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35 Will
THE LAST FEW weeks had been uneventful. No money had been stolen and Miranda and my family were safe. But we still didn’t know who was behind the breach or Simone’s poisoning.
The lobby in SJI was quiet. Jorge nodded, the receptionist smiled, and if I could see him, I was sure Axel jerked his chin at me from inside office five. All eyes were on me as I left the building… I hated it.
Couldn’t I just leave during lunchtime to grab a burrito from the taco truck up the street? I’d done it hundreds of times before. Nobody used to care if I was coming or going.
But times had changed.
My father had sent out a memorandum granting our brokers an extended lunch. It was his way of getting them to stop scheduling appointments during lunch hours to avoid dramatic scenes like the one with Simone weeks ago. We didn’t want clients in the building while Jorge was at lunch. Jorge knew everybody by name and had a photographic memory like the geniuses you’d see on crime shows. He remembered every face.
But how long could we keep the breach and threats to my family a secret? Eventually it would come out. My father didn’t share my concern; his focus was keeping SJI looking like a well-oiled rig. Faking it if needed.
The sun beat down on my weary body. I was drained from all the talks over the last several weeks. Anxiety burrowed in my gut as I worried about Miranda’s safety. I couldn’t relax, and it made me irritable as fuck.
I was downright stressed to the max. My piss-poor attitude reared its ugly head when Miranda didn’t answer the phone or respond to a text in a timely fashion. Whatever the fuck a timely fashion was I didn’t know. Nothing seemed fast enough.
I felt like I was losing my mind worrying over Miranda’s safety and the stolen money. If anything happened to her, I would—
“What can I get you?”
I studied the guy in the window. I hadn’t seen him before, and it was a damn shame since the other guy knew me. “Yeah, I’ll have a California giant: carnitas, no onions or beans, extra limes and guacamole, and hot sauce on the side.” That was a mouthful. If the other guy had been working, I would have said:the usual.
“You got it.”
I paid my bill and went to lean on the wooden fence at my favorite spot. It was where I could clear my head, just me, my thoughts, and the ocean.
“Think it’ll rain today?” A man’s voice with a Spanish accent came from behind me. I looked up at the clear blue sky. Not a single cloud as far as the eye could see.
I shook my head. Weirdo.
“Maybe it’ll snow.”
I whirled around to look at the idiot talking gibberish. A guy about my height and size with dark tan skin, black hair in a flat top, and silver Ray-Bans stood facing me, a slight curl to his lip.
“William St. James, we need to talk.”
“Do I know you?”
“No.” He leaned against the fence, facing the ocean, his hands clasped together resting on the post. “When I walk away, I’ll leave a business card with my phone number. On the back, there’s an address and a time. Don’t be late. Don’t drive your usual car, and don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Nobody. Including Miranda.”
What the actual fuck?
“Who are you?” My guard was on high alert. His nondescript clothing gave nothing away. “I don’t know any Miranda.” I snorted, deflecting. Hell, I’d sell my soul to the devil if it meant protecting her. A little white lie was child’s play.
“Sure, you do. Miranda Rose Bradford, born November seventeenth, nineteen ninety-five to Miles and Melanie Bradford who live in Phoenix, Arizona.” He paused, assessing me.
I stared back, indifferent, but fuck, my mind was blown.
“You met them for the first time the weekend before Easter. Nice little stucco home they got there.”
How the fuck did he know all that? My heart hammered in my chest. Any words I might have had were clogged in my throat.
“Will… your order is ready. Will?” the dude who’d taken my order hollered.
“Better get that. Don’t be late tonight.” The bizarre man casually walked away, hands in his pockets and whistling.
I grabbed the business card.
