the jar on the counter.

His eyes dilated.

“You’re familiar with all the regular customers?” I asked while he stared at the jar and licked his lips. Mercenary young man. Worked in my favor.

“Yes, ma’am.” He handed me my drink, not taking his eyes off the two twenties snuggled against the side of the clear glass jar.

I didn’t want to make him nervous by hanging around the counter, so I wandered to a table and settled in to plan my strategy.

Should I just randomly touch things? It shouldn’t be too bad in a coffee shop. Probably a lot of background sensation like in the grocery store, but that would make it difficult to pick up any specific information about people—like Marcy and Applegate.

The barista dude headed my way with an empty tray, a bottle of cleaning solution, and a wadded up cloth. He cleared the table next to mine, sprayed the top, then put some muscle into scrubbing at the sticky coffee rings.

Empty shop and a task that required no thought—the perfect opportunity for me to ply him with questions.

I cleared my throat. “Umm, one of my friends, she comes in here a lot. Says you have the best coffee in the city.”

“Heard that,” he said, focusing on a puddle of spilled cream.

“Maybe you know her? Dark hair, big brown eyes, and a distinctive, soft, raspy voice.”

He glanced at me, shifted his feet. “Yeah, comes in every morning, sometimes afternoon too.”

He bent to finish cleaning the table. A lock of stringy blond hair escaped his ponytail, and when he pushed it behind his ear I noticed the deep red that colored his cheeks and crept down his neck.

He was crushing on Marcy.

“Well, I’m sure you take good care of her. I’m…Jenny,” I said as I stretched to see his nametag. “Chip. Oh, my gosh. Marcy tells me you’re the best barista at Coffee Time, so I’m honored that you made my latte. Delicious.”

I swallowed hard, the lies leaving my throat raw. How do people do this covert stuff?

Chip moved to the next table and scrubbed vigorously at a stubborn coffee stain. “I umm, really like her too. Always leaves me a tip. Some people don’t ya know.”

“Have you seen her today?”

He nodded, a bit of drool catching on his bottom lip. “’Bout an hour ago. Ordered her usual caramel macchiato with soy.”

“Yes, she likes those. She sometimes meets…friends here, I think.”

He nodded again. “Yeah, she—” he dragged the toe of his sneaker along the floor— “used to meet a guy here.”

“A guy?” My stomach did a flip-flop.

“Uh-huh. But not for a while now. A cop,” he snarled, curling his lip.

“They’re not together anymore.” It was probably wrong to get his hopes up, but I needed more information.

He perked up, caught my eye. “Really? That’s gr…too bad.”

I put on my best innocent expression. “So, did they have a favorite table?”

His face blanked. “A favorite table?”

“You know, sometimes people feel…attached to certain places…memories and all.”

He scratched his head, toyed with the ring in his eyebrow. Clearly he wasn’t getting it. “I dunno ’bout that. They, umm, always sat back there,” he said, gesturing with his wet cleaning rag toward a table tucked into a corner. A cascade of soapy water plopped on the floor.

I turned in the direction of his hand. Stuck back in the corner, and stacked with boxes of napkins, cups and lids, sat a scratched up table. “Back there? Where all the supplies are stored?”

“Yeah. It’s really not for customers…but—” he shrugged— “no reason to make them move. Not my job.”

Chip finished his cleanup and scurried behind the counter.

So, Marcy and Applegate met here more than once and sat at a table now covered with boxes of supplies. My fingertips tingled with the possibility of exploring, finding images to share with Adam. Anything to get me off the hot seat of protecting Terri McGraw’s confidentiality.

I figured if I sat here sipping my latte long enough customers would come in, and I could check out the table without catching Chip’s attention. Sure as all hell, he’d mention me to Marcy if I didn’t dissolve in the abyss of his teenage attention span.

Long minutes passed, each one pushing me closer to edge of a curiosity breakdown. I’m
so
not good with the patience thing. Finally, I strolled to the front of the shop and picked up an
Independent
newspaper. A legitimate reason to hang out.

The hands on the clock crawled. Five minutes. Ten. Twenty. Surely someone would come in, place a huge order for several complicated drinks, and distract Chip so I could ease over and check out the corner table.

Preferably before Marcy got an afternoon craving for caffeine.

I eyed him over the rim of my empty cup. He fidgeted with the piercing that decorated the edge of a thick, brown eyebrow. I smiled. Tried for reassuring. Failed.

