“You ever hear of Michael? Michael Kord,” Allen asked. “He was a rising drafter when you were in Opti. Here, I’ve got a picture of him.”

The name was familiar, and curiosity drew her eyes down. “I remember this guy,” Allen said as she scanned the grainy surveillance photo of a tall, clean-shaven man with short black hair. It had been taken in Detroit; she could see the elevated rail in the background. “Bill was grooming him to take your place. Encouraging all sorts of interesting behavior.”

Peri’s brow furrowed, a slim finger hovering over the photo as a memory tickled the top of her head. Something about birds . . .

“Bill is a manipulative bastard,” Allen said, still looking at the photo. “But he doesn’t discard someone who might make him money someday.”

Like me, she thought, shaken. “I remember him,” she whispered, the photo bringing her thoughts into focus. He was a dark man, thin but not gaunt. Attractive. Hispanic? He liked his sunglasses and his car. Birds. The single memory she had of him was of him drafting to kill the pigeons who’d spotted his ride.

“You remember Michael?” It was a shocked utterance. “That was in the year I erased. Do you remember . . .”

Her gaze lifted from the photo. “Anything about you?” she asked dryly. “No. I didn’t make any memory knots of you.” She backed up, not knowing what to do with her hands. Michael must have really pissed her off for her to have made a memory knot that would survive a wipe. “You want anything else? I like to mop before the lunch crowd comes in.”

“Memory knots?” he questioned. “Jeez, Peri, you know better than to play with those.”

He needed to leave. She could be out of here in forty-five seconds if she had to, but a more gracious exit—one with the money to move fast—required some privacy. “That will be fifteen-eighty for the coffee,” she said, hip cocked.

Allen’s lips parted. “Are you kidding?” he said loudly, and the last patron gathering his things snorted. It was Cam—Scottish descent but all American, ruggedly beautiful and with a sharp mind and enough personal charisma to draw her. He was heading for the register, unusual for the tech-loving man. For some reason, he didn’t like using his p-cash app to pay at the tables anymore, but maybe that was her fault.

Hand on her hip, Peri pointed to the very obvious sign over the register. Everything was fifteen-eighty: every size, every variety, every day. No refills unless she felt like it. She was a lousy bookkeeper, and this made it easy as well as keeping the place smelling of money. “You’re not buying a cup of coffee, sir,” she said mockingly. “You’re buying a secure place to check your email in a pleasant setting.” And it was secure. She made sure of it every day.

“I bet you still take cash, don’t you?” he said as he reached for his wallet. “Good God, I’m in the wrong business.”

“Then why do you keep trying to get me to come back to yours?” she said pointedly. “I’ll get you your change.” Taking the proffered bill, she strode to the register.

Flustered, she barely acknowledged Cam when he slid his own twenty across the stainless steel counter and she absently made change. “Thank you,” she said when he dumped it all in the tip jar. “Do you want one to go?”

“Peri, is everything okay?”

She looked up, truly shocked at the concern in his melodious voice. Following his nod to Allen, she slumped. “Oh. Yes. He’s an old business associate trying to lure me back. He gets under my skin is all.”

Cam’s eyebrows rose. “Oh!”

Oh? Head tilted, Peri eyed him. “Oh, what?”

The young stock market analyst smiled faintly, too confident to be embarrassed, but close. “I thought he was an old boyfriend you might need help encouraging to leave. I still could help—if you want.”

A smile, real and grateful, spread across her face. The kindness felt anything but small. “Thank you,” she said, touching his hand so he’d believe her. “I’ll be fine. It’s just business.”

He frowned, clearly not convinced. “I’ll call you later.”

She shut the register, Allen’s change in her grip. “You don’t have my number.”

Cam’s expression became crafty. “I would if you’d give it to me.”

At that she laughed, the clear, unusual sound bringing Allen’s head up in surprise. “Out. Go make money. But thank you. You totally just made my day.”

He sighed in playful regret, giving Allen a sharp look as he headed into the snow. Slowly Peri’s smile faded. Change in hand, she crossed to Allen and dropped it on the table. “Have a nice day. Bye-bye now.”

“Who was that?”

She watched Cam cross the street and hail a cab, its solar-gathering paint white to indicate it was available. Even as she watched, it shifted to black as he slipped in and was gone. All Detroit cabs had the controversial paint job, illegal outside of the city but standard on her first-year Mantis. Detroit did what it wanted. “I stole his car once. He’s no one.”

“You stole his car?”

“Yeah, but he never found out because I put it right back.” Seeing Allen waiting, she added, “His p-cash PIN is the same as his door lock. It was an Audi. This year’s. I borrowed the fob and drove it around the block while he drank his coffee and watched his CNN. No harm, no foul.” God, it was nice. Not as nice as her Mantis, but nice.