“Who’s your client?”

“A bank. Lucy’s husband might be involved in some fraudulent activity, and I’m trying to get evidence about it. I’m just collecting intel. But really, what I need to do is get into their house. It’s when he works from home that the bank picks up some interesting activity. He’s been able to explain it away, but they’re not buying it anymore.”

“So, what do you want me to do?”

“Be a nice, cool, friendly mom who has her kid on the playground. Don’t talk to Lucy right away, though. Listen to her and her girlfriend for as long as you can. I’m looking for any information about work on their house, a vacation they might be taking, really anything at this point that can get me in.”

“How will I know who she is?”

He reached down and pulled a manila envelope from a black bag at his feet. He looked around before he removed a five-by-seven photo of two women sitting on a park bench, strollers next to them, cardboard coffee cups in their hands.

Mayburn pointed to the woman on the right, a blonde with a pixie haircut and a big smile. She wore a T-shirt and white pants, her arms thin, toned. Her designer sunglasses were pushed back on her head.

“She’s cute. What’s her husband like?”

“A total asshole who doesn’t know how to treat her.”

“Geez. Have an opinion?”

He didn’t respond.

“Do I sense a crush?”

Mayburn looked at me sharply. “What are you talking about?”

“Sounds like you have a crush on her.”

“She’s a subject.”

“So?”

“Of course not.” He took the photo from my hand and placed it back in the envelope. “Once you’ve listened to her for a while, angle yourself so you can talk to her. You don’t have to intrude too much or be best friends. I just need you to have met her so when you see her again on Tuesday night, you can strike up a conversation.”

“What’s happening Tuesday night?”

“A presale party for the holiday benefit ball that Lucy is on the board for. It’s at the Prada store. Very invite only, but don’t worry, I’ll get you on the list.”

“And what am I supposed to do there?”

“Well, if you can talk to Lucy enough you might be able to wrangle an invite to her house. Actually, that’s what I need you to do. Get a playdate or something so we can get inside that place.”

“Why would anyone invite a stranger into their house?”

“You won’t be a stranger by the time you see her at the Prada party, and this is what these moms do all the time. They make friends and set up playdates.”

“What do you need once you’re in the house?”

“To get on his computer.”

“Wouldn’t that be unlawful search and seizure?”

“It’s just like going to Forester’s house. I need to get on that computer to see if he’s guilty of what we think he is. If so, then we can build a case with evidence that can be used at litigation.”

I shook my head. “I had no idea you operated this way.”

“You didn’t care how I operated as long as I got you what you wanted.”

I shrugged. That was true. “Why don’t I just try to get invited to Lucy’s house when I see her today? Why wait until Tuesday?”

He shook his head. “The DeSantos have big money, and they run with a very select crowd. She’s not a snob, but from watching her, I can tell she’s private, and she’ll never invite you over just because she met you at the playground. But if you’re at this exclusive party on Tuesday, she’ll know you’re in the same crowd.”

My green tea was cooler. I gulped it, hoping for a large infusion of caffeine.

“It would help,” Mayburn continued, “if you could bring a guy to the party, like a husband type. You know, really show that you’re the family type.”

“I’ll have a kid today.”

“I know, but Lucy always hangs around married women with kids. Anything you can do to bolster your cover helps. So bringing a guy who looks like your husband would be good.”

I looked across the shop. It was full of people, but I wasn’t really seeing any of them. “Sam was going to be my husband.”

Mayburn said nothing.

I looked back at him. “Why don’t you just go to the party with me on Tuesday?”

“I’ve already been in Lucy’s sightline once, and that’s because I was getting desperate. Can’t do it again. Who could you take to the party?”

“Q?”

“Your black, bald, gay assistant? Not going to work. You want to seem like you’re a perfect married couple. Don’t you have a guy who can play the nice husband?”

I thought of Grady. I heard his words-I’ll do anything I can to help you get through this.

“I think I know someone,” I told Mayburn.

41

Mayburn made me pick a different name for my cover, something easy to remember, a name that wouldn’t make me balk when I introduced myself to Lucy DeSanto. I chose my first name combined with the last name of Maggie’s niece-Isabel Bristol.

“What if Kaitlyn says something that makes it obvious I’m not her mom?” I asked Mayburn.

“Just run with it. Make anything up. They’ll believe whatever you’re saying if you believe it. That’s the number-one ticket to a successful cover-believing every word of it. No stumbling with your words, no embarrassment, just be confident about it. Now, let’s practice.”

Mayburn and I ran over the rest of my story ten times-I was new in town, having moved with my husband from L.A. I lived in a three-bedroom penthouse apartment on Lincoln Park West. I was an entertainment lawyer. I had practiced in L.A. before I met my husband, a widower, and adopted my daughter, Kaitlyn. My husband, Grady, was also a lawyer. (How I was going to explain to Grady that we had to pretend we were married, I wasn’t sure).

I spent ten minutes with Maggie’s sister when I picked up Kaitlyn, but Mary seemed excited to get me out of the house and have some time to herself. After some profuse speeches of gratitude, she put Kaitlyn’s car seat in the back of Grady’s car and off we went to a kids’ park on the North Side called Adam’s Playground.

Kaitlyn, it turned out, had gotten a little sassier since the last time I’d seen her. Back then she was a wide-eyed two-and-a-half-year-old. Now she was four, going on thirty-five, and she knew exactly what she wanted. With her curly hair and big eyes, she resembled her aunt Maggie but, with her bossy attitude, I had a feeling she could kick Maggie’s ass in court.

“Change the channel!” she yelled every minute or so when she tired of a song on the radio. If I didn’t do what she was asking, she would kick my seat so hard I feared she’d break a leg.

“Are you hungry?” I asked, for lack of anything better to say. The truth was, I was starving. I should have gotten something to eat at Starbucks, but at that time the thought of food had conjured up the real possibility of projectile vomiting.

“Thirsty!” Kaitlyn screamed with a voice loud enough to land her a job on a trading floor. “I’m thirsty!”

“Just a minute.” I rooted with my right arm into her pink backpack. Kaitlyn’s mom had loaded me up with enough gear and food to make a push for the summit on K2. There had to be some kind of drink in there. I wasn’t finding anything. Then suddenly I remembered “the juice-y” that I’d left on the table.

I realized I had slowed down inadvertently, and I looked in the rearview mirror to make sure a trucker wasn’t about to run me over. No truck, but there was, about a hundred yards away, a gray Honda. The same one I’d seen in front of my house. The same one that Mayburn said was a government car. The feds.

“Thirsty! Thirsty!” Kaitlyn yelled. Honestly, her vocal power rivaled Celine Dion’s.

“We’re almost there.” I tried to make my voice cooing and calm, but the truth was the sight of that car behind me filled me with shots of anxiety. I sped up. The Honda stayed well behind me but kept pace.

I shifted into the left lane and passed three cars. Behind me, the Honda did the same.