I smile at that. From both my interactions with her, I’ve determined she uses sarcasm in place of sentiment. Sentiment is difficult to simulate. It’s much easier to be perceived as sarcastic. It’s a good coversheet for her psychopathy.

“I’m journaling.” I look her over. She’s wearing her hair tucked into a black knit cap. Dark-denim jeans with a slim gray thermal. A camera bag is slung over one shoulder. “Are you here to spy?”

She tilts her head. “What gave it away?” I laugh as she takes up the seat on the bench beside me and unzips the leather case. “Ericson comes here every Monday to meet with one of his bigwig clients.”

As she adjusts the camera lens, I say, “It’s a little strange meeting your financial advisor in a park, isn’t it?”

She brings the camera up to her eye and pans the area. “This client is a bit eccentric. And paranoid.” She halts her scan. “There you are.”

Rapid-fire picture snaps sound out before she lowers the camera. “What do you journal?”

She’s still trying to figure me out, whether she can trust me…as much as she’s capable. “Application code. New ideas. Problem solving.” I lift my shoulders in a partial shrug. “Whatever thought I have that I don’t want to forget.” I prop my elbows on my knees, getting closer to her. “Are you going to tell me what Ericson did to get put on your list?”

Gaze steadily tracking a man in a black blazer, she says, “Cheated on his wife.”

I huff a derisive laugh, and she glances at me with a craned eyebrow. “Sorry,” I say. “I just thought it would be something a little more…”

“A little more dire?” she asks, her tone caustic. “Because a cheater isn’t that bad?”

“Fair enough.” I turn my gaze out toward the winding trail. The man in the blazer approaches another man. From this viewpoint, I can just make out that it’s likely Ericson.

“Get your program ready,” Blakely says, nodding toward Ericson and his acquaintance. “We need access to Ericson’s phone. Can you grab his metadata from this distance?”

I take out my phone and start the scan. “I guess let’s find out.”

While the program does the hard work, I study her profile. Blakely is soft in this light, an illusion.

I blink and refocus my thoughts. I made a mental note earlier that she appears to be right-handed. This is important. I need to confirm this, as it has bearing on the project.

“What does Mrs. Ericson have in mind for her cheating husband?” I ask.

Blakely snaps another round of pictures then, using her right hand, sets her camera inside the case. “If she knew that, she wouldn’t need me.” She stands. “Come on.”