There was only one possible answer that she could see here. “Yeah, sure.”
“Stay there.”
Officer Valencia stood from her chair, and a moment later, she appeared at the door leading into the lobby. She motioned for the three male officers to come with her, and soon Jessica found herself surrounded on all sides by the cops. “McCloud, eh?” said a tall, bald man with a round face and squinty eyes. The pin on his chest identified him as Jones 3624. “My son has a poster of you up on his wall.”
“Eek. There are posters of me?”
Jones chuckled as the desk clerk sidled up beside Jess and threw an arm around her shoulder, handing her phone to a stocky officer named Olivarro 4539.
Jessica smiled and once the photos were taken, Officer Valencia swapped places with Jones 3624. Jessica moved as close as she could to the Jones without the handle of his Taser jabbing into her ribs. His torso had no give and she realized he was wearing a bulletproof vest. “My son’s gonna die,” he said right before the phone flashed. “I mean, not literally. But you know how the kids say. I’m gonna hang this over his head for a long time.”
“Ooo! My turn!” said Montenegro 5518 as he wedged himself between Jones 3624 and Jessica.
Is this my karma? Is this what I get for turning down your assistance, God? An impromptu photo shoot?
Thankfully, she’d put a little effort into her appearance today, since she was going by Bat-Ass Brew to apply. Not that she’d needed to; not even a bad hair day could stop the onslaught of Rebel’s compulsive harassment. But it made her feel good and confident, so she’d done it.
And now she was especially glad she had.
She smiled and the phone flashed again.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like the officers. In fact, she was surprised by how friendly they were. The issue was more that Austin was usually a safe place to exist without people asking for a photo. People didn’t expect celebrities of any caliber to be wandering around, for one, and she’d observed a strange phenomenon wherein the city attracted a lot of people who looked vaguely famous—either they were the doppelganger of someone well-known, or they just had that air to them, like one should know their name—but were actually just living on a friend’s couch. Add that to the stealth of big sunglasses and her Rangers cap, and she was usually able to move around without being recognized. And perhaps it was the desire of people in this town to play it cool that also held the picture requests at bay.
But none of those reasons slowed these officers.
“She just turned in a wallet full of thousands of dollars cash,” Officer Valencia informed the others, nodding approvingly and puffing up her chest like a proud mother. “No ID, nothing. She could’ve made off with it, but she came straight here.”
“Impressive,” said Jones 3624.
“And, let’s be real,” added Olivarro 4539, “probably smart for safety reasons.”
Jones 3624 nodded wisely. “True. Carrying that much cash on you is, well, kind of asking for it around here.”
“Even in a safe city?” Jessica asked.
The officers’ heads swiveled around to stare down at her, and the casual conversation stopped. “No,” said Montenegro 5518, “Austin is not a safe city.”
“That’s not even a thing,” added Officer Valencia, “a safe city.”
Jones 3624 rolled back his shoulders, hooking his thumbs into his duty belt. “I’ve arrested twelve, count ’em, twelve men for aggravated assault with a deadly weapon this week.”
Montenegro 5518 nodded. “And I was just telling these guys about the hat trick of transient-related incidents I responded to last night. The last one was a real doozie. Some dumb tourist tried to take a picture of one of their dogs. Well, obviously that’s going to set her off, so out comes the rusty razor blade.”
“Holy crap,” Jessica said. “But literally everyone I’ve talked to has told me this is a safe city.”
“Everyone is wrong,” Jones 3624 said unblinkingly. “So very wrong.”
“Huh.” Jessica looked from one officer to the next, but not a single face indicated that this might be elaborate prank like a good part of her hoped it was. “Then what the hell?”
“It’s called denial,” said Officer Valencia. “Granted, we might be slightly biased, since our jobs require us to deal exclusively with criminals and victims, but let’s just say there are a lot of us working in this city, and there’s never a dull moment. Hell, I signed up for overtime working this desk just so I could have a dull moment. And then here you come walking in, making it anything but.”
Jessica nodded along. “So why does everyone want to pretend there isn’t crime when there is?”
