He usually came in just as the morning rush was dying down. Sometimes she wouldn't see him at all for days on end. But then he'd show up again sooner or later, and always at the same time of day.
Sam was in the middle of filling another order when the bell on the door jingled, and she looked up out of habit to welcome the next customer. The first time he'd come into the coffee shop, Sam had stared for far too long. By now, she was somewhat used to the sort of undeniable… presence he had. He was tall, always nicely dressed in a suit.
When she caught his eye, he smiled, closed mouth as always, which she returned brightly. And, he waited until she was free to help him rather than be served by one of her coworkers.
"Hey John," she said happily as he approached the counter. Sam pointed at him and narrowed her eyes, mimicking deep concentration. "A tall black coffee, and green tea, two sugars?"
"Exactly," John said. The smile was small, but it reached his striking blue eyes.
"How've you been? I haven't seen you in a little while."
"Good," he nodded once. "Just busy with work."
Sam began filling the cups. "You're still not going to tell me what you do, are you?"
"Sorry."
"What? Is it one of those 'I'd have to kill you' kind of things?"
"Something like that," he said slowly as though getting a feel of the idea. She slid the cups across the counter to him as he handed her the cash. "Sam?"
"Yeah?" she looked up at him over the cash register.
"Why does your name tag say 'Eva'?" he gestured to the tag pinned to her apron.
Sam snickered at the question. "All of us switched name tags this morning. We do that sometimes to spice things up."
"You really get that bored?"
Sam leaned toward him over the counter, her face serious. She lowered her voice. "You have no idea. That's Eva over there," she gestured to a woman with black hair and dark skin, who turned and waved at John. "She's wearing mine today. This is much better. Last time I traded with Brian."
That got a bigger smile.
"How's the writing going?" he asked.
"Slow, actually," Sam said. "My characters aren't listening to me." she joked.
"Blocked?"
"A little, yeah. It's just been a long winter, I think."
He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. "Maybe you should listen to them."
"Who?"
"Your characters."
"Maybe. Thanks, John."
He nodded and waved a little with one of the cups in his hand as he went toward the door. John stepped out onto the sunlit sidewalk and strode past the windows of the shop without looking back.
"Mm."
Sam started as she realized someone was standing next to her at the counter, watching John walk past.
Eva looked at her, her expression unreadable. "Why don't you just run out there and jump that right now?"
Sam cringed in disgust. "Jeez, Eva! Why do you always have to make everything so nasty?"
"I don't make anything nasty. It's what everyone is thinking. I just say it."
"I'm beginning to suspect your pregnancy hormones. They're pulling your brain deeper into the gutter," Sam said. The two women glanced at Eva's swollen belly. Eva shrugged.
"Just stop saying stuff. Can you try that?"
"Can't do it, girl." She laughed, tossing a rag.
Sam caught the rag and began wiping down the counter, shaking her head. "And I don't want to – I don't want to jump him anyway."
"Sam, you were staring at that man like you wanted to cover him with hot fudge and lick him clean."
"Eva!"
"Okay, sorry about that one," Eva patted Sam on the arm. "Seriously, okay, just ask him out."
Sam shuddered at the thought. Talking to him from behind the counter was one thing. This was familiar territory, and there were literal boundaries between them. It was a decent safe zone.
"I can't do that."
"Why the hell not?"
"Well, he's older, and I don't really know him very well, and I don't think he goes out with baristas who are wishful thinkers, that's all. He looks like he probably dates more sophisticated women who can afford to buy a nice pair of shoes."
"It's your choice, honey. I'd just like to see you go for it once."
Sam finished wiping down the counter and pushed through the door into the kitchen. "So would I."
John entered the upper floor and makeshift office of the closed library. The tea went to his coworker of sorts, who welcomed him with the usual dull greeting.
"Good morning, John. Sleep well?"
"You're asking?"
"I'm making conversation. You should be able to identify that, Mr. Reese." Harold Finch adjusted his glasses over his nose as he sat down in front of the computer monitors.
"With you, it's sometimes hard to tell."
"I also like to know that you're in good health. It is important for what we do, after all."
"That's very conscientious of you, Finch. I'm flattered." John sat in a chair next to the desk, leaning back as though he were peering at the monitors. Not that it mattered much. Most of the time he couldn't tell what Finch was looking at.
"We have two numbers, Mr. Reese. They came almost simultaneously. A brother and sister; "Scott and Samantha Tudin," Finch handed photos and a profile to John.
"Someone gunning for a family?" John studied the photograph of the boy. He was young, perhaps early twenties with freckles still on his nose, short, cropped hair, and dark eyes. John committed his appearance to memory as Finch explained further.
