My boyfriend would lose his goddamn mind if he caught me out here like this. But I ignored the little thrill of anxiety I felt, and snapped the picture anyway. I accidentally-on-purpose waited for the cute waiter to stroll back into frame, just as he was bringing them their food. I let my eye linger over him for approximately seven seconds before I remembered his fine-ass wasn't the target. Which is the real tragedy in all this if you asked me. But alas, I wasn't hired to perve on sexy waiters. No, it was the couple he was serving that was the true target.

     They were a fairly good-looking to the casual observer. The man was dressed in well-fitting casual wear. The girl, a loose wrap dress that was no doubt making her tremble in the cool night's air. The candlelight danced between them as they stared at each other in ignorant bliss.

     It couldn't have been more perfect unless I'd planned it myself.

     As I gawked at the way the waiter's muscles stretched the fabric of his thin dress shirt—and the couple too I guess—the lens of the camera knocked against the glass of my driver's side window and almost rammed back into my nose. Too close. I pulled it back and readjusted my grip just as the couple leaned over their mid-priced pasta and wine to gently kiss each other with the wild abandon of new love. I quickly took more pictures.

     I'd been hired to follow the girl. I'd tailed her every afternoon for three days. And on the third day she'd led me here...

     I got so distracted staring at them I didn't realize the odd angle I'd rested my foot in until I felt the sharp ache of my muscles cramping in my left shin.

     "Goddamn it!" I pushed my foot against the floor of my car to try to ease the tightness in my leg and instead rammed my knee into the underside of the steering wheel. I cursed again. Maybe doing this in the car was a bad idea after all.

     But it had been worth it. The couple had chosen to take their meal out on the street level patio in the front of the restaurant. It was the dead of winter, and the air outside was...kinda brisk I suppose. A relatively normal thing for the blink-and-you-miss-it Florida winters. I'd been prepared with an elaborate ruse to get inside the restaurant to continue my surveillance, but by chance it was just warm enough for the two of them to decide to eat outside. Lucky me.

     As my cramp eased I grabbed the camera and decided on a whim to get a picture of the girl putting the glass of wine to her lips. Cradling the camera in my hands I carefully adjusted the focusing of the lens. Kidding. It was a modern camera; with all the best bells and whistles that money could buy. instead of the part time PI—slash—coffee shop owner I actually was.

     After the camera did all the real work I pushed the button to snap one last perfect photo. Money well spent. I had enough evidence so I started the car and pulled off without a backward glance. It took me nearly thirty minutes to get from that restaurant to mine.

     Taste Teas—my café, my bread and butter, my baby—was within shouting distance of Burenville University's north campus. It was wedged between a yoga studio and a tattoo parlor—the three of us like a magnet for the hipster kids that lived in the various dormitories up and down University Boulevard. By the time I'd parked in the back lot and strolled through the alleyway door my barista Pasha had just finished cleaning up.

     "Are they here?" I said to her as she slung her backpack over one shoulder.

     The silver charms she'd fastened to the zippers jingled as she walked past. "I was just about to call you. Your...clients, or whatever? Well, they're here." She nodded toward the front before beelining out of here with an apathetic wave goodbye.

     Pasha had sat them at a small round table in the dining area. Two mugs sat between them, barely touched. Complimentary drinks. My idea.

     I walked to their table with ease. "Mr. and Mrs. Strasser?" I held out my hand.

     "Yes," Mr. Strasser stood and shoved his hand toward me with the sort of awkward force that gave away his nervousness.

     "Evie Harper," I tried to convey an easy comfortability with my handshake. "Please, step into my office."

     They followed closely behind as I led them to the room where I conducted much of Taste Teas' business. It was a small room, cramped but professional. I gestured toward the two chairs that faced my desk and we all sunk into the hard seats of discounted office furniture.

     "So," I said as calmly as I could. "I've been following Bailey after school for three days now."

     "Yes," Mrs. Strasser perked up in her seat. "She's been lying to us hasn't she?"

     "Yes."

     Mr. Strasser cut in before I could finish. "She has a boyfriend doesn't she? I knew it!"

     "Bill—"

     "No, Cathy. She knows our rules. She isn't allowed to date until she's sixteen." Bill Strasser turned his rigid, angry eyes at me. "Who is this boy?"

     "Well...", It wasn't an easy thing to come out and say.

     "Tell us," he said. "We'll call his parents and straighten all this out."

     My eyes drifted down to the stack of resumes piled on my desk. I forced myself to look him in the eyes. "Here's the thing...It's not a boy."

     He blinked, then dropped his head to his hands and wailed. "A girl? What are we going to do about that?"

     Mrs. Strasser reached out and caressed his tensing shoulders. "We don't do that sort of thing," she said to me. "We're Christians, you see."

     "No, no! What I meant was," I cleared my throat. "Well, see for yourself." I grabbed the camera and quickly walked around to where they were seated and crouched beside Mrs. Strasser.

     As I cycled through the pictures, the air grew quieter and more tense. There was Bailey getting into a man's car. There they were walking down the sidewalk hand in hand. In another picture they sat at the restaurant eating their food—clearly together. The next they kissed. In the last, Bailey Strasser pressed a glass of red wine to her lips as she smiled over at her date.

