Privilege (Special Tactical Units Division 2)

She was right. Chay knew it. But there had to be someone.

“Think, honey. Isn’t there anyone who stands out? Anyone you might have had a quick run-in with? Somebody who looked at you as if he wanted to do you harm?”

“It’s impossible,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. “I mean, what about the guy who steps on your foot in the subway and glares at you as if it’s your fault? The woman who insists you tried to cut ahead of her at the supermarket checkout? Things like that happen all the time. People behaving strangely, I mean. Even at the little party

they threw for me when I joined East Side Associates…”

“What about it?”

“Nothing worth talking about.”

“Do me a favor and talk about it anyway.”

“But it’s silly. Honestly, it was nothing. Chayton, Don’t look at me that way…Oh, all right. The wife of one of the doctors sort of suggested she didn’t trust me.”

“How?”

“She warned me that her husband would come on to me and I should just ignore him.”

“Nice. What else?”

“One idiot told me that he and his wife had an arrangement—open marriage, he meant—and I ought to give him a call.”

“Bastard,” Chay muttered. “Anything more?”

“Well, the doctor I replaced got drunk and told me I wasn’t up to the job.”

Chay’s eyes narrowed. “Was his name one of the ones Sanchez would have downloaded?”

“Probably not, but—”

“I want his name. In fact, I want to know which doctor is married to the woman who warned you off, and which is married to the piece of shit who invited you to a threesome.”

“Chayton. He did not invite me to—”

“Is there more?”

She thought back to the party.

“No. Everyone else was very nice. There was one sad moment…”

“What was it?”

“Nothing to do with this. It was Marilyn Epstein’s son. A sweet, sad young man. A boy, really. Brilliant, but uncomfortable around people.”

Chay rolled his eyes. “Meaning, he was the only one who didn’t say anything unpleasant to you?”

Bianca laughed. “Talk about reducing things to their basics… Really, it was a lovely party.”

“Except for the assholes.” Chay put down the pencil, picked it up again and rolled it between his fingers. “How about the opposite? Somebody who struck you as extra-nice? You know. Somebody who seemed to take a special interest in you.”

“Nobody I can think of.”

‘What about that barista?”

“What barista?”

“The smooth dude at Cuppa Joe’s.”