Chapter Eight
Six Months Ago
Isla slid into the back corner table of Rey’s semibustling shop, It’s Just Coffee, Okay?
! The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and sound from the whirring milk frother filled the air.
Rey was behind the counter with two of his employees, concentrating intently on the foam art he was applying to a latte.
His dark, curly hair was slightly disheveled, and a curl fell onto his forehead when he looked up briefly to grin at Isla before resuming his duties.
He finished with a flourish, sliding the mug across the countertop to a customer and smiling brightly when another satisfied patron squealed her glee at his artistry.
Outside, the beach was brimming with its usual constructive chaos—patrons at the muscle gym lifting and bench-pressing in the open air, skateboarders and in-line skaters weaving precariously though clusters of tourists and locals meandering along the walk, street performers drawing curious and awestruck crowds, and the line of merchants, temporary or stationary, hawking their brightly colored wares.
Whenever she visited, Isla was begrudgingly impressed at how Rey managed to juggle providing contracted security analysis for his clients, working with her and Natalie on their “discovery” side gig, and managing his coffee shop.
When they asked why coffee when it barely brought in money and he never advertised, he’d laugh and say, “If people wander into my shop, then it’s fate. Plus, I own the whole building, and it’s not about making money. Some people like making pottery or surfing. I like coffee.”
Today was different. She glared at the coffee scene before her, wondering how Rey was standing there happily plying customers with caffeine addictions like a drug dealer when they had just screwed up royally with this whole Leonard situation.
Natalie Wang, the final member of their trio, strolled into the café, the bell dinging her arrival.
Rey and Isla zeroed in on Nat, and the three of them had silent communion.
Nat had just finished up an improv session and was still radiating from that high as she casually made her way through the café to the back.
Isla picked up her belongings, and the frappé forced upon her, and followed her friend, and Rey finished up and gave last instructions to his staff before joining the ladies on the back stairs leading up to where the real action took place.
As they ascended the stairs in the back of the store to a door marked Management Only, the ambience shifted from cozy café to high-tech command center, which was exactly what it was, where they did all their major work.
No one but them was allowed up there, and even Isla and Nat didn’t go there unless Rey knew first. The loft was a sprawling room filled with computer screens, servers, and an array of advanced tech equipment.
The walls were lined with monitors displaying streams of data, surveillance footage, and complex algorithms Isla didn’t bother trying to decipher. It reminded her of The Matrix.
During their senior year, when Rey first allowed Nat and Isla to enter his domain, Nat had asked how he afforded all this, and his response was “Let’s just say I’ve done well in tech investments and a few other ventures.
This first-gen son of Venezuelan immigrants knows how to work and make his money multiply! ”
As a first-gen Chinese and Ghanaian, respectively, Nat and Isla understood fully.
They took their usual spots, Rey behind his nearly complete circle of side-by-side computer screens along with one massive gaming computer screen, sometimes used for its original purpose, most of the time for cracking secrets and codes.
Isla dropped onto the couch opposite Rey’s workstation, a small table separating them, while Nat slid elegantly onto the opposite side of the couch.
Setting her hobo bag next to her sandaled feet, Nat asked, “God, who died?”
Nat had a penchant for being spot on yet so blessedly oblivious of situations sometimes that Isla found it endearing. She almost wished they wouldn’t have to burst Nat’s innocence.
Isla didn’t answer, allowing Rey to have the honors.
She wasn’t surprised that Nat didn’t know what had been splashed all over the news the entire day.
When Nat was in improv, she was fully devoted to her craft, which worked perfectly when they needed up-close information gathering.
She just considered those moments practice for the breakout role she knew was coming.
Isla hoped that happened for her. Nat deserved to be on billboards and accepting awards in a dazzling dress.
Then maybe Isla could be her plus-one and be a real guest instead of hanging around as backup while Nat played whatever roles to get the intel they needed.
“We’ve got a situation,” Rey replied.
Nat pursed her lips, waiting for him to continue. When the drama king did not, she finally said, “Explain like I’m five.” Isla sighed, waiting for the show to begin.
“Leonard.” Rey’s voice tightened. Gone were the bright smile and pleasant demeanor of an easygoing coffee shop owner. Now they were about the business. “You haven’t seen the news at all today?”
Nat reached for her phone, because when someone said “Haven’t you seen the news?” it meant you should absolutely check out whatever disaster was currently happening.
“Let me spare you the finger strain,” Rey offered.
Around him, the screens were waking up from their slumber and began to illuminate him from all sides, casting him in a bluish-white hue.
The reflections bounced off his thick Marc Jacobs glasses.
“Leonard, the guy whose intel we gave to Crabtree and Elliott PR, offed himself last night.”
“Get the fuck out!” Rey’s announcement didn’t spare Nat’s fingers one bit. It only prompted rapid-fire finger flying across her screen as she keyed in search words and the results popped up. Her mouth dropped open.
Rey pointed a remote at the fifty-inch mounted on the wall across from Nat and Isla, and the screen lit up, showing the same smiling face Isla had seen plastered over the news all day.
“But how? It was just an affair and resignation.”
“An affair and resignation could mean everything to some people,” Isla answered.
“Doesn’t he have, like, a wife and kid?”
Isla nodded, her chest feeling heavy with guilt. They had supplied the proverbial bullets for the gun that killed Matthew Leonard.
“Shit on wheels,” Nat said, done with her phone and leaning over to place it on the table.
Rey rubbed the side of his face distractedly. Isla didn’t like the way he looked, uneasy, as if there was something he knew that they did not.
“What is it?” Isla asked, wondering if she really wanted to know.
Rey let out a huge breath, his expression looking exactly like what Isla was feeling. Like shit. “The information we gave them about him wasn’t complete. It seems.”
Isla’s eyes narrowed. She touched her fingers to her chest because it felt like something had gripped her heart and squeezed.
“What do you mean ‘wasn’t complete’? The affair was real.
The times, locations, all verified by that Stephanie person.
But the other stuff the news is saying—misappropriating funds—is that true? Where did that come from?”
They should have asked for more time to work this. Better yet, they should have said no. Corporate dealings were never clean cut. They all knew this, and yet.
“Could it be a setup?” Nat asked, in the beginning stages of a panic that was amplified by her ability to become highly emotional at the drop of a hat, even when she was being genuine, like she was now. “I knew something was fishy.”
Rey ran his hands through his freshly cut dark hair. Today, his shaved sides had waves cut into them that resembled the Pacific’s waves, which he loved to surf in. Isla preferred land, which was odd, since she, too, had grown up near the beach, except hers was on the Atlantic.
“That’s the thing—it checked out too well, you know?”
Isla didn’t like the crack in his usually calm demeanor. He was the unflappable one of their group. Nat was very flappable—unless she was in character. And Isla was the . . . well, she varied. Maybe the angry one. Maybe the one who had faith in no one. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop.