Page 12 of Drunk In Love

“What?” she asks, subconsciously swiping around her mouth.

Smooth moves, Scott. You’ve been caught staring at her lips. “Um, nothing. I was just going to say I think we have to go by the last known address that came up during the Accurint search.”

Kamaya switches between tabs on the laptop screen and brings the search database up again.

“Yes, I think you’re right. We just have to hope he’s home and hasn’t moved away from the city. Strange how he doesn’t have any active social media. Just an old Instagram account that has been nearly scrubbed,” Kamaya says.

“At least we were able to find a copy of his former building badge ID. I say we head over to the address. Maybe he’s home and will talk to us,” I say.

Kamaya shrugs. “It’s worth a try. We have zero prospects other than Franco. I’m hoping we find him. That is, if he’s willing to talk to us. He can factor in how City University got involved in all this.”

“Should we head out now?” I ask.

“Yeah, I think we should. Maybe by the time we get back, Zach will have returned from Yale, and he can give us more insight on Franco’s firing.”

I practice schooling my features at the mention of Zach. This could be a long assignment, and, as Brandon’s friend, the man wasn’t going anywhere. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll drive.”

We pulled up in the neighborhood of Franco’s last known address. The neighborhood was calm this time of day. Most people were at work at this hour. There was a woman pushing a stroller towards Riverside Park, a few kids jumping rope on the sidewalk, and some others decorating the steps with chalk.

“This looks like a nice, family-oriented area. Hopefully we’ll be encountering a nice guy who’s willing to talk to us.”

Kamaya was ever the optimist. After speaking with Katie and Jacob today, who knew what we were in for. The search for Cecily van Zandt came back with limited results. According to our sources at TSS, Cecily had a clean record, was known for her Van Zandt Foundation and charitable efforts, and she was a devoted businesswoman.

“I don’t see the building number from here,” I answer instead. We’d been forced to park all the way at the opposite end of the block since the curb was lined with parked cars.

Kamaya consults her phone again. “The building number is 513. Looks like it will be across the street on your side, all the way down the block.”

We exit the SUV and begin walking down the block, past the kids playing. The summer heat is now bearing down on us at this time in the afternoon. The city humidity could be too much at times.

I speak up first before I lose the nerve. Something about being away from the office feels less confining, and I grow bolder. “So, you and Zach… What’s going on with you two?”

Why ask a question I really didn’t want the answer to? I don’t know. Kam’s goofy grin while Zach was texting her on the ride over rubbed me the wrong way and had been on my mind the entire ride uptown.

I wasn’t jealous. Far from it. But I wanted to look out for my friend.

Kamaya put a hand to her chest, mock affronted. “Why, Maxwell, I do believe that is my business and also nunya.”

I laugh at her response. Kam was deflecting. “Seriously, you really feelin’ this man? I know you were acting weird in the elevator last week.”

“I was not,” Kamaya says, unsuccessfully trying to defend her behavior.

I just raise a brow at her.

“Okay, fine. I do find him attractive, okay. I’m too old to base how he feels about me off of a few texts, but if I were doing that, I would say he feels the same.”

She clutches her phone closer to her chest like it’s some kind of lifeline to Zach. Or like she’s trying to hide the screen to keep me from me seeing their conversation.

I shake my head. She’s too far gone for this man, and I get a bad feeling about him, but I don’t have any concrete proof as to why. All I have is what I think I overheard during a one-sided conversation.

I wouldn’t be sorry to blame this whole leak incident on Zach, and then Kamaya could get her head of the clouds about him.

“I think that’s the building there.” She points ahead.

From this distance, it looks like we’re approaching the correct one. Though I’m hoping she’s incorrect because there’s yellow caution tape across the front steps.

“Oh no, what happened here? Why is there tape everywhere?” Kamaya asks.

I move ahead and see a sign posted on the front building door that says City of New York in black, bold letters.