The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(137)

I could just faintly remember something that had come out of Anne Jacobs's mouth as we began to wrap up our initial meeting. As she was walking me to the door she stopped long enough to ask me a question about confidentiality:

"Just one more thing," she had said. "I just want to make sure that this whole thing is kept between us. Raymond's reputation in the industry is almost as important as the reputation of his engines themselves."

And at that moment I had stopped in the middle of her hallway, reopened my portfolio, and jotted down one final thought before walking out her front door.

"Of course," I had said, snapping my portfolio shut again. "I've made a special note of it. But please rest assured that all of my assignments are done on a confidential basis. Just as I would expect my clients to keep my information confidential, I offer the same courtesy to them."

"What the hell does that say?" Zo? said, leaning over my shoulder and attempting to decipher my handwriting. I looked down at the folder in my hands, and there it was. Just as I had remembered. In my own, indecipherable handwriting: Confidential. Reputation of subject is high priority.

I snapped the folder shut and looked up at Zo? with a confident smile. "It says he's got a lot to lose."

"Ah," Zo? said, sounding somewhat disappointed. I could tell that this little episode in my closet wasn't quite living up to the Da Vinci Code–esque fantasy she had been hoping for. I pulled myself to my feet and shut the file cabinet with the heel of my foot. "And this woman knows exactly how much that is."



AFTER ZO? left I stood in my dining room and reopened the file to the client bio page in the front. I carefully dialed the printed phone number, praying that after not having spoken for over a month, and God knows what kind of repercussions, she would still take my call.

"Hello?" Anne Jacobs answered, in a cheerful, airy tone.

My tone, on the other hand, was high and squeaky. "Hi!" I cleared my throat. "Hi. Um, Mrs. Jacobs?"

"Speaking."

"Hello. This is...uh... this is Ashlyn?" My voice rose at the end of the sentence, as if I were actually asking her who I was. Or more like asking her to accept who I was.

There was a long pause, and for a moment I was more than convinced that she was going to hang up on me. At least she was contemplating it – seriously. I glanced at the clock on my oven. The silence was making me nervous and extremely uneasy.

So I spoke again. "I hope you remember me. We, um...Well, I, um..." Holy crap, this was difficult. "You hired me to..."

"I remember you," she quickly interrupted, clearly preferring that I didn't complete that particular sentence. "What can I do for you?" It was obvious that I was no longer deemed worthy of receiving the cheerful, airy telephone greeting that she reserved for her more welcomed callers.

I sucked in a hopeful breath. Here it goes. "Oh, good. You do remember!" I said, trying to duplicate her initial cheerfulness.

"Kind of hard to forget."

"Right." I scratched the tip of my nose. "Well, Mrs. Jacobs, I don't normally—"

"Actually, it's Lappelle now. Anne Lappelle. I went back to my maiden name."

I swallowed. "Of course."

Damn, that was fast.

"You were saying?"

As she spoke, I couldn't help but detect traces of blame in her voice. My last name is Lappelle now... whose fault is that? But I quickly told myself it was just my imagination.

"Yes, I was saying," I began timidly. "I don't normally contact clients after the...I mean, once the assignment is complete, but I kind of, well, I ran into a little... actually..." I stopped. The words weren't coming out right. I felt like a babbling fool. I paused and tried to collect myself.

"Look," Anne began impatiently, "I don't have a lot of time. I'm late for a—"

"I need your help," I blurted out desperately.

There was another long pause on her end, and for a moment I thought that she might have just set the phone down on the table and continued about her day. "Hello?" I asked cautiously.

"I can give you five minutes," she offered in a sharp, unforgiving tone.

"I'll take it."

Anne hung up after she agreed to meet with me in her home the following morning. She was by no means the warmest person on the phone. And, in fact, it came as somewhat of a surprise after the kind hospitality she had shown me the last time we met face-to-face. But given enough time to let reality truly sink in, to let divorce lawyers start working their black magic, and to let the bruises really start to take shape, I guess anyone can turn cold on you.

Not that I blamed her. I'd come to expect every woman I met under these circumstances to be cold and distant. More often than not, it's probably a defense mechanism. And I knew I was the last person on earth they'd want to be cordial to.

Yes, Anne was the one who had hired me. She had reached out to me. But sometimes that was just how it went. It's part of the job...or at least it was part of the job. When it actually was my job. Being hated, even by the person you supposedly saved, was always in the description. I suppose that was the one big difference between me and Superman. When Superman rescues you from a collapsing building or a plummeting airplane, you're eternally grateful. Unfortunately, the women I "rescued" from collapsing marriages and plummeting relationships didn't always see it that way. And I feared the person I was about to encounter at eleven o'clock the next morning would be no exception.