© 2025 J. J. Hanna
The following is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
The operation with Amanda had pulled back the curtain on some of the layers of this case, but there were still too many moving parts for me to feel confident in making any moves just yet. After all, we had crimes and we had suspects but we had nothing to connect them together.
On the bright side, it was now part of my job to go get coffee. We knew Amanda’s regulars were part of this, we just couldn’t nail down exactly how. My morning routine now consisted of going through the drive through and then sitting in a parking lot across the street to watch the cars that went through until I could recognize them and place them with Amanda’s notes. I pulled up to the speaker box to start this steakout off the right way—with coffee.
“Good morning. My name is Amanda. What’s your name?”
“Good morning, Amanda,” I said.
She hesitated. That wasn’t a good sign. “Good morning, Lucielle. Are you doing your usual today?”
“Yes I am,” I said.
“I’ll see you down here at the window.”
Interactions like this were always risky. If she let on anything to her coworkers, this could be a problem. But when I got up to the window, she greeted me with a smile.
“You guys changed your greeting,” I noted.
“New company standard,” she said with a shrug. “We’re also writing on every cup now.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked.
“Know any good jokes I should put on the next cup?” she asked.
I chuckled. “I wish, but I’m drawing a blank.”
She handed my large white chocolate mocha out to me. Her hand shook slightly as she did. “Have a good day, Amanda,” I said, trying to smile as warmly as I could.
“You too, Lucielle,” she said. Then she moved on to take the next order as I pulled around. I parked across the street, laughing to myself. I should have told her to write something generic like “Lattes make the world go round.” Then I looked at my cup to see what she wrote on mine, and my spirits dropped. There, in bold Sharpie, were two simple words. Call me. And then her phone number.
That couldn’t possibly be what the company meant by write on every cup. What had happened since her “sick day”? I tapped my finger against the cup as I debated. Additional contact could put a target on her. But if she was reaching out for help, she needed it. People didn’t usually make contact again after visiting a black site as suddenly as she’d been brought in. I’d call her after her shift ended. I was going to be here all day anyway, so I’d know when she left. In the meantime, I settled in to watch the cars go by and to learn what I needed to learn.
I set my mocha to the side and set up the parabolic mic aimed at the drive through line and then waited with my notebook.
Olivia came through next. I recognized her voice before she said her name, despite Amanda recognizing her. She paused at the window. “Amanda! You’re feeling better?”
There was an obvious smile in Amanda’s response. “Yes, Olivia. I am.”
“Good. I’m glad to have you back.”
“Glad to be back.”
Olivia sat quietly in her car for the entire line.
Adam never came through that day. Or if he had, he’d gotten there before I had. Maybe I was going to need to start arriving when the store opened if I was going to catch him.
It did not take long for me to identify George. Amanda was right. He came by three times, he always ordered his traditional latte, and he had some of the most interesting conversations I heard that day. He drove a boxy, black Chevy SUV and he was often on the phone with a man named Axel when he went through the line. From the sound of the first call, they worked in a maintenance company with very particular clients. His phone was never on speaker, so I never caught Axel’s side of the conversation, but George was asking about whether the squeaky wheel had been fixed and asking for updates on various jobs. Both of which were common code words for other criminal activities.
At four pm, after I’d seen George drive through twice, I saw Amanda go out to her car with a drink in hand. She sat in the parking lot for a moment before she finally left. I waited a reasonable amount of time before dialing the number on my cup.
“Hello?” She answered hesitantly.
“What’s going on, Amanda?”
“Oh thank God,” she said.
“Amanda?”
“I need you to come to my apartment. I didn’t know who else to talk to.”
“What happened?”
“Just come, please,” she said.
I sighed. It would mean leaving my steakout. But she sounded very rattled. “Give me thirty minutes,” I said.
“Okay,” she said.
“This breaks all sorts of protocol.”
“It will be worth it.”
I hung up. Worth it. What did she know? I called someone to take over for me, since I needed a break anyway, and then made the short drive to her apartment. She greeted me at the door. I looked around. Her place was neat, but what surprised me was the amount of plastic she’d placed everywhere. When I got there she handed me two grocery bags. “These are for your shoes.”
“Amanda, what is going on?”
“After… After my sick day there was a man waiting for me here. In my apartment.”
I stared at her. “What are the bags for?”
“I’ve done my best to maintain my apartment like a crime scene but I don’t know what’s important so I’ve been wearing bags over my shoes whenever I’m home, and I haven’t vacuumed.”