"I thought so as well at first, but after some research it became a little more mysterious. As far as I can tell, Samantha, has not been in contact with her brother for several years. There are no phone calls, no exchanged letters or any type of communication that I can see."
"Where are they now?" John switched photographs, and began studying the sister.
"Well, Samantha isn't hard to find really. She's got a couple online magazines that she writes columns for and works as – "
"As a barista at a coffee shop a couple of blocks from here," John said, shock in his quiet tone.
"This is Sam," he said flapping the photo gently in the air in front of Finch.
Finch swiveled around in his chair, looking up at John. "You know her?"
"I've seen her at the coffee shop."
"Have you spoken to her?"
"What are you getting at, Finch?" John glared down at him for a moment.
Finch shrugged and straightened out the vest he wore as he turned back to the monitors. "Only that it may be a little easier to help her if she already knows you. Or, it may be more dangerous for her. It's difficult to tell just yet."
"I'll have to keep my distance," John muttered almost to himself. "What about the brother?"
The light from the monitors reflected in Finch's glasses as he scrolled through pages. "He's gotten himself into trouble over the years. He has a record, petty theft, assault, small things, but he may be getting into something bigger."
"With Sam involved."
"It's possible." Finch sighed. "But, there is no known address for him. No phone number, nothing. The last record I have of him is a DUI from about four years ago. Then he fell off the radar."
John Reese studied the photographs again as he considered his options. "Whatever this is, it concerns both of them. If I stay with Samantha, Scott will probably come to her."
"If he hasn't already."
The photos and profile were stowed in his suit jacket, and the pistol in the back of his pants. Things were quiet on his watch, though. He sat on a bench not far from the coffee shop. He was close enough to observe, but not close enough to be noticed.
Throughout her entire shift, everything appeared normal. She laughed and joked with her coworkers, and welcomed in new customers with that smile of hers. At five thirty, John sat up as Sam left, wearing her jacket and carrying her purse. She was off for the evening.
John left his long-time perch and followed.
Taking out his phone, he walked close enough to pair to Sam's cell just as it rang. He received the call as well and listened through his ear piece.
"Eva, I just left, what – "
"No, I forgot to tell you something. He wanted to pick you up, but you owe me something because I talked him out of doing that."
Sam shook her head and sighed out of relief. "Oh, yeah, that would not have been cool. I do owe you."
"Yeah you do. I told him that you'd meet him there."
"That's the place on the corner of Jefferson and 9th, right?"
"Davis and 9th at seven."
Sam laughed. "That's exactly what I said."
"Don't be so nervous. I can hear it through your phone, you know."
"I know," Sam whined a little. "Blind dates are so… wrong, Eva. There are so many variables that shouldn't have to be there. It's like a psychotic science experiment, putting two strangers together and expecting them to make something out of absolutely nothing."
"Well, you had your chance with Hot Fudge Man earlier today," Eva said smugly.
"I told you not to start calling him that. Didn't I say not to start calling him that? Don't start calling him that!"
John tilted his head curiously as he kept pace with Sam. She hunched over and hissed the last statement into the phone.
Eva laughed hysterically on the other end. "I'm sorry, but you know I'm right. Just ask him the next time you see him. Don't think. Just do it! You think way too much, Sam."
"It's true," Sam shrugged.
"Will you do it?"
"I'll think about it. I'll see you later, Eva."
"You'd better do it!" Eva shouted before the line went dead.
John still had a shadow of a smile on his face when they reached Sam's apartment building.
"She has gone through about nine different outfits, if I'm counting right." John muttered to what looked like himself.
He was looking through an empty office window at Sam's window across the street. The blinds were half open, and he saw her stand in front of the mirror again, wearing what looked like a red top of some kind.
"The date's at seven tonight. She'll be late if she doesn't pick one soon," Finch's voice through the ear piece sounded as bored as John felt.
Sam stayed at the mirror longer this time, touched up her lipstick, and brushed her hair back over her shoulders.
"Finch, are you sure this is the right person? I can't figure how she'd get in the way of anyone who'd want to hurt her."
"The brother is the key, Mr. Reese. We just have to be patient for a little longer, I suppose."
The light in Sam's window went dark, and John moved downstairs and out of the office building. Samantha Tudin stepped out onto the sidewalk just after John did. She was transformed from the smiling barista to a lovely woman in heels, a floral patterned skirt, and a red blouse. Her hair was down, and landed in waves just over her shoulders.
Sam gripped her purse firmly as she walked down the street. Her shoes clicked rhythmically against the pavement until she reached a bus stop. She decided to remain standing, rather than dirty her clothes on the public sidewalk bench. John didn't blame her.
He slipped into an alley about a half a block away and kept his eyes on her until she boarded the bus safely and it drove away.