“Million dollar question, Ms. McCloud,” Olivarro 4539 said, slapping her congenially on the arm. “My guess is that it’s the same reason most people do anything: because it feels good.”
“Stay safe out there,” Jones 3624 said as the cops slowly started to peel off. “Just assume everybody’s armed to the teeth.”
“Because they probably are,” added Montenegro 5518 before the four cops headed through the door and into the back of the station, leaving Jessica all alone to face the outside world by herself, totally unarmed.
Well, except for the smiting.
I gotta get back to the range.
Chapter Eighteen
As Jessica left the police station, zipping up her cotton jacket against the early December wind, she reassured herself that regret for turning in the money was a totally natural thing to feel. That was a lot of cash. What would happen to the money if no one claimed it? It would probably just sit in an evidence locker until someone got smart and skimmed off the top. More power to whoever decided to do that, rather than letting the money sit out of circulation, she supposed.
To alleviate her regret, she decided her good deed, though stupid in hindsight, had at least earned her a real lunch. Tacos would do. Tacos always did.
Her favorite spot was eleven blocks away and just off her route back to the condo, so surely that was a sign. Or at least it would be if she thought God cared enough to give her signs that were actually useful in her daily life, like what to eat for lunch.
She arrived during the rush, sunglasses on to avoid another photo request that might lose her her place in line, and splurged on a crispy taco plate to-go, rice and beans and all.
As she stood against the wall by the Coke machine, waiting for her number to be called, someone said her name. Her initial instinct to ignore it was overridden by recognition. She looked toward the door and almost couldn’t believe who was standing there waving.
“Mrs. Thomas?” she said, walking over.
“Jessica! I thought it was you!” Mrs. Thomas wrapped her up in her arms, enveloping her in her soft body.
“What are you doing in Austin?” Jessica asked as she stepped back.
“Just a required TEA workshop I have to attend if I wish to keep my job. Come here every year for it. Incredibly boring stuff. You ordering food?”
“Already did.” She held up her ticket at the same time she heard her number called. “That’s me.”
“Won’t you stay and have lunch with me?” Mrs. Thomas asked.
Jessica grinned. “Of course. I’ll get us a table.”
She grabbed her food and found a booth toward the back that allowed her to face most of the restaurant—Jones 3624’s warning about nowhere in the city being safe left Jessica edgy, so until the paranoia subsided, she would take necessary precautions, thank you very much.
Mrs. Thomas slid into the booth a few minutes later, her taco salad on a tray, and settled in, unwrapping her plastic silverware and saying, “I haven’t heard from you in quite a while, Jessica. I hope everything’s okay.” While there was nothing accusatory about her tone, Mrs. Thomas’s words watered the seeds of guilt Jessica had planted long before.
“It’s great. I should have emailed you more. I just get caught up in things and forget about everything else.”
�
�Oh, Jessica, it’s not a big deal.” Mrs. Thomas smiled kindly. “I’m not hurt. I just like to know you’re okay. I find myself worrying about you, given your contentious position in this world. Lots of people want to see you fail, and that’s a tough position to be in, I imagine.”
Jessica nodded. Mrs. Thomas wasn’t wrong. However, Jessica’s attention had been slowly pulled away from the woman’s sympathetic words by a familiar-looking man sitting a few tables over. He stared over at their booth unabashedly, narrowing his eyes with suspicion as he sipped his drink.
Where did she know him from? In another context, she might’ve said he was her type—slim, athletic build, scruffy blond hair, golden skin, and dark eyelashes she could spot from ten feet away. Even his nose was attractive, straight with delicately sculpted nostrils.
And man, he wouldn’t stop giving her the evil eye.
“What is it?” Mrs. Thomas said. Her eyes followed Jessica’s as they snuck covert glances at the man, and as Mrs. Thomas started to turn in her seat, Jessica quickly said, “Nothing. Don’t look. Just some guy staring at us. I recognize him, but I can’t place it yet.”
Mrs. Thomas leaned forward mischievously. “Is he checking you out?”
