Chapter Three

I hate mornings. But I still make my way to the café, followed closely by some FBI agents in their white car (I do not know the model).

I get a latte and find a table. I write an email to Harry. He asked me out last month and I turned him down. He is attractive, alright. I just do not want him. I do not want to have a relationship with someone I work with. If we break up, it is going to be awkward.

The last relationship I had was years ago. I was sixteen and that was with my older brother's friend. We broke up after three months because he wanted to put a dog collar on me and I refused. He had been eighteen, by the way.

In my email to Harry, I tell him that I am well. I could text him, but I never do. I want to keep the relationship formal so he does not get any hint. Emailing is the best method of communication when you want to keep the relationship formal.

"Are you well?" I turn hearing the sudden question.

"Mr. Wagner," I say with a smile, "what a coincidence!"

"Are you trying to be sarcastic, Ms. Bourn?" he asks with a smirk. Gosh, he is good-looking. I think he knows it too.

"No, no, I'm truly surprised."

"May I sit down?" he asks. A gentleman, is he not?

"Be my guest," I say. He pulls out a chair opposite mine and sits down. "And call me Tasha."

"Then you can call me Lloyd."

I nod.

"Are you doing well, Tasha? How is your arm?"

"Better," I answer. "I cannot shrug with my left arm. Other than that, it's fine."

"You are left-handed, I suppose?"

He knows I am not left-handed. They checked my apartment and found my handwriting. The FBI does not need to be told many things and which hand is dominant is one of those things.

I knew something like this would happen. So, all my documents are in a USB flash drive, at least, documents regarding the Bug Man. And that flash drive is not in my apartment.

"No, I'm not," I answer.

"How is your neck?" he asks.

"The marks are still there. Kind of like a reminder," I say. I sound sad, I think. I watch his face. Shit, he does not look like he believes me much. To him, I am not sad enough. What does he want me to do? Cry? I am not good at that.

"The doctor said it will take a while to go away," he says. "You know, I sometimes wonder why he chose you."

"What do you mean why?"

"You are an investigative reporter, Tasha. You worked two cases and sent many people to jail in a very short time. I don't believe one bit that you have no idea why he chose you."

"I am not working on this. It's an ongoing case. I don't have the right to work on it." But I am. And he cannot stop me.

"What are you working on then?"

"I cannot tell you that," I say, almost shrugging with my left shoulder. "If I ask you if there are any development in the Bug Man case, you cannot tell me that. For me, it's the same."

"Alright," he says and stands up. "Do you want another coffee? I am getting one."

"No." I actually want one. I just am not good at asking for something when someone else is going to pay. I cannot accept gifts because of the same reason. I always feel like I have to pay them back.

He gets me a chocolate muffin.

"Why a chocolate muffin?" I ask. If I am being honest, I quite fancy this man. I like the way he talks, walks and stares at me. It feels attentive, as if he is studying my every move. Rather than feeling anxious that he might discover something, I feel noticed and excited.

"It's your favorite," he says.

"May I ask how you know that?"

"You may ask, Ms. Bourn," he says and lets out a small laugh. "Just kidding. I found a box of chocolate muffins in your refrigerator. I am not going to ask why you keep them there."

"You don't keep muffins in your refrigerator?" I ask, although what I really should ask is why they felt the need to check my refrigerator. For a decapacitated head?

"No."

"Lies."

"No, I really don't."

"Absurd."

"Most people don't, Tasha."

"Nah, you are the strange one," I say. "Do you also keep deodorant in the refrigerator?"

"Who keeps a deodorant in the refrigerator?" he asks, shocked.

"I saw this video on YouTube and there was this woman who keeps her deodorant in the refrigerator. I thought you were one of those people, judging you don't keep muffins in the refrigerator."

I have liked chocolate muffins since the first time my mother made them. I do not remember how old I was at that time, but very young. After Mom died, I attempted to bake them. Although it was not the best thing on my first try, I got them right by the second try. They did not taste like Mom's. Mine tasted better. I made them slightly bitter whereas Mom's were on the sweeter side. I like the slightly bitter taste.

Suddenly, Lloyd leaned his face towards me, his arms on the table. "Tasha, did you see his face?"

His face was too close. I could smell his minty breath tangled with the warming scent of a strong coffee. I could even see the small beauty mark under his right eye. It was so small that I had not noticed it before. Then again, I need to get my eyes checked. I might need glasses. For a few days, I am having trouble seeing things afar.

"No," I say and smile. "If I saw his face, of course I would have told you."

He smirks. "You would, wouldn't you?"