on the other side of the door. Her face appears in a small crack. “You have ten seconds.”
I tuck the photograph back into my breast pocket and her eyes track that movement.
She wants that photograph pretty bad.
I pick up the bag draped across the chair and the other one on the table and hold them up in the air for her to examine. “You have two choices if you want the photograph, Miss Cherlin.” I shake the garment bag. “Put this dress on and go out to dinner with me.” I shake the paper bag, wet with grease stains. “Or we dine in tonight.”
She looks me in the eye. “My third choice, Agent Jax, is to tell you to fuck off.”
Ah! Finally, I have her engaged. “Alu gobi,” I deadpan back at her, still holding up the bag from the restaurant. “Or the dress.”
She crinkles her nose when I say the name of the dish I brought. She hates Indian food. Our spy invited her out a few months ago and this was one of the only tidbits of information we got from that conversation.
“The dress is beautiful. When was the last time you went out on a date? Years ago?” I smile, tucking down a chuckle. “It’s sad, really. A woman like you all buttoned up in here like a spinster.”
Sasha opens the door a few more inches. She’s in a robe, her hair is wet, and now that some light from the street lamps can get past her walls, I realize her eyes are red.
“You’ve been crying.”
“I don’t cry,” she says defensively. “I’m tired. I had a very bad day, and I’m not hungry or feeling up to going out.” I wait for her to close the door in my face. But she looks at my breast pocket again.
She really wants that photograph.
I set the bag of food back down on the table and push the dress towards her. “Let’s go out, Sasha. I promise not to ask you a single question about this case. All I want is an opportunity to unwind.”
“With me?” She sneers, far from convinced. “Surely there are slutty co-eds you can pass the time with.”
“I didn’t say I wanted to simply pass the time with you, Sasha. I said unwind. I think we’re a lot alike.”
“I think we are complete opposites.”
“We could laugh.”
“We’d probably fight.”
“I could buy you a drink and a nice dinner.”
“I can buy my own drinks and dinner.”
“I’d like to hold your hand and take a walk afterward. Do you like to look at the stars?”
She hesitates. I know she does. There is a small observatory on the roof of her house. It took me weeks to figure out what that little dome-shaped structure was up there. I thought it was hiding an air conditioner. Like a camouflaged utility room. But one night a while back, the dome slid open and I took pictures and sent them to a friend to see if he had any ideas what she might be doing.
A small observatory, he replied. To house a telescope.
Anyone who builds that on the roof of their house has a love for stars.
“No,” she lies. “I’m sorry, you can keep your photo—”
But she stops mid-sentence when I reach inside my pocket and pull it back out. “How about a show of good faith then,” I say, holding it out to her. “You take it now. And the dress.” I shake the garment bag again. “And I’ll come back and pick you up in thirty minutes when you’re ready.”
She stares at the photograph as I hold it up.
“I have years and years of pictures of him, Sasha.” Her eyes dart up to mine. “An entire history, actually. We’ve had people on him for more than a decade.” I see the disbelief in her eyes. More than a decade is longer than he’s been missing, so I play the last card I can right now, and give her the truth. “I knew him, Sasha. I knew him growing up. We were almost friends once.”
“You’re lying.” But it’s a whisper. And her words are the lie, not mine. She knows this.
“I’m not,” I tell her. “I have pictures of us together to prove it. But I want this night.” I gently grasp her hand and push the photograph towards it. “Take it inside. Come out with me tonight and forget about him. Let your mind open up to me. Leave everything behind for a few hours and I’ll show you what life