26

 

 

By the time I pulled up in front of my apartment, I was calm again.

Then my cell phone rang, which made me jump.

“Jesus,” I muttered. Maybe I was getting too emotionally fragile for this kind of work. I peered down at the phone number but didn’t recognize it. A thought struck me. What if it was Cole? Or Matsuda? Maybe they’d seen my car leaving the area.

That didn’t make sense. If they wanted to pick me up, there would have been be a patrol car waiting for me at my apartment.

I glanced up and around the street. No cops.

My phone buzzed again.

Oddly, I wondered if it was Marie Brassart. Maybe she wanted to talk with me again now that she was out. But that didn’t jibe, either. She was likely still experiencing post-coital bliss with Mr. Neighbor at her side.

Another buzz.

Only one way to know, I thought. So I did what people do when the phone rings. I answered it.

“Hello?”

It was quiet for a second. Then a female voice asked, “Stefan Kopriva?”

“Speaking. Who’s this?”

“It’s Anna Lee.”

Now it was my turn to be quiet. She actually called me back?

“Are you there?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah. What’s up?”

“I’m returning your call.” Her voice was impassive, hard to read. “Actually, I’m answering your question.”

“My question?”

“You asked if you could buy me a cup of coffee sometime. My answer is yes.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I sputtered out, “Now?”

She was unfazed. “That’s what I was thinking. Unless you’re busy.”

“No, no,” I said. “Now is good. Where?”

“You know Jenny’s Café?”

I smiled. “I do.”

“How about in an hour?”

“Sounds good.”

“Okay,” she said. “See you there.”

She hung up before I could say goodbye.