So it’s possible he sucks as much as the rest of them. But I’ll have to take a leap of faith here.
If there’s anyone who can track Marie, it’ll be him. I need a phone.
* * *
There’s a café on the corner a few blocks down, but I’m reluctant to enter when I see it’s not busy. It won’t be easy to navigate undetected when I can’t disappear into the background. I keep walking. My fingers are going numb from the cold air on wet skin, and the headache still pulses at my temples.
I notice a couple approaching, cups clutched in their hands. I lower my head, shielding my eyes, even though I nod at their hello. I head in the direction they came from and find a coffee shop hidden among the houses. It’s a small wood-shingled building with metal chairs and small tables out front. They’re all filled, and I see from outside the glass door that the inside is crowded. Perfect.
Even through my plugged nose, the smell of hazelnut flavoring and coffee beans is thick, comforting, and warm. I standin line. The guy in front is wearing a light spring jacket, his hands tucked inside his pockets. I scan him, but when I don’t see an obvious sign of a phone, I lose interest and look around the room. I notice a guy on his computer, his phone perched close to the edge of the table, books spread on the other side as he types quickly. He looks frazzled, distracted. Perfect.
I discreetly keep my eye on him as I get through the line and order a vanilla latte. The cup is gloriously warm on my chilled fingers, and I hover a moment near the stir sticks and survey the area. No one has noticed me. I adjust my hood at my neck to cover my jawline, and I lower the brim of the baseball hat. I wait until I see another person walking down the aisle about to pass the guy’s table. I start in that direction, my full backpack over my shoulders.
I time it perfectly. The girl walking down the aisle says “excuse me” and I have to brush along the table to avoid her, our presence crowding the area. The guy continues typing, but leans away from us as his shoulder touches my hip. I murmur an apology just as my fingers close around his phone. It’s in my pocket and I’m out the door before he even finishes typing his sentence.
Once outside, I head for a park I noticed earlier. I pull off my baseball hat, reminded of how crisp the morning air is. I fold my hat and tuck it into my coat pocket and shake out my hair. I find a bench that’s partially obscured from view under a crooked tree, the leaves bending toward the ground. I sit down and take out the phone to examine it.
It doesn’t have a pass code, which surprises me. As a closer, to study the private lives of my assignments, I’ve had to break dozens of cell-phone codes—some easier than others. Considering this guy has wallpaper of a dog wearing sunglasses, I assume he’s sweet and trusting. I mean . . . he obviously loves his dog. And now I feel even worse for stealing it. I hope he has insurance.
Aaron won’t have his phone anymore, because he was leaving town and didn’t want to be tracked. But since he left before I found out the truth about the lies my father and Marie have been feeding me, he has no idea how dangerous things are. He wouldn’t have been as careful as he should have. Neither would Myra.
Aaron always joked that once he was done with his contract, he and Myra were going to run off together to a cabin in North Dakota. They might be halfway there by now. Which is why I assume this will not be well received.
The headache that hasn’t left starts to tick up in pain level, and I quickly type in Myra’s phone number. A perk of always having to use other people’s phones, I guess. I have to actually memorize numbers. Before I finish dialing, I look around the park. There’s a man asleep with a newspaper over his shoulder on another bench. A couple walks hand in hand near the roses in the garden area. The woman laughs, and I find myself mimicking her
If there’s anyone who can track Marie, it’ll be him. I need a phone.
* * *
There’s a café on the corner a few blocks down, but I’m reluctant to enter when I see it’s not busy. It won’t be easy to navigate undetected when I can’t disappear into the background. I keep walking. My fingers are going numb from the cold air on wet skin, and the headache still pulses at my temples.
I notice a couple approaching, cups clutched in their hands. I lower my head, shielding my eyes, even though I nod at their hello. I head in the direction they came from and find a coffee shop hidden among the houses. It’s a small wood-shingled building with metal chairs and small tables out front. They’re all filled, and I see from outside the glass door that the inside is crowded. Perfect.
Even through my plugged nose, the smell of hazelnut flavoring and coffee beans is thick, comforting, and warm. I standin line. The guy in front is wearing a light spring jacket, his hands tucked inside his pockets. I scan him, but when I don’t see an obvious sign of a phone, I lose interest and look around the room. I notice a guy on his computer, his phone perched close to the edge of the table, books spread on the other side as he types quickly. He looks frazzled, distracted. Perfect.
I discreetly keep my eye on him as I get through the line and order a vanilla latte. The cup is gloriously warm on my chilled fingers, and I hover a moment near the stir sticks and survey the area. No one has noticed me. I adjust my hood at my neck to cover my jawline, and I lower the brim of the baseball hat. I wait until I see another person walking down the aisle about to pass the guy’s table. I start in that direction, my full backpack over my shoulders.
I time it perfectly. The girl walking down the aisle says “excuse me” and I have to brush along the table to avoid her, our presence crowding the area. The guy continues typing, but leans away from us as his shoulder touches my hip. I murmur an apology just as my fingers close around his phone. It’s in my pocket and I’m out the door before he even finishes typing his sentence.
Once outside, I head for a park I noticed earlier. I pull off my baseball hat, reminded of how crisp the morning air is. I fold my hat and tuck it into my coat pocket and shake out my hair. I find a bench that’s partially obscured from view under a crooked tree, the leaves bending toward the ground. I sit down and take out the phone to examine it.
It doesn’t have a pass code, which surprises me. As a closer, to study the private lives of my assignments, I’ve had to break dozens of cell-phone codes—some easier than others. Considering this guy has wallpaper of a dog wearing sunglasses, I assume he’s sweet and trusting. I mean . . . he obviously loves his dog. And now I feel even worse for stealing it. I hope he has insurance.
Aaron won’t have his phone anymore, because he was leaving town and didn’t want to be tracked. But since he left before I found out the truth about the lies my father and Marie have been feeding me, he has no idea how dangerous things are. He wouldn’t have been as careful as he should have. Neither would Myra.
Aaron always joked that once he was done with his contract, he and Myra were going to run off together to a cabin in North Dakota. They might be halfway there by now. Which is why I assume this will not be well received.
The headache that hasn’t left starts to tick up in pain level, and I quickly type in Myra’s phone number. A perk of always having to use other people’s phones, I guess. I have to actually memorize numbers. Before I finish dialing, I look around the park. There’s a man asleep with a newspaper over his shoulder on another bench. A couple walks hand in hand near the roses in the garden area. The woman laughs, and I find myself mimicking her
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