Sure, I replied. I was starting to wonder if Id lost the ability to speak in complex sentences. From the look on the boys face, he probably was, too. Ill give you a minute to look over the menu.
He didnt respond, and I spent my minute bringing Pancakes and Breakfast Burrito their checks, plural. I figured that if I split it in half, I might end up with half a decent tip.
Ill be your cashier whenever youre ready, I said, fake smile firmly in place.
I turned back toward the kitchen and caught the boy by the window watching me. It wasnt an Im ready to order stare. I wasnt sure what it was, actuallybut every bone in my body told me it was something . The niggling sensation that there was a key detail that I was missing about this whole situationabout him wouldnt go away. Boys like that didnt usually eat in places like this.
They didnt stare at girls like me.
Self-conscious and wary, I crossed the room.
Did you decide
what youd like? I asked. There was no getting out of taking his order, so I let my hair fall in my face, obscuring his view of it.
Three eggs, he said, hazel eyes fixed on what he could see of mine. Side of pancakes. Side of ham.
I didnt need to write the order down, but I suddenly found myself wishing for a pen, just so Id have something to hold on to. What kind of eggs? I asked.
You tell me. The boys words caught me off guard.
Excuse me?
Guess, he said.
I stared at him through the wisps of hair still covering my face. You want me to guess how you want your eggs cooked?
He smiled. Why not?
And just like that, the gauntlet was thrown.
Not scrambled, I said, thinking out loud. Scrambled eggs were too average, too common, and this was a guy who liked to be a little bit different. Not too different, though, which ruled out poachedat least in a place like this. Sunny-side up would have been too messy for him; over hard wouldnt be messy enough.
Over easy. I was as sure of the conclusion as I was of the color of his eyes. He smiled and closed his menu.
Are you going to tell me if I was right? I askednot because I needed confirmation, but because I wanted to see how he would respond.
The boy shrugged. Now, where would the fun be in that?
I wanted to stay there, staring, until I figured him out, but I didnt. I put his order in. I delivered his food. The lunch rush snuck up on me, and by the time I went back to check on him, the boy by the window was gone. He hadnt even waited for his checkhed just left twenty dollars on the table. I had just about decided that he could make me play guessing games to his hearts content for a twelve-dollar tip when I noticed the bill wasnt the only thing hed left.
There was also a business card.
I picked it up. Stark white. Black letters. Evenly spaced. There was a seal in the upper left-hand corner, but relatively little text: a name, a job title, a phone number. Across the top of the card, there were four words, four little words that knocked the wind out of me as effectively as a jab to the chest.
I pocketed the cardand the tip. I went back to the kitchen. I caught my breath. And then I looked at it again.
Tanner Briggs . The name.
Special Agent . Job title.
Federal Bureau of Investigation .
Four words, but I stared at them so hard that my vision blurred and I could only make out three letters.
What in the world had I done to attract the attention of the FBI?
CHAPTER 2
Unfortunately, it was Sunday.
There she is! Cassie, we were just about to send the boys out looking for you. My aunt Tasha was among the more reasonable of my fathers various siblings, so she didnt wink and ask me if Id found myself a boyfriend to occupy my time.
That was Uncle Rios job. Our little heartbreaker, eh? You out there breaking hearts? Of course she is!
Id been a regular fixture at Sunday night dinners ever since Social Services had dropped me off on my fathers doorstepmetaphorically, thank Godwhen I was twelve. After five years, I still hadnt ever heard Uncle Rio ask a question that he did not immediately proceed to answer himself.
I dont have a boyfriend, I said. This was a well-established script, and that was my line. Promise.
What are we talking about? one of Uncle Rios sons asked, plopping himself down on the living room sofa, dangling his legs over the side.
Cassies boyfriend, Uncle Rio replied.
I rolled my eyes. I dont have a boyfriend.
Cassies secret boyfriend, Uncle Rio amended.
I think you have me confused with Sofia and Kate, I said. Under normal circumstances I wouldnt have thrown any of my female cousins under the bus, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Theyre far more likely to have secret boyfriends than I am.
Bah, Uncle Rio said. Sofias boyfriends are never secret.
And on it wentgood-natured ribbing, family jokes. I played the part, letting their energy infect me, saying what they wanted me to say, smiling the smiles they wanted to see. It was warm and safe and happybut it wasnt me.
It never was.
As soon as I was sure I wouldnt be missed, I