There was a sandwich bag on the inside doorknob as well. I looked around. Most of her apartment was exactly as expected, except for the random baggies. “You don’t need to wear plastic over your shoes,” I said as I stepped in and carefully closed the door with my elbow. “And any fingerprints on the door handle are gone already if you’ve touched the handle over the plastic. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Walk me through what happened.”
Amanda nodded and took a deep breath. “When I got home, I came up here and went to get a drink of water before I tried to relax for the night. And a man was sitting at my table, waiting in the dark.”
I waited for her to go on.
“The delivery driver you showed me earlier that day,” she continued, waiting for me to catch up.
“Did he hurt you?”
She shook her head. “No. But he did actively stop me from opening any windows or going outside.”
“What did he want?”
“He asked me where I’d been and he knew I wasn’t sick.”
“Did you tell him?”
“What choice did I have? He was in my house!”
“Did you call the police?”
“No. What was I supposed to say to them when they asked the questions you’re asking? I just tried to not touch anything and then I got your attention.”
I nodded as my mind worked through it all. “What did he ask?”
“He wanted to know what you asked, and which of my regulars you’d focused on, and then he just… left.”
My mind was racing as I looked around her house.
“I kept his glass,” she said. “I don’t know if it will help but—”
I held a finger to my lips to cut her off. “I doubt we’ll be able to get any evidence off of it, but we can try,” I said. She looked dejected but I pulled my phone out of my pocket and typed in the notes app. Bring it to me. Quietly. Your place may be bugged.
She read my screen, swallowed, and then went to the fridge and carefully picked up the bag.
“Thanks,” I said as I took it. I held it up to the light and smiled. Fingerprints were gone off the door handle, but they were not gone off the glass. “You did the right thing,” I said. “I’m not sure if I can help, but I’ll see what I can do.” I gestured for her to follow me out into the breezeway and then went a few doors down.
“You haven’t touched anything in your house?” I clarified.
“No, I didn’t even sleep there last night. I went to my friend’s house. I was too shaken up.”
“Did you tell your friend anything?”
She shook her head.
“Okay. I’m going to call a team. We’re going to sweep your house and then we’re going to treat it like a crime scene just in case there’s anything we can get from it. Do you think you could identify him if you saw him again?”
“Definitely. He wasn’t wearing a mask or anything. He seemed pretty alright with me seeing his face.”
That’s not usually a good sign. “Could you describe him to a sketch artist?”
“Probably. I made some notes in my phone.”
These are hackers, if they thought of that your notes may not be worth much. But this is the first clue we’ve had in a while. “Can you go stay with your friend until we wrap this up?”
“I can probably stay for a day or two before she gets curious about why I’m not at my house.”
“Would you feel more comfortable if I set you up in a safe house?”
“Would I still be going to work, and such? I really need as much normal as I can get.”
“That shouldn’t be an issue,” I said. She didn’t need to know we were already watching her work and her interactions with her customers.
“Thank you,” Amanda said quietly.
“I don’t know if anything will come of it, but we’ll do what we can. Normally the right call would be to the police. I’m going to get this to the lab,” I held up the glass, “But you can come with me and we’ll get you set up in a safe house.”
Amanda nodded and followed me to my car, getting into the back seat for the second day in a row. I brought her to the safehouse first. “General rules—don’t go outside more than you have to. Take a taxi to and from work. Not an Uber. Pay in cash. I’ll get you whatever supplies you need, but there are some supplies already here. Don’t have anyone over. No friends, no boyfriend. Otherwise, go about your life like you usually would. This place is watched by people on my team and we sweep for bugs routinely. If you need anything, now you have my number.”
I left Amanda to get settled and then headed to the base to get people working on her apartment and to talk to my supervisor. He hadn’t believed me that she was connected to all of it somehow. I hoped he’d believe me now.
This story, segments of this story, and ideas from this story are not to be duplicated or replicated in anyway. This content belongs to J. J. Hanna alone.
Please note: This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real life events is unintended by the author.
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J. J. Hanna is a writer and reader from Colorado. She loves suspense stories above all else, and is currently working on a debut novel. When she’s not writing, you can find her making YouTube videos and Online Courses about the publishing industry. Go find her on social media @authorjjhanna and @jjhannaacademy to keep track of her most recent reads, current adventures, and to get the most up-to-date news on all things publishing. She also runs a freelance marketing business to help authors achieve their own goals. Learn more or hire her at Hanna Book Solutions.
J. J. Hanna, Author 