Page 21 of Boardroom Mask

I put a twenty on the table and gather my stuff. The coffee’s sitting heavy in my stomach and my neck hurts from hunching over my laptop all morning. I push through the diner’s glass door and stand on the sidewalk for a second, squinting in the midday sun.

He was scared the last time we talked. Something had spooked him, something beyond what he already told me: that the unidentified bones of a middle-aged female had been found at a construction site in Astoria, and that there might be some possible connection to the Lazarev family.

Now, he’s gone.

But the sun is setting and an uneasy feeling is stealing over me. I want to be home, with the door firmly shut and several blankets mummifying me on the couch. So I shove my hands in my jacket pockets and start the walk back to my apartment at a fast speed. The sidewalk is crowded with the usual evening mix of commuters and tourists, but none of that makes me feel any less exposed. Every face that passes could be his. How would I know?

I swing by my neighborhood coffee shop on the way home. I want to caffeinate myself and keep working for a while, and this place makes a killer chai latte. There’s a short queue at the counter, so while I wait, I pull out my phone and call Rae, sinceI haven’t spoken to her since we exchanged brief texts on her birthday last week.

She picks up on the second ring. “Hey! I was literally just thinking about you.”

“Good things, I hope.”

“Always. What’s up? You sound tired.”

“So do you, actually.”

“You go first,” she suggests.

“No, you. I’m sick of my own drama.”

“No, you.”

“No, you!”

“Jillian Rose?—”

“Oh, God, not the middle name?—”

“—I, Rae Everett, hereby demand that you tell me what’s got you sounding so beat.”

I sigh as I shuffle forward in line. “Fine. You win. It’s been a weird couple of days.”

“Weird in what sense?”

“I mean, every sense, really,” I say with a forced laugh. “But I’m mostly talking about the fact that?—”

“Hey,” a blunt, bored voice breaks in, “are you Jillian?”

I blink and look up to realize that everyone in line is staring at me as the barista holds out a cup in my direction. “Uh, yeah…?”I say. “Sorry, Rae, hold on a sec.” I lower the phone and look around. “But that’s not mine.”

“Chai latte with oat milk and a shot of vanilla?” the barista asks. She’s holding out a cup with my exact order written on the side in black marker.

“Uh, yes,” I admit, “but I didn’t order yet.”

She repeats the order and waggles the cup at me. “Chai latte, oat milk, vanilla shot. For Jillian.”

“Yes, I heard you the first time, and yes, that’s me, and yes, that’s what I wasgoingto order, but— Look, I’m sorry, I’ve had a really long day and I’m not quite sure what’s happening right now.”

“You’re at a coffee shop and I’m giving you your coffee, is what’s happening,” Miss Attitude informs me. She plunks it on the counter hard enough that a little dribble of brown liquid goes trickling over the lip. I start to riffle through my purse, but she shakes her head. “Already paid for.”

“I remain highly confused.”

The barista shrugs, exasperated. “Look, lady, some guy came in and paid for it like ten minutes ago. Said you’d be coming in, described you and everything.” She’s already looking past me to the next customer.

“Jill?” Rae’s voice in my ear. “You still there?”

“Yeah,” I manage. “Hold on.”