residential street in Atlanta was quiet. She easily heard the clap of high-heeled shoes on the sidewalk. The opening and closing of a car door. The turning of an engine.
After counting to ten, Jessie poked her head up over the steering wheel. The blue car. Bingo. She watched as it drove down the street, then turned left. She counted another ten seconds and then slowly took the same path.
Dana sat up in her seat and rubbed the muscles of her neck. “This wrecks that ‘female private investigators are cool’ thing I was going for.”
Good. Jessie curled her fingers around the steering wheel in satisfaction. Being an investigator could be dangerous and exciting, but when people were drawn to the job for those qualities, that’s when folks started getting hurt. Her job entailed hard work, long nights and little sleep. With “boring” thrown in to smooth out the rough edges. A whole lot of boring.
“Whew, I’m glad that’s over,” Dana said as she rummaged in her purse for something, obviously ready for her one night of undercover to be over. “I don’t know how much longer I could stand being in this car.”
“Well, we still have a ways to go.”
The reporter stopped applying her lip gloss. “Why? You already have the picture of him with the woman.”
Jessie dropped back farther from the car she was trailing. Even in a big city like Atlanta, a car closely following another would be suspicious after 2:00 a.m. “A picture tells only part of the story. We don’t know who the woman is. What her relationship is to Mr. Roberts.”
Dana scoffed. “She hugged him, then stayed in his home for over three hours. I don’t think she was the maid. Not with those shoes.”
Those were some pretty sexy stilettos. Not that Jessie was much of a shoe person. Not much call for high-heeled sling-backs in her line of work, in spite of the Hollywood image.
Smiling, she kept an eye on the sedan several car lengths ahead. They were back on side streets, where only an occasional streetlight or neon sign broke the darkness. They’d be hitting a residential neighborhood soon. She gave a silent plea that the car would lead her to a house with an address rather than to an apartment complex. Those were the worst. A lot of effort wasted on a dead end.
Yes! The owner of the nonmaid shoes was pulling into a paved driveway. Jessie held back, waiting for the woman to enter her home before driving past.
Then she slowly moved forward, looking as casual as she could. Just an insomniatic neighbor out for a drive. Or maybe a desperate mother hoping to get her baby to sleep. Whatever. Blending in. Appearing like someone who belonged there. That was her strength; she’d never been one to stand out. She hated flash, and unlike the reporter beside her, Jessie had never applied lip gloss in a moving vehicle. She wouldn’t even know how to take care of a highlight.
With a subtle glance at the number on the front of the house, Jessie was on her way.
“That was a little more fun. It was the closest we’ve come to getting caught,” Dana said, her voice slightly breathless.
“We weren’t anywhere near getting caught,” Jessie told her dryly. She was all for exaggeration, but not if it made her come across as less than professional.
“No need to get irritated. I just meant it was the first bit of excitement we’ve had since blondie showed up in the first place. When I still thought this night would be interesting,” Dana said with a wink. “What now?”
Dare she tell her? Jessie wondered. Dana was a reporter, after all. The woman dealt with facts. Hopefully.
Actually, Jessie herself should be delving only in facts. Conjecture shouldn’t be part of her professional world. But in the lonely hours after midnight, The Speculation Game was often the only thing that kept her awake. And interested. Maybe Dana was right; maybe she needed a different line of work.
Okay, she was losing it. She loved her job. Giving another woman the truth—that the man she was about to marry was a loser—was always good. Or even better, that the man she was about to commit a lifetime to, or at least the next several years to would be “on the level” with her. If only someone had been around to wake up Jessie before her own loser fiancé proved what a louse he was.
She glanced at her companion, whose laptop illuminated the front seat of the car. No, she probably shouldn’t tell Dana that on a stakeout she often dabbled in assumptions and bizarre guesses. But then, at nearly three in the morning, common sense was asleep.
“Right about now I start thinking about where she’s going.”
“What do you mean? We just saw her go into her house.” Dana stated, not bothering to look up from her typing.
“No, I mean, what does she plan to do with that stolen microchip he passed along to her?”
Dana stopped typing and gave Jessie an assessing look. “Stolen… I thought he was just some guy who doesn’t spend his Thursday nights with his girlfriend.”
Jessie put on her best mock-serious expression. “Oh, no. He may come across as a mild-mannered accountant who worked overtime during tax season to buy an engagement ring, but in reality he’s escaped from a faraway land. The secret agents from his country have found him.”
“The country of Fabricatia, perhaps?” Dana asked, her body language suggesting for the first time this evening that The Speculation Game was something she could get into.
“Exactly. And now he’s being stalked by that woman, but determined to keep his secrets safe.”
“I knew there was something suspicious about those pointy-toed sling-backs. Those were total spy shoes. He slipped her a fake chip, I know it.”
“But how long can he hold out?”
Dana laughed. “So, do you make up stories like this all evening?”
“Beats the reality of the job.”
“No question about that. I was really hoping some irate couple caught in a clandestine tryst might come after you with a gun. Would have made this story a lot more interesting.”
“Sorry I couldn’t accommodate.”
“That was before I knew you. Now I don’t want you to get shot at. You can stay with your boring job,” Dana said with a smile.
Jessie pulled her car into the parking lot of an all-night diner. “Then you’re going to love this next part. You’re about to witness the glamorous excitement of plugging this address into the database. Hopefully we’ll make a quick hit.”
“Ugh. Where’s the excitement in that?”
“Did I mention the waffles?”
COLE CRAWFORD FISHED for the package of antacids in his desk, and after ripping open the wrapper, swallowed a few pills without water.
“I caught you,” Nicole Reavis said as she poked her head in the doorway.
Cole grimaced. “Yeah, it’s already starting out to be one of those days.”
“Really? You mean, things aren’t working out for the man with a
