For Your Safety
“Ms. Ortiz?”
No. It couldn’t be.
“Yes?” Zoe’s heart started racing.
“Hi there!” The buzz-cut black woman introduced herself and the faux-hawked white man accompanying her. Their smiles were warm and practiced, their demeanors skillfully casual. “We’re from the Department of Public Health. Sorry to bother you so late. May we come in?”
So much for the best stream scrambler on the black market.
“Um—sure.”
Zoe was wearing her hook-up’s T-shirt, which came down to her knees. She couldn’t remember his name. Had she asked? Guilt commingled with nerves as she led them into her cramped apartment.
“Are you alone?” Buzz Cut asked.
“Yep,” Zoe lied, with what was no doubt a suspicious adrenaline spike. She wasn’t sure why she did it. He hadn’t come out of the bedroom yet; maybe he was scared, maybe he wanted to face them alone, when they came knocking on his own door.
She gestured at the kitchen table and the three of them sat down.
