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handler, Agent Daria Blithe, she knows the old case inside out, if not better than I do.
    “She still is,” he answers curtly. “You lived the case, it was a part of you for over a year. No one can provide details better than you could, or anticipate A.Z.’s moves…”
    I nod.
    Hunter taps his cigar to a deserted coffee cup. “Don’t even think about doing any private investigation.” His eyes lift to mine. “Don’t you dare pull anything crazy that will force me to put you under arrest.” Another smoke puff hazes his face. “Because I will. I want him no less than you do. Ben was under my command. Losing an agent is like losing a son.”
    My eyes sting and that burning feeling in my chest each time Ben is mentioned shows its painful signs. I take a deep breath. “I’ll be at your service whenever you’ll need me.”
    Hunter gives me a soft blink while Jake clears his throat.
    “Reeves, I think that for the time being, till Hunter needs your assistance, you might want to go on a job. A simple one.” They both regard me, each with his own evaluating stare.
    “I’ll see, let me think about it,” I answer, leaving no room for further discussion. “If that would be all.” Not more than a short goodbye later I close the door behind me.

Chapter 8
    Nia
     
    I stop by the little coffee shop around the corner from the studio. It’s barely ten a.m. and I’m already dead tired. It’s not that I usually enjoy a good night’s sleep; I’m used to being woken up from time to time, shaking, crying, sweating, all the lovely perks that follow nightmares. But last night had a new kick to it. My mind was spinning. It would be upsetting on so many levels to lose my new job. Obviously the money is an important factor, but also the sense of tranquility, the ability to let go for just a short period of time, is something I can’t easily dismiss. Being able to put smiles on little girls’ faces helps somehow make my self-contempt weaken, sometimes even vanish for a few rare moments.
    “Good morning,” a young barista with about a pound of metal donning her face, welcomes me. We both stifle our yawns.
    “Double Espresso and a Skinny Cinnamon Dolce Latte to go, please.” I flip through a magazine as I wait for my coffee. I down the Espresso as if it were a cure for a fatal disease, and grab the tall paper cup before heading to meet Mrs. Perry to be given my sentence.
    I gulp the last of the drink, discard of the cup in a nearby trashcan, and push open the door below the elegant soft pink “Tutu” sign in cursive letters. As I’ve expected, Mrs. Perry is by her desk. Gold, wire rim glasses rest mid-nose, her head slightly inclined toward her screen. I open the glass door to her clean-cut, elegance oozing office, prompting her to raise her eyes at the interruption. She straightens back in her chair and signals for me to take a seat with a gentle wave of her hand.
    “Good morning,” I say quietly as I take my seat, trying to breathe free the knot in my stomach. She runs a subtle gaze over me.
    “Good morning, Miss Mitchell.” She pinches the temple of her delicate glasses with two fingers, removes them and sets them to the table. Her powder blue eyes return my wary stare. “Do you have any idea why I’ve asked you to come here this morning?”
    The knot twists tighter. I decide to go with honesty. She doesn’t seem like someone who could be fooled easily.
    “Um, frankly, no. I could only assume it has to do with yesterday’s class.” She watches me quietly. “I sure hope it’s not one of the worse scenarios I’ve envisioned in the last twenty four hours,” I say, not doing such a good job in covering the depressed undertone. Her blue eyes crinkle at the sides. She’s smiling?
    “Yesterday’s class was quite interesting, especially the end,” she begins, and I realize I’ve been choking my bag’s strap with my grip for the last few moments. “Some of the parents were very pleased with it.” Her lips