The outdoor seating for the Starbucks in Brookhaven is a handful of metal mesh tables and chairs and green umbrellas collected on a brick patio that’s partially surrounded by some sort of faux split rail fence, like a corral for coffee drinkers. It’s a bright, sunny day and I sit at a table in sunglasses and ballcap, sipping a venti iced latté and surveilling the shopping center parking lot in which this Starbucks is moored. Two skinny metrosexual dudes are sitting at a table on the far side of the patio, engaged in a hushed but earnest conversation. Otherwise I have the entire patio to myself.

Not for long. A silver Ford Fusion pulls into the parking lot from Peachtree Road and parks in one of the spaces across from me. The driver-side door opens and Agent Scott pops out of the car. Special Agent Rondeau exits more gracefully, says something to Scott, and starts walking toward me. Today her pantsuit is navy blue and she’s wearing a white blouse underneath. Accents her skin and her highlighted brown curls. She looks impassive and all business. She looks sexy. Agent Scott is in a black suit but is wearing the same red tie he had on before. He looks like he sweats in his sleep. Rondeau takes long strides across the lot and Scott hurries after, his feet stabbing the pavement.

I lift my latté. “Special Agent Rondeau. Drinks are on me. You too, Agent Scott.”

“No, thank you,” Rondeau says. She walks around one end of the split rail fence and onto the patio, then stands behind a chair across the table from me. Two full seconds later Agent Scott is beside her.

I shake my plastic cup. “Coffee, Agent Scott?”

“I don’t drink caffeine,” he says, pulling a chair out so its legs squall against the bricks. He drops into the chair, glaring at me. Next to him, Rondeau pulls out her own chair and sits slowly, although I catch her side-eyeing her partner.

Scott cuts to the chase. “What’s this about, Ms. Faulkner?”

“Friendly chat,” I say. “Get to know each other. Share our favorite Tom Hanks movies.”

The scowl on Scott’s face deepens. “I’m not amused.”

“For me it’s a toss-up between Apollo 13 and Big, but I’ve got a lot of honorable mentions.”

“This is a waste of time.” Scott shoves his chair back and stands. The two metrosexual dudes at the other end of the patio glance at us.

“Sit down, Agent Scott,” I say, waving him back down. “I want to talk seriously. Pretty please.”

Scott stares at me. I smile placidly up at him.

Special Agent Rondeau clears her throat. “What do you want to talk seriously about?” she says.

“Tane Kamaka,” I say, still looking up at Agent Scott.

Scott’s scowl twists into an ugly smile and he sits. “So you’re ready to stop playing games.”