Free Inside Out by Barry Eisler

help, Mr. Froomkin.”
    Ben gave her a friendly smile, a lower-wattage version of the one that had always made it easy for him to hook up in high school and in various port cities after. “Well, it can’t hurt to try and find out. And please, you can call me Dan if you like. Sometimes I hate having to be so official with people.”
    “All right, Dan,” she said, returning the smile with a slightly nervous-looking one of her own. “Come in, I guess. Would you like a cup of coffee? I just put some on.”
    Ben nodded. “I’d love one. Thanks.”
    He followed her through a small foyer to an equally small kitchen. The furniture was sparse and eclectic and looked like it had been handed down. The way she took care of herself suggested Wheeler wasn’t exceptionally frugal, so from the furnishings Ben surmised Larison hadn’t carried an impressive life insurance policy and hadn’t left behind much of anything else. Again, he wasn’t sure what this might mean, but filed it away as something potentially useful.
    The kitchen smelled like waffles or pancakes. Clearing a pair of plates and glasses from the table, she said, “Sorry about the mess. Here, have a seat.”
    Ben noted that she made breakfast and ate it with her son. Watched him at the bus stop until he was gone. A devoted parent. He thought of Ami again, and was irritated at himself for letting the thought intrude. Ami had nothing to do with this.
    He sat and considered. She was nervous, that was clear. But who wouldn’t be, when the government shows up at the door flashing ID and asking about dead relatives? The nervousness felt normal. She was wary, not scared. And regardless, she’d taken himto the kitchen. That was good. People did business in the kitchen, it was where they opened up. The living room was a façade, the place for putting people off.
    She brought him coffee in a plain white mug that looked like it came from Pottery Barn or the like. “Milk? Sugar?”
    “No, black is good.” He took a sip. “This is great. Thanks.”
    She smiled again, warmed up her own cup, and sat across from him.
    He took another sip of the coffee. It really was good—nothing fancy, just strong and dark, the way he liked it. “Sorry to intrude like this,” he said. “Probably not your idea of an ideal morning. I’ll try to make it quick.”
    She shook her head. “That’s okay. I just don’t know what I could tell you. My husband died a long time ago.”
    The phrase “a long time ago” intrigued him. Not a date, not a number of years … just something vague, a reference to the indeterminate, irrelevant past. He had the sense that she had severed her memories of Larison from her life, that she now held them at a distance. Why?
    “I apologize if my presence here is stirring up any sad memories. I understand your husband died in the course of service to the nation.”
    She smiled a tight, uncomfortable smile. “Well, he always lived for that service. Not a huge surprise he would die for it.”
    Ben hadn’t expected her to know anything about the blackmail, if indeed Larison was the guy behind the blackmail. If he was even alive at all. And nothing about her demeanor suggested otherwise. Just the normal amount of discomfort.
    He gave her a sad smile that wasn’t exactly a forgery. Just being in this homey kitchen was like some silent condemnation of his own role as a father. “Well, I know a little about that. Hard not to let the job … overwhelm you.”
    She glanced at his left hand. “Are you married?”
    He shook his head. “Divorced.”
    He realized this was a single mom in her mid-forties, devoted tobringing up her son. What were her dating prospects in a small Florida suburb? When was the last time she’d been with a man?
    He hadn’t anticipated this angle before, but sensed now it might present an opening. Maybe make her more cooperative, more talkative than would otherwise have been the case. The thought helped him push back his awareness of Ami