     "I don't understand," said Mr. Strasser. "That man has to be at least—"

     "He's thirty-two," I left the camera in Mrs. Strasser's hands and sat back down in my seat. "His name is Jerry Ayers. He's middle management at a contractor's firm downtown. Unmarried. No kids."

     "How would they have even met?" Mrs. Strassers voice grew distressed as she stared at her fifteen-year-old daughter forever drinking that illegal glass of wine.

     "He seems to be the older brother of one of the other girls on your daughters cheerleading squad. They might have met at the other girl's house or he might have picked her up one day. I couldn't say."

     "She's only fifteen. He has no right—"

     "I'm sorry." As callous as it was, I was short on time I had somewhere to be. "How long has the behavior been happening?"

     After a silence, Mrs. Strasser spoke first, "A couple of months. She was always such an obedient child. Then out of the blue she's lying, talking back, sneaking out—her grades are dropping. We thought it was just normal teenage behavior but then we found the text messages and—oh!" She pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed at the tears pooling in the corner of her eyes.

     "We assumed it was a boy from her school. Maybe drugs at the worst, but this!"

     "I learned about him the afternoon you called me—"

     "Why didn't you tell us then?" Suddenly Mr. Strasser's fury was directed at me.

     "I needed evidence. The first day I found out about him. The second day I gathered the information about him. And tonight, I got the evidence you'll need if you plan on pressing charges."

     "You're damned right we're pressing charges! Better yet, let's skip the middleman. Give me his address."

     They always wanted the address. "I can't do that. What I can do is email these photos to you so that you can have them for whatever you decide."

     He nodded. Still angry but appeased. "Thank you."

     After giving me his email address and writing me out a check for seventy-five dollars I walked them to the front door and locked it behind them. I did not want to be Jerry Ayers in the morning.

     I went back to my office, emailed the Strassers the photos, shut down my computer, and then took another few minutes to clean the mugs the Strassers had left on the table. As I was about to leave my purse started vibrating.

     After I'd somehow rummaged the phone out of there I looked down at the caller I.D—not that I needed to, I knew who it was. "Hey," I said.

     My best friend did not sound happy. "We still on for that movie tonight?"

     "Of course. My pick, right?"

     He sighed so hard the phone practically rattled with remorse. "Yes. Just please pick something good."

     I slung my purse over my shoulders and grabbed my car keys. "Ha! Says the man who picked the worst movie I've ever seen two weeks ago."

     "My pick was incredible. Okay. You just don't understand the complexity—"

     "Complexity? Why were a group of street racers engaged in international espionage, Henry? Who does that?"

     He laughed. "It might have been easier for you if you'd seen the first fifteen."

     "They all looked dumb."

     "They are dumb."

     "Then why do you watch every single one that comes out?"

     "Because they have fast cars, explosions, and hot women."

     "Ah, I think I've found the source of our disagreement." I stepped out into the dark alley. "You bringing your new girlfriend?"

     "She's not my girlfriend. And why would you me ask that?"

     I turned around and fumbled with my purse, my phone, and the keys I needed to lock the door behind me. "Just curious as to why I haven't met her yet."

     "Why haven't I met Manny?" His tone was accusatory.

     "He works."

     "So does she...I think."

     I pushed the key into the lock idly. "Come with me to the run tomorrow and you can meet him after."

     "I don't know...what does one do at a run?"

     "Run." After I heard the last click on the lock I spun around and bounded down the few steps and walked to my car.

     "Nothing like torture on a Saturday morning, huh?"

     "Oh, we're not running. Just him and the other crazy people who like to participate in 5Ks. We get to sit in the stadium and wait for them to finish their little five miles or whatever."

     "I think your math is off, but fine. I don't have anything to do anyway"

     "Great."

     As I unlocked the car I froze. To my left I struggled to hear. A clattering came from down the alley. My heart thundered in my ears. Henry kept yakking. I turned and stared down the alleyway, my eyes struggling to adjust under dull yellow street lights.

     From the corner of my eye something soundlessly moved just out of vision. I turned so quickly I nearly stumbled over my own feet. What was that? My eyes moved around the alley, searching every dark nook and cranny where someone might be able to hide. But there was nowhere to hide. There was nothing except a dumpster, a couple of parked cars, and a crazy lady having a panic attack for no reason...It was probably just my imagination.

     But what if it wasn't?

     I opened the door to my car and threw myself inside, quick to slam the door behind me. My fingers searched in the darkness for the door lock button. I pushed it down in three rapid clicks—just to be sure.

     As my breathing steadied I could hear Henry's voice calling in the distance. "Evie, are you listening to me?"

     "Uh, yeah! Of Course!" I looked back over my shoulder. The view from inside the car was obstructed.

     "What did I just say then?"

     "You said you wouldn't wait for me if I'm late." Something flickered in the light outside—just faulty wiring in the lamp...

     "Oh, you were listening."

     No, but he always says that. "Don't worry. I'm on the way."

     "Alright. See you in a few minutes—no chick flicks!" He hung up before I could argue.

     As I started the car and pulled out of the back alley and onto the street I stared at the reflection in the rearview mirrors expectantly.

     Nothing was there.