A Killer Cup of Joe Page 4

  Running downstairs instead of waiting for the elevator, she pulled up the list of hobbies Agent Peters had sent for each of the victims. They were varied, but on the list were two words Ellie didn’t immediately recognize, so she pulled up a search engine to see if her hunch was correct. There was no way to stop the grin that overtook her face when she noticed that even though victim one preferred Ashtanga and the other specialized in Kundalini, Ellie now realized they were both students of yoga.

  Itching to share her new found discovery, she opened an e-mail and started to type. Find out where they practiced yoga. Hopefully, even if they had different teachers or classmates, there will be some sort of connection. Feeling the note was a bit impersonal, she added one more sentence. I’ll bet you didn’t realize I knew about different types of yoga, did you?

  She hit send before she could change her mind, but wondered if Peters knew all about them and that was why he'd used the most specific name instead of just saying they both took a yoga class. It was strange to know so little about this man who she probably spent more time in professional dialogue with than any other single person at the Bureau. Of course, that was true only if e-mail was considered dialogue. If verbal banter was the only thing that counted, then the blonde from the cafeteria might qualify, too. Despite how upbeat she was to have gotten a breakthrough on the file from Peters, she suddenly felt as though she were missing something important.

  Banging her fist on her desk in a true sign of frustration, she decided that sitting in the basement feeling sorry for herself wouldn’t solve anything. But if she worked hard and finished the cases that had magically appeared in her box since she’d left for lunch, then maybe she could use that as an excuse to treat herself to a cup of freshly-brewed coffee on the way home.

  She couldn’t do anything about the case for Agent Peters until he did a little legwork. But she could work on her track record of reaching out to other people. The last thing she would do was prove her mother was right in calling her a virtual recluse. There was a man who was not only willing to talk to her, but already knew enough about her life from his cousin that she didn’t have to worry about the awkward part, where she introduced herself and described her job.

  Even if her attempt at striking up a conversation with Joe completely failed, she could guarantee that she’d leave with a great steaming cup of coffee. With that kind of consolation prize, there was nothing to lose.

  Chapter Three

  As Ellie walked toward the door of Mocha Joe’s, she had to concentrate on not allowing her mind to talk her out of going through with her crazy plan. How hard could it be to go up to the counter, ask if Joe was available, and then stick out her hand and introduce herself? People did this kind of thing all the time, but the whole idea of it felt awkward and forced, which was something she typically shied away from.

  The small bell on the door jingled when she pulled it open. It was later in the day, so there were only a few patrons, crouched over their laptops, sponging off the free Wi-Fi. Ellie walked toward the counter, trying to repeat the morning mantra that she represented the federal government and couldn’t make a scene to keep herself from backing out and leaving.

  A young girl with hair so black that it nearly appeared blue, and a few extra piercings in places Ellie didn’t understand the need to accessorize looked her in the eye and asked, “What would you like?”

  Ellie blurted out her usual order and attempted to hold back a cringe at the fact she’d panicked instead of saying why she was really here. “Large coffee to go, with half a sugar and a full cream.”

  Of course, it wasn’t easy to tell someone who was attempting to combine Goth fashion with coffee house professionalism that you were just there as a pathetic attempt to prove your mother wrong and see if you could get a date with the guy who owned the establishment.

  Just as the fingers tipped with black fingernail polish released her cardboard cup, a male voice sounded beside her. “You can’t honestly tell me that after a long day at the FBI, the only thing you want to drink is a plain coffee.”

  Ellie spun around to look into the kindest blue eyes she’d ever seen. A man in a pair of well-fitted jeans paired with a long-sleeved blue and white-striped shirt stood in front of her with a smile. His head was virtually hairless, but a quick glance showed that was because he chose to keep it cut tight, not because he had no hair at all. The hairline looked a bit thin at the front, but even with that, it was clear he'd chosen this style, not that it was forced on him. Of course, with the slight bit of forearm that was visible with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up only halfway to the elbow, there was enough muscle definition that Ellie doubted he was ever forced to do anything.

  Since her mind had been distracted drinking in the sight of the man in front of her, she hadn’t noticed the growing period of silence without her responding. Apparently, the man was kind-hearted, too, because he took pity on her, held his right hand out as an invitation to shake hers, and said, “I suppose I do have you at a bit of a disadvantage. I’m Joe, Garrett’s cousin.”

  The use of Phillips’s first name snapped her out of the silence she’d been in, and she quickly put her hand in Joe’s and replied, “I’m Ellie. It’s nice to officially meet you. Phillips has told me a lot about you.”

  Without releasing her hand, Joe’s smile grew even larger, proving his amusement at her comment. “May I ask why you don’t call my cousin by his first name?”

  Before responding, she looked down at their clasped hands, trying to remember if it was normal for people who'd just met to hold an entire conversation like this. “We work together.”

  A single eyebrow moved up on his face, an expression she’d seen many times on his cousin’s face. He was challenging her statement, as though that were the only reason she never used Phillips’s first name.

