The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(102)

"Well..." I began.

"See, here's what I was thinking," he quickly interrupted, tossing his empty coffee cup into the nearest waste bin.

I laughed. "Go ahead."

"Okay. So here's you and me, just casually strolling the docks. Ashlyn with her good friend Wallace. And then suddenly... 'Well, well, who do we have here?' A friend of Ashlyn's. 'Hey, you're the guy from that something or other bar,' etc., etc. You introduce us and I say something brilliant like 'It's chilly out here. I'm just gonna grab my sweater from the boat,' and then you make your move... or do whatever it is you do. Seal the deal. Sink the bait. You know."

John stood back with his arms folded across his chest, patiently awaiting my praise.

I bit my lip, holding back a smile that almost refused to be stifled. "First of all," I said, "Wallace?"

"I needed an alias. And I think it sounds very 'Saturday afternoon at the docks,' don't you?"

"Fine," I replied, choosing my battles. "And second of all...it's almost eighty degrees out here. I don't think your little brilliant, sly sweater escape story is gonna fly."

John waved my objection away with his hand. "Well, whatever, two nickels or a dime. I'll go get coffee or something."

I looked at him strangely. "Don't you mean 'six of one, half dozen of another'?"

John frowned. "Details, Jen. Useless details. We're wasting precious inspection time."

I shook my head. "Fine, let's go." I had a feeling this was going to be a disaster, but at this point, I hardly cared. Sarah Miller was in denial. Sure, it was some sort of peculiar, reverse-psychology denial. But denial all the same. Her husband had already passed my test. As far as I was concerned, he was not the cheating type. I didn't even make up another inspection card. The fact that she wanted to pay me an exorbitant amount of money on top of the triple fee she already had paid me the first time around to come down here and confirm what I already knew to be true was, I guess, her problem.

John self-importantly cocked his elbow at his side and nudged me with it until I slipped my hand through it, and we walked arm in arm along the dock, keeping an eye out for the boat in the picture.

"You look ridiculous," I commented quietly, out of the corner of my mouth.

"I look like I belong down here among the rich and famous," he insisted. "You look like you should be drinking a diet Coke out of the can in the Valley somewhere."

"John, it's not the Governors Ball. It's Marina Del Rey. I saw a bum sleeping with a stuffed Pooh doll on a bench about three minutes ago."

John loudly cleared his throat. "Don't you mean 'Wallace, it's not the Governors Ball'?"

I shot him a look. He ignored it. "And yes, you're right, Miss Ashlyn. They really do need to do something about the dreadful homeless problem down here. Where do they think this is? Venice Beach?" He pronounced the location as if the words themselves were somehow dirty and full of beach trash.

I stifled a giggle and we continued walking. A few yards ahead I saw a man hanging over the side of a boat, diligently scrubbing off dirt with a white rag. I slowed my step. "That's him," I whispered to John – pardon me...to Wallace.

John stopped dead in his tracks, as if we were stalking a deer in the woods and the smallest sound or movement might scare away the prey. I could feel his body tense up next to mine.

"Relax," I reassured him, finding his hesitation somewhat endearing. "This will be an easy one."

John took a deep breath and we approached the boat.

"Daniel?" I said with great surprise in my tone as I shielded my eyes from the sun and looked up at the man aboard the boat in front of us.

He looked down at me and smiled. "Yes?" I could tell I was familiar to him but that he embarrassedly couldn't remember my name or who the hell I was. I was suddenly further reassured that this was going to be just as I suspected...an easy confirmation of what I already knew to be true.

"It's Ashlyn. We met the other day at the W Hotel bar."

His brain spun around like the reels of a slot machine, searching for the right combination of name, face, location. I could see it in his eyes. And then suddenly .... ding, ding, ding. Jackpot.

"Ah, yes. The sailboat lover," he ventured, hoping desperately that he had gotten his facts right.

"So you do remember me," I said with a fabricated sigh of relief. As if his recollection of our previous night together meant the world to me.

"Of course." He stepped down from his boat onto the dock and offered me his hand.

I shook it, and then turned to John. "And this is my friend..." I forced a straight face. "Wallace. Wallace, Daniel."

"Pleasure to meet you," John said, shaking his hand eagerly.

"Pleasure is mine," Daniel said.

I stood to the side and watched the two of them shake hands. I looked from John to Daniel, and for a second I could have sworn their handshake went on for just a touch too long. But before I could even contemplate it, Daniel had turned back to me.

"So what brings you down to the marina today?"

"Oh, well," John began, not even allowing me the opportunity to open my mouth, "Ashlyn and I often walk the docks in the afternoon when the weather's nice. She loves coming down to see the boats... and I like coming to see the...well, you know, people on the boats."