Free A Date You Can't Refuse by Harley Jane Kozak

danger here. I want to know how much.”
    “You're better off focusing on your job and—”
    “Ignorance can't be good self-defense, so telling me ‘don't worry your pretty little head’ is just—”
    “It has nothing to do with attractiveness.”
    On the other side of the pool, a shout of laughter was followed by excessive splashing. We both turned to it. Then I turned back to face Bennett Graham. “I'm thinking seriously of quitting. I can't tell you what a bad feeling I have.” And it was true, I couldn't explain how spooked I felt, replacing the departed Chai. Not to this guy.
    “First of all,” he said, and his tone softened, “you've taken the hardest step today. Don't throw that away. These doubts are normal. By tomorrow night, you'll have a different outlook. Secondly, Milos values you. And you're safer living there than you are here in this place”—he nodded toward my building—“with its lax security measures. Milos probably has alarms and movement sensors around the periphery of the house. Cameras too.”
    “Where will these cameras be?”
    “I have no idea. In general, assume that surveillance is ongoing anywhere that power is present.”
    “What's that, the J. Edgar Hoover dictum?”
    “James Bond. Finally, remind yourself of the reasons you said yes to this job.”
    P.B. At least Bennett Graham had the good taste not to mention him outright.
    “Your brother,” he said, quashing that fleeting good impression. “Do you really see him living here with you at the Oakwood Gardens in your small apartment? I don't imagine it's easy to keep him on his medication.”
    For me, it was impossible. And I couldn't leave him alone, even on meds.
    I took a deep breath. “Well, give me a clue, then, would you? Spell it out for me what I'm supposed to be doing in all my ignorance.”
    “Note anything irregular on the premises.”
    “Like what? Meth lab in the basement? A cache of explosives?”
    “Those would certainly qualify. As would large sums of money. I'm also interested in any animosity among family members. As to the particulars, I'd like you to find out the names of the old woman, the housekeeper, and the young girl.”
    “Grusha. She's Yuri's former mother-in-law. Parashie's his daughter.”
    His eyebrow went up again. “You see, you're good at this already.”
    I blushed at the compliment, even knowing he was probably humoring me.
    “Engage these people in conversation,” he said. “See if they have criminal histories.”
    “Do people generally volunteer that?”
    “Do your best. For the incoming trainees, I want names and countries of origin. Passport numbers. Write things down, but keep your notes well hidden. Also, look for a room that has film or recording equipment, or shipping materials, especially to and from Europe. And take note of any regular visitors that have nothing to do with MediasRex.”
    “Wait. Go back to the room. Do you mean like a media center? A screening room?”
    “No,” he said, beginning to walk, forcing me to walk with him. “It may be a basement or even apart from the house. It won't be included in any tour. There might be editing equipment. Duplicating machines. The room will probably be kept locked.”
    “Then how am I supposed to get into it?”
    “Listen. Observe. When your eyes are open, opportunities present themselves.”
    “Observe what's vivid. Notice what you notice. Catch yourself thinking.'”
    “What?”
    “Allen Ginsberg,” I explained, but he only looked at me blankly. “So what is it that's being edited or duplicated in this room?”
    “That's what we'd like to know.”
    “It all sounds very Bluebeardian.” I shivered. The night air was getting to me now, seeping into my bones along with thoughts of the fairy tale that used to haunt my childhood. Talk about an unhappy ending. Like half of Yuri's lovers. “So did you know,” I asked, “that my predecessor died? In a car accident?”
    His eyebrows drew together in a frown, too