  “I hear all the women he brings home with him on the weekends come out in the hallway, cooing his first name, as though the familiarity of it would guarantee them a second invitation to his apartment. After hearing it used like that, I can’t use it.” It was a confession she’d never shared with anyone else; the thought of appearing like one of the mindless bimbos she’d seen leaving the hall outside her door made her shiver.

  Joe squeezed her hand softly before letting it go and waving away the girl watching them from behind the counter. Either she was intent on getting the two bucks for the drink to keep her drawer in balance, or she’d never seen her boss interact with a customer before. No matter the reason, Ellie was glad when she walked away.

  “Do you have time to stay and talk, or do you have somewhere you need to be?” He asked, giving her a legitimate reason to leave.

  It was tempting to take him up on it, but she remembered that the reason she’d embarked on this detour from her routine in the first place was so she could have a real conversation with someone she wasn’t related to outside of work, and leaving now would be the coward’s way out. Ellie might be many things but the thought of wearing a label of coward was more than her ego could handle. She glanced at her watch and noticed it was five thirty before looking Joe in the eye and assuring him, “I’m free, but I don’t want to take you away from what you need to do here.”

  He looked around the shop, which still hosted the same six customers, all engrossed in whatever their laptops held, before letting his gaze linger on Ellie for a moment. “I’m pretty sure the masses out here can survive without me for a while.”

  Then he smiled at his attempt at a joke and held out his hand, gesturing to a room off the seating area. Ellie walked beside him and marveled at how Joe seemed to have the same comfort in his own skin that Phillips did. She wondered if he, too, held that same “live each day to the fullest” creed.

  When she walked into the office, she was surprised to see not only the usual desk, computer, and mountain of paper that she'd expected, but to the side of that were two love seats with a coffee table between them. Against the back wall was a metal monstrosity that Ellie assum
ed was meant to make coffee, but it held enough buttons and knobs that it was equally as likely to launch a high-tech missile, for all she knew.

  Once they were both inside, he pushed the door slightly in order to have some privacy, but he didn’t close it completely. That helped Ellie to relax, as the thought of being shut in here with a virtual stranger would have made her instinct to get out go into overdrive.

  “Now...” He spoke kindly, as though he was aware she was battling with some internal reflex to leave and he didn’t want to spook her. “If you are truly happy with just a cup of coffee, then feel free to drink what you have. But if you’ll allow me, I’d love to make you something else to try.” With that, he pointed to the machine behind him and waited.

  Ellie glanced at the cup, and while she was usually opposed to waste, the truth was, she ordered coffee because she loved it, and she wasn’t certain if she would like anything else. This would give her the chance to try something different and know for sure. She wasn’t sure if it was the gentle way he'd asked or the fact that she could rarely turn down the chance to gain more knowledge, but she set her coffee down on the table in front of her and gestured to the machine to indicate she was willing to take him up on his offer.

  As the machine came to life, he pulled out a large white mug, big enough it could hold a serving of soup in most restaurants. He used a crisp white towel to wipe it out, and then set it under a spout, which began spurting a dark-colored beverage, as though it had been waiting for the appearance of the cup before daring to work.

  It was amazing to watch him move, completely at ease, not doing much in the way of flourish, but his every motion held her attention with its efficiency and the appearance of haphazard creation.

  She assumed he’d hand it to her after he topped the cup with froth. Instead, he looked over at her and narrowed his eyes, as though waiting for some clue to appear. After a brief pause, he selected a small round bottle and popped off the lid to shake a mystery powder on top of the beverage. Finally, he took a wooden stick, dipped it in something thick and brown, and ran it through the top of the foam, creating a pattern. Satisfied with the finished product, he lifted the mug and brought it over to set it in front of her on the rectangular table.

  “Try that. If you don’t like it, I’ll make you something else,” he promised before taking a step back to watch her reaction.

  “I’m sure it will be fine,” she quickly assured him, hating the idea of him going through all that effort again just to produce a beverage she might only sample.

  “No, that’s not how this works,” he corrected her, taking a seat on the bench across from Ellie. “I don’t want you to work your way through a drink just because I made it. I want the satisfaction of knowing I produced something you truly enjoyed. If this one didn’t do the trick, then I want the chance to try to figure out what will.”

  She had no explanation for why her mouth opened at that moment and she blurted out, “You like solving the mystery of what people will like.”

  The smile that came over his face at her comment transformed him from serious businessman to a much younger man, obviously thrilled that she was relaxing enough to softly tease him. “You aren’t the only one who enjoys a mystery. So don’t take away my chance to figure this one out. That would be like me pulling out a single page from one of your case files.”

