It was going to be a test of everything Shane Maresca believed in. He realized that fact too late to do anything about it, of course. Quitting wasn’t an option. By the time he noticed that something . . . weird was going on with him, he was already committed—hip deep in research, reconnaissance, and placement. In the case of Portland, research meant cracking open the dossier left him by the previous “fixer” who’d taken on this job—and then failed to complete it. Reconnaissance meant scoping out the city’s quaint blocks, lush green trees, and idiosyncratic residents. Placement meant situating himself in a high-rise luxury apartment downtown where he’d be comfortable enough—and secluded enough—to do what needed to be done for his latest freelance consulting job. He had to bring this in cleanly. There was a lot at stake. That’s why, when the dreadlocked and tattooed barista at the coffeehouse nodded at Shane, motioned him away from the shop’s busy line, and handed Shane his triple ristretto espresso along with a friendly “On the house today.
