The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(108)

I nodded. "Of who?"

"Of you," she said, as if it were obvious.

I nodded again and listened, trying to keep my breathing steady and even. Now wasn't the time or place to start hyperventilating.

"You were like talking to a guy or something...it looked like you were in a restaurant or a bar," she added, pleased with her first-rate recollection skills.

"Uh-huh," I said, my throat getting drier by the second.

"And on the back it said 'This girl's name is Ashlyn. She looks a lot like your aunt Jennifer, doesn't she?'"

I ran my fingers through my hair and closed my eyes.

"Ashlyn's a pretty name," Hannah offered, as if it might help cheer me up.

"Did you show that to your mom?" I asked frantically.

"No," Hannah replied, offended at the mere suggestion that she would share her private mail with her mother.

"Good," I said, patting her arm. "Let's not show her or tell her or mention this to anyone, okay?" My voice was shrill, as if I might lose it at any moment.

"Okay," Hannah agreed as we exited the building and started walking toward the car. "But how can she be your boss?" she asked.

I stopped and looked down at her. "She's not. She's...no one. I just like using that name sometimes," I said with a shrug, hoping this rationalization would be enough but knowing full well that it would never suffice.

Hannah looked at me as if she was meeting me for the first time. Her eyes begged for more of an explanation. An explanation that would bring back the Jennifer Hunter she knew and loved. "But why would someone send a—"

"You know what?" I began, my voice cracking slightly. I knew I needed more time in order to fabricate a believable story that would tie up all the loose ends in Hannah's head – and mine. And that's exactly what I bought myself when I said, "I'll explain this all to you later. It's a big, juicy secret that I don't want my mom or yours to know about or even overhear."

This apparently made her happy. A huge smile appeared across her lips and she gladly sealed them tight, pantomiming a long zipper being fastened across them and locked at the end with a key. Then she placed the "key" in her pocket for safekeeping.

I tried to act like I was truly sharing in the fun of this juvenile secret-sharing time by nodding approvingly at her charade, but my mind was racing.

Apparently Raymond Jacobs had already started the next phase of his "plan." It had barely been a week! I thought I was supposed to get more time than this. But I guess that's the number one rule of blackmail: There are no rules.

We all piled into the car and headed off to my favorite dive Mexican restaurant for lunch.

Hannah looked content in her seat, staring out at the passing streets of Brentwood and probably fantasizing about what my big secret could possibly be. Maybe a clandestine affair with the gardener like she'd seen when we watched Desperate Housewives together at my house because her mom would never let her watch it at her own house. Or maybe I was leading a double life with a husband and two kids who lived in Oregon whom I only saw twice a month. Whatever it was, she knew it would be good.

As I stared out my window, my thoughts were far from gardeners and desperate housewives. All I could ponder was whether or not Raymond Jacobs knew about Jamie. And if he didn't, it certainly wouldn't take him long to find out.



"SO WE still on for Tuesday?" Jamie asked when he called later that night.

I thought about his business card lying on my dining-room table. About my unsuccessful attempts to cancel our date because I knew my life was too complicated to add him to it. And about my fear that Raymond Jacobs would discover there was yet another Kryptonite and exploit it as well.

But I knew there was only one answer to his question.

And that answer was yes.

Because Jamie was my escape.

It was becoming more and more clear with every moment I spent with him, and when I saw his face on the other side of my front door on Tuesday night, it was confirmed.

I had never really had an escape before. For the past two years I had been held captive in a prison of my own thoughts and fears, knowing full well that there was a key to unlock the door, but so afraid of what was on the other side that I just simply had chosen to remain locked inside. And just as soon as I realized what this strange feeling of release was, I knew I wanted more of it. I knew I wanted it all the time. The pieces were all adding up. The street signs were all leading to one thing, and one thing only.

I wanted out.

There's a name for the condition I was in. It's called cloud nine. I imagine it's called that because you feel as if you're floating. And I was. I was floating, high above my everyday life. And it looked so small from up here. I felt so peaceful. So serene.

For a moment, I actually believed that it was.

But that's the problem with cloud nine: It can be deceiving. The sheer state of ultimate bliss can cause you to ignore things you wouldn't normally ignore. Like the several curious stares I got as Jamie and I entered the sushi restaurant that night. I barely noticed them. And the scattered whispers that spread throughout the room as we sat down? I barely heard them.

I should have been asking myself why they were staring. What are they whispering about? Do I have something on the front of my dress? But like I said, everything is benign when you're looking down from a cloud. And as far as I was concerned, they were all simply commenting on what a cute couple Jamie and I made, and how happy we looked together, just as I was doing every minute of the evening.