  His comparison was a good one because she instantly identified with what he meant. She’d dropped a case file in her office once and watched as the papers scattered everywhere. After picking it all up and attempting to put them into some semblance of order, she'd pored over the file for four hours, irritated that it seemed like something major was missing, but unable to put her finger on what it was. It wasn’t until she'd decided to give up for the day that she'd gone back behind her desk and had seen a single page lying near her chair. It had somehow slipped there when the file fell, and she hadn’t seen it before that moment. The second her eyes had looked at it, all the pieces had fallen into place and she'd figured out what was needed to break the case open. His reminder of that experience firmed her resolve to be honest.

  Taking a sample taste, she realized the drink had a slight hint of chocolate, which, when mixed with the foam, made it seem like he’d topped her obviously supercharged coffee with chocolate milk. It was good, but for her taste, she preferred chocolate to be bitter and dark instead of light and sweet. Her second swallow brought out more of the hot drink from under the foam, and that drink was absolutely delicious.

  “That face... The one right there,” he interrupted her thoughts to point out. “What put that expression on your face?”

  “I like the coffee underneath. It’s much better than the usual fare I get when I come here.”

  “It’s an espresso, made from beans I roasted myself,” he informed her, somehow managing to share the detail that he took great pride in what he did without it coming across as boastful. “Now, what is it that you don’t like?”

  She explained her preference in chocolate, and he grimaced. This gave her the chance to question his expression.

  “I stood there trying to figure if you were more of a milk or dark chocolate person. My gut said dark, but I was taught that it is easier to start someone off with the sweeter taste of milk chocolate, so that’s what I did,” he confessed.

  “You should have gone with your gut,” she advised him, repeating the closest thing she had for a motto at work. Often, there weren’t exactly scientific reasons for making the suggestions she did. Her gut just told her something was there, and she passed that along. Thankfully, her instincts paid off most of the time, so she was rarely questioned about why she made certain suggestions anymore.

  Joe jumped up, took the mug out of her hands, and set it on the small white counter before repeating the process a second time, using different canisters. This time when he produced her drink, he winked at her and warned, “Be careful. If you like it, the temptation is to guzzle it down, but you shouldn’t do that with a drink like this.”

  “Why not?” Ellie asked, more curious about learning what he meant by the cryptic remarks than nervous about why he'd winked in her direction.

  “A drink like this should be savored and sipped slowly so the foam can melt into the espresso beneath it, giving you a creamy mocha cappuccino by the end.” He paused for a second and then added, “Plus, if you drink it too fast, the amount of caffeine in it might make you jittery. You need to go slower to allow your body to adjust to the jolt.”

  She might not be bound to science, but she could still appreciate an answer like that, so she took a small sip at first to taste it and smiled as the flavor hit her tongue.

  “My work here is done,” Joe congratulated himself.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever look at coffee the same way again,” Ellie replied, smiling at him over the top of her cream-topped mug.

  “Sure you will. You can’t order something like that in the morning, because you’re too focused on work or some detail of life. This is an after-dinner drink or a long conversation with a good friend kind of thing.”

  “I haven’t had dinner,” Ellie pointed out.

  “Good,” Joe responded, not put off at all by her comment. “Because I’d love to see you enjoy it all, which will give us plenty of time to talk so we can become good friends.”

  Realizing she’d stepped right into that, she didn’t bother to argue that it took a lot more than a cup of coffee, no matter how good it might be, to become friends. Instead, she took another swallow and realized it was getting better with each taste.

  Slowly, Joe began to ask her questions about her family, her job, and her life. They found that they shared a few interests, which helped her relax a little more, and by the time she'd finished the massive mug, she looked at her watch again and saw that it was nearly seven. Unable to believe she’d been talking to someone that long, she set the mug down and suddenly felt awkward about how to extract herself from the office without seeming rude for coming ju
st for the coffee and then leaving.

  Joe solved that mystery for her, “I don’t know why you came in tonight, but I have to say that you made my whole day.”

  She paused and felt her head tilt to the side, like a puppy who was trying to make sense out of what their master was saying. “I’m not sure why I came in, either. My routine didn’t feel right, and even though I wasn’t exactly certain what I was looking for, I still think I found it.”

  “I’m glad,” he told her. “And I hope the next time you need a break from your routine, it’s on a Monday, Thursday, or Saturday night.”

  “Why those days?”

  He grinned again. “Those are the evenings I work late.”

  They shook hands, with Joe covering her smaller hand between both of his and holding her there slightly longer. “I knew from all Garrett told me about you over the last year that you would be a fascinating woman to get to know.”

  Her forehead furrowed at the idea of Phillips discussing her with anyone. They were just neighbors who happened to work in the same building and share the occasional meal. Why she would be a part of a conversation with his cousin was a mystery. Instead of asking, she decided to let that one go, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.

  “Thank you for a pleasant evening,” she finally said, pulling her hand easily from Joe’s and turning to walk into the shop, which was now much busier.

  It felt strange to think that while they had been insulated in their own little world, just beyond the wall, all kinds of activity had been going on, with people rushing in and out. The brief glance she got at the clientele was enough to make her think it might be fascinating to sit out there in one of the overstuffed arm chairs and just watch the people as they came and went.