“Uh, no. He’s mean mugging me.”
Mrs. Thomas leaned back. “Well, sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference. Men are terrifying creatures, both simple and indecipherable at once.”
Jessica scoffed. “Ain’t it the truth.”
“Just ignore him. Don’t let his issues ruin what is a perfectly serendipitous meeting of old friends.”
Jessica nodded and unloaded her to-go bag. “I’m starving anyway.”
Mrs. Thomas grinned. “Tell me what you’ve been up to in Austin. I’ve heard rumors, but I never give those much credence when it comes to your life. Otherwise, I would have to believe that you’re both the messiah and the antichrist at the same time, and that would be especially confusing.”
Jessica mashed up her beans and rice. “I’m opening a bakery.”
“Pardon?”
“A bakery. I can turn basically anything gluten-free with a wave of my hands.” She shrugged apologetically. “I figure I should use that.”
“That’s fantastic!” Mrs. Thomas said, setting down her fork and clapping excitedly. “When do you open your doors? I’ll be the first one in line.”
“It’ll probably be another year or so before I do.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Thomas said, reeling in her excitement. “Why’s that?”
“Well …” She wasn’t in the mood to bring up money. It was only noon and she was pretty much money-ed out. Her eyes wandered over to the blond, who continued to stare at her, even as he tilted his head to crunch into his crispy taco. She looked away.
“It’s money, isn’t it?” Mrs. Thomas said. “Starting a business isn’t cheap. I get it. How much do you still need?”
“Not that much more. Miranda and some of my friends from college raised most of it for me, but they said they’d exhausted their connections before they could get all of it.”
“You are incredibly lucky to have found Miranda. She’s an amazing friend. But I do find it strange that this is the first I’ve heard about fundraising efforts.”
“I think they were trying to keep it quiet so the news didn’t take it and run with the whole Moochsiah name.”
“Moochsiah?”
Jessica waved it off. “Nothing, just a dumb Twitter thing.”
“I would have donated in a heartbeat. And I’d still like to. How much more do you need?”
Jessica shifted uncomfortably in the booth, staring down at her taco plate. “Not that much. I can earn the rest myself. And I should.” She mustered the courage to meet Mrs. Thomas’s eye. “Dr. Bell—she’s a professor of mine who’s been helping me with the business part—she suggested I have some personal buy-in to increase my chances of the bakery succeeding.”
Mrs. Thomas nodded. “Fair enough. She sounds like a smart lady.”
“She is.”
Mrs. Thomas dug into her food, which allowed Jessica to do the same. After a few minutes, Mrs. Thomas jumped back in. “I hope you will excuse me if I’m wrong, but is your reluctance to accept help on this last hurdle possibly a delaying tactic?” She hitched a thin brow at Jessica. “Because I know you, and I know you don’t like the spotlight, and the daughter of the big man himself opening a bakery would be sure to attract media attention, and then suddenly the success of your business is also tied into a large swath of the population’s religious beliefs.”
Jessica chuckled under her breath. Of course Mrs. Thomas would get at the root of the issue. Despite their time without speaking, Mrs. Thomas seemed to understand Jessica better than almost anyone else. Sometimes even better than she understood herself.
“Maybe,” she said sheepishly. Then, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“I propose that risking your reputation is enough of a buy-in to this project to ensure you work your ass off on it. There’s a lot at stake already without you having to invest your own money.”
Ugh. I hate how right she is.
“Agreed.”
“So what about this, Jessica? You tell me how much more you need, I write you a check, and you pay me back as the bakery makes money and you feel like you have wiggle room. It’s not a gift, it’s just an interest-free loan. Does that sound like a deal you might take?”
Jessica leaned back in the booth, folding her arms across her chest, and staring up at the ceiling to consider it.
On the one hand, she would be taking on debt that she wasn’t certain she could repay. That would be stressful for sure. She would feel terrible if she left someone she cared about high and dry because of her inability to keep a small business open in the best possible market for said small business. It was the same basic fear she’d had going into her application at the credit union, except with a more poignant personal shame at stake.
