“But we really—”
“Don’t try to bribe her,” Shanna said through gritted teeth.
“I was only trying to ask nicely!”
The bartender shrugged. “Sorry. Business policies.”
Simon showed her his back, leaned on the counter, and pulled out his phone.Holly Williams, Wellington…
“Uh, I’ll have a ginger ale?” Shanna said to the bartender, the apology clear in her voice.
“Got her Instagram,” Simon said to no one in particular—that no one turning out to be Chris, who pasted herself by his side.
“That picture looks useful,” she said, bringing her phone up. “Send me the link.”
Simon did so, then scrolled through Holly’s profile feed. The city in the back of most photos looked like Wellington, so there was a good chance she was still here. “Maybe I can message her, ask—”
“No need. I know where she lives,” Chris said in her flat voice.
“Don’t tell me you hacked her.”
Chris rolled her eyes. “I used this picture taken from her balcony to determine the position. It’s pretty easy.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s this geography game I play sometimes. Plonks you down on a random road, and you have to figure out where you are. You pick up some skills.” Chris shrugged. “So, you want the address or not?”
“You’re way too smart to be a shelter kid.”
“Homeless kids aren’t stupid. Just less lucky.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I wanted to say, shouldn’t you be at school, on a scholarship?”
“But then, who’d watch over Freddie?”
“Aren’t there adults to do that? How old is he?” Simon arched an eyebrow. “And, on a scale of one to you, how likely to cause mischief?”
“Taking on an assassination contract isn’t causing mischief,” Chris said, her mouth twitching in a strange way. For a second, Simon thought she might be having a seizure, but no—she was smiling.
Almostsmiling.
She quickly stopped. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said. “Are you all right?”
She shrugged her bony, hoodie-clad shoulders. “Yeah. It’s just nobody is usually interested in my stuff, or Freddie, is all.”
Before Simon could utter an apology—which he wasn’t even sure why he needed—Shanna interrupted them, a glass in each hand. “Ginger ale?”
“We got Holly’s address,” Simon said.
“Oh my gods.” Shanna nearly spilled the ale, then set the glasses back on the bar. “Where?”
Chris rattled out the address.
“I’ll check it to get directions,” Simon said, but before he could even start typing, Shanna walked over to a group of people.
“Hi,” she sing-sang. “Could I ask you lovely fellows for some directions …”