Chip scowled, grabbed a rag, and started dusting bottles of flavor additives. Not good. He’d remember me.

Time to give up. I pushed back my chair and gathered the pages of the
Independent
into a tidy pile. Damn, I hated to lose this opportunity. A second visit would be chancy…unless Chip wasn’t working.

The Coffee Time door banged open, a gaggle of teenagers (not to be confused with geese) filled the small shop. Relief shot through me. If that didn’t distract Chip, nothing would.

I stood and made my way to the corner behind the “storage table,” trailed my fingertips along the surface of the wood. Nothing. Hazy background images, but nothing I could pull into focus. Bloody hell. I needed something to share with the team.

I glanced at Chip. No eye contact, so I scooted behind the table, ran the tips of my fingers over the back of a rickety chair that had been wedged into the far corner of the alcove. A fuzzy, energetic image of Applegate flashed on my internal movie screen. Smarmy. Not someone I’d want to meet in a dark alley. I inhaled, was distracted by the heavy scent of fresh coffee and caramel. I rubbed my nose to clear the distraction, and then rested my fingers on the table.

Yes! A clear picture of Marcy handing Applegate a photograph of…well, that part wasn’t clear. I shook my hands, made fists, and did another shake. I slipped my index finger under the hem of my t-shirt and rubbed the diamond. Tingles rushed up my arm. Two breaths later I placed all ten fingers against the surface of the table a few inches closer to the center of the table.

The photograph appeared on my internal monitor. Applegate must have set it on the table…just where my fingers rested. I let the image of the woman in the photo settle into my brain. Pretty, looked a lot like Marcy, only younger. A relative? Cousin? Sister? And how was she related to Applegate? And how were they both involved with Applegate? The possible ick factor had me jerking my hands back and scrubbing them over my jeans.

At least it was info I could share with the team. No confidentiality issues with what my fingers picked up in a public coffee shop.

I touched a few other places on the table, the other chairs, then caught Chip staring at me with beetled brows. Not good. I flicked a wave in his direction, tossed my cup in the trash, and made my way outside without a backward glance.

Within half a block, my neck prickled with awareness.
Do not turn around, Everly. Deep breath. Pretend it was an ordinary visit to a coffee shop.
It took all my will power not to turn around and check out the sidewalk behind me.

I clicked the car unlocked and slid behind the wheel, shot a quick look in the rearview mirror.

Nothing. A shudder squeezed my muscles. I was so not a super cool, covert, spy person.

I fumbled for my cell and pressed speed dial for Annie. Time to fess up.

“Where the hell are you?” Annie wasn’t one to waste time on pleasantries—especially when I’d slid out from under her protection for the better part of the afternoon.

“In the car on my way home.”

“ETA?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Meet you on the deck. This better be good.”

I grinned. “It is. Not great, but definitely give it a good.”

Dial tone. She wasn’t happy with me. Wonder if she…no, she wouldn’t have called Pierce…or Adam. Oh, damn.

I pulled into my driveway slowly, giving myself time to check out the occupants of the deck. Damn, damn, and double damn. She’d called Pierce. Sigh. At least Adam wasn’t—make that was pulling in behind me. I eased out of the car and crossed my arms over my handbag, pulling it tightly to my chest. Body armor.

I jogged up the steps ahead of Adam so I could claim a seat with my back to the wall, but failed. Pierce tapped my shoulder when I reached the top step and pointed to a chair at the side of the group.

I sat.

Annie wiggled her fingers at me in a “talk” gesture.

Adam growled as he pulled out the chair next to me and sat down.

Okay, then, not a happy group.

“I, umm, learned things today during a client session.” My gaze darted between them, and I threw up my hands. “You
know
. You all know I
can’t
break client confidentiality.”

Annie glared. “But you could have let us know where you were going.”

“Yes. I could have done that, but you would have insisted on tagging along, and it…wouldn’t have…helped.” I reached for half empty bottle of beer sitting in front of Annie and took a swallow. “I went to a coffee shop to check out the information that…came across my desk this morning.”

“Where?” Adam barked as he pulled out a spiral notebook and pen.

“The Coffee Time shop, but that isn’t important. What matters is that… Do any of you know if Marcy Blaine has a sister? Or cousin, some relative that looks like a younger version of her?”

Adam nodded. “Info came in this morning. Don’t know about physical resemblance. We didn’t catch it earlier because Blaine didn’t trip our radar until—” he flicked his index finger in my direction— “Little Miss Trouble here tried to get herself blown up.”