Poolside Surveillance

The doctor's office smelled like antiseptic and desperation. "Severe vitamin D deficiency," she said, sliding the prescription across the desk. "Get some sun, Marcus. Maybe you'll stop looking like a ghost."

Marcus didn't tell her that ghosts were exactly what he hunted for a living.

That evening, his wife Elena wanted to talk about the pool. Again. The in-ground swimming pool she'd been campaigning for since they'd bought the house three years ago. Marcus watched her slice into an orange, the juice running down her fingers like she'd committed something beautiful and messy.

"It's not about luxury," she said, not looking at him. "It's about having something to look forward to. Some joy in this house."

Their golden retriever, Barnaby, thumped his tail against the patio door. He was old now, his muzzle streaked with gray, but his eyes still held that devastating loyalty that made Marcus feel like a fraud.

Marcus worked in competitive intelligence. A corporate spy, if you wanted to be crude about it. He spent his days digging through other companies' trash, befriending their receptionists, piecing together secrets from overstressed LinkedIn profiles. The money was excellent. The conscience was optional.

Last week, he'd discovered that his own company was planning layoffs. Two hundred people, including Elena's department. She'd been talking about that damn pool for three years, unaware that her job was living on borrowed time.

"Maybe," Marcus said, his throat tight. "Maybe this spring."

Barnaby whined, pressing his wet nose against Marcus's hand. The dog always knew when Marcus was lying. He'd been the one to find Marcus at 3 AM, sitting in the dark with a bottle of scotch after his first assignment—a happily married father of three who'd turned out to be embezzling from his own charity. Marcus had turned him in. The man's kids were in college now. Marcus still thought about them.

"You're quiet," Elena said, finally meeting his eyes.

"Just tired," he said. "The doctor says I need more sun."

"Well," she said, licking orange juice from her thumb. "Start with a pool."

Marcus thought about the two hundred names on the spreadsheet. Thought about the vitamin D pills in his pocket. Thought about how loyalty worked differently for dogs than for husbands, for spies than for spouses.

"Yeah," he said. "Let's do it."

Barnaby let out a sharp bark, as if he knew Marcus had finally, after three years of careful surveillance, decided to stop being afraid of what the future might cost.