On the other hand, Mrs. Thomas probably understood the risk. The woman was smarter than Jessica by a long shot. And she probably also understood Jessica’s fear of being unable to repay on time since she was smarter about Jessica than Jessica was—also by a long shot.
Taking the deal would mean opening the bakery. When? In a few months? In a few weeks? Everything was lined up except that stupid forty-four grand. If she worked at Bat-Ass Brew to earn the rest, her fear and self-doubt would be there once she had the money, it would just be further in the future.
Then a new thought occurred to her. It felt fresh and invigorating, like a drink of cool water after running circles in the sun for hours.
Mrs. Thomas didn’t have to offer, but she did. Maybe I should believe her when she says she wants to help. Maybe Jesus was right. Maybe letting her help me is the mark of a good friend and refusing help makes me selfish, not self-sufficient.
Ugh. Stupid Jesus.
She opened her eyes. “Thirty-five grand.”
Mrs. Thomas tilted her head forward. “That’s it? You only need thirty-five thousand dollars?”
“Well, I was shooting for forty-four, but I can find some way to earn nine thousand for myself.”
Mrs. Thomas held up a hand. “Stop. Stop getting in your own way, Jessica. While education may not be the most lucrative career, let us not forget I’m married to a congressman. We’re doing okay for ourselves, is what I’m saying, and we made it clear to Sandra that she has to pay her way through college, so with her out of the house and Fischer too unfocused and rebellious to particulate in any extracurriculars, we’re feeling a bit flush.” She reached in her large purse and pulled out a checkbook and a pen.
Jessica was almost too stunned to be happy. “That’s … um, thanks. You really don’t have to if—”
“Stop it.” Mrs. Thomas’s sharp tone was one Jessica had witnessed a handful of times but one of which she’d never been on the receiving end. It shut her up immediately.
“Okay,” she said meekly.
As Mrs. Thomas wrote ou
t the check, Jessica sucked air into her lungs for the first time since she woke up that morning, resigned to working at Bat-Ass Brew alongside everybody’s favorite pervert barista, Rebel.
She was doing it. She was actually going to be able to open the bakery. “I’ll pay you back right away, I promise.”
Mrs. Thomas laughed patiently. “I know you will, Jessica. I wouldn’t offer this to someone I didn’t believe in.”
“No, but seriously. I want you to hold me accountable for it. Don’t say it’s a loan and then never expect it back. Hold my feet to the fire on this, or I’ll feel guilty forever if I forget and miss a payment.”
Mrs. Thomas rolled her eyes as she signed the check. “Fine. Would it make you feel better if we wrote up a quick contract?”
“Yes! Yes, let’s do that. I don’t have a lawyer, but I know someone who’s dating a couple of them, and—oh! My friend Kate’s uncle is one, too.”
She stopped jabbering when it was clear by Mrs. Thomas’s slight grimace that she was going overboard.
Mrs. Thomas cleared her throat gently. “If you want to get lawyers involved, we can. Or we can just keep it simple. I’ve done this sort of thing quite a bit, so I know how to jot down a simple and binding contract.” She held up her hands. “Totally up to you, though.”
“No, no,” Jessica said. “It’s fine. I just got ahead of myself. If you’re okay with this, so am I. As long as it means you’ll hold me to it.”
Mrs. Thomas reached in her purse, pulled out a legal pad, flipped to a fresh page, and began scribbling out the contract. Trying not to hover, Jessica looked around the taco bar. The blond was still there, but this time he waved to her. Shit. Where did she know him from? It was at the tip of her tongue.
When he motioned with a crooked finger for her to go to him, she cringed and looked away. The cops weren’t kidding about everyone in this town being a psychopath.
“There,” Mrs. Thomas said. “This says that I’ll give you forty-four thousand dollars to do with as you will, and you’ll pay me back the forty-four thousand dollars in payments of five hundred a month once your profit from the bakery exceeds ten thousand a month for three months in a row. That way you’ll still have plenty to live on and the payments won’t be a burden.”
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