Jessie had no other plans on a Friday night except maybe a half-bottle of white wine and a movie with her cats, Sonny and Cher. Maybe Lisa would come over. Instead, she was in the front passenger seat of Cobi’s aging BMW, watching a downtown building. She took a bite from the pastry in her right hand then placed the remainder, guiltily, in the box on her lap. “We’re staking the place out. Don’t complain: I got you coffee and a French cream pastry.” He leaned on his window frame, vigilant. “The doorman at this building told me Mrs. Featherstone uses the place and he didn’t correct me when I said I assumed she was in every few days.” “So?” “So it’s Friday. If she’s got something going on in the city that she didn’t want her husband knowing about, I’m guessing Friday or Saturday night would be the time; is for most folk.” He had a point. “How long are we going to sit here?”
