The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(140)

He approached the couch and I tilted my head to look up at him. He motioned to the seat next to me. "Mind?"

I nodded reluctantly, and then scooted all the way to the edge, my body practically wrapping around the armrest. He took a seat on the other end.

"So," he began, settling with his drink in one hand and his other hand resting on the opposite armrest. "Your question was: Why does your proposed solution feel somewhat incomplete?"

He was clearly playing games with me. And even though I hated him for it and it made me want to stand up, knee him in the crotch, and then pour his stupid little afternoon cocktail over his head, I played along.

Because this was the game.

And Raymond Jacobs was 100 percent certain that he would once again be victorious.

But what was so unbelievable to me was how a successful businessman, who had obviously created his wealth and power by making wise choices and playing off of people's strengths and weaknesses, had so blatantly forgotten the history of our relationship.

The story of Raymond Jacobs and the elusive Ashlyn had begun not with a victory on his part but with a defeat. And, therefore, he should have remembered that one of Ashlyn's strong suits is knowing exactly how to play along.

"Yes," I replied anxiously.

"Well," he stated, turning to look at me from the far opposite corner of his office couch. "The answer is quite simple. In order for a solution to be complete, it has to satisfy both interested parties. And your solution, unfortunately, fails to do that."

I stared at him, mouth open, exuding a sensation of absolute bemusement, as if to say, I have no idea what you're getting at.

He smiled condescendingly at me and even allowed a low guttural laugh to escape his lips. "In other words..." He transferred his drink to his other hand and then leaned deeply toward my side of the couch turned battlefield. "There's nothing in it for me."



THE PHYSICALLY and emotionally exhausted woman had returned to the living room with a large manila envelope. She stood before me, clutching it tightly, as if parting from it would mean parting from the only thing that had ever made her feel safe.

I looked at her, longing to ask what was inside. Longing to rip it from her hands, dump the contents out on the coffee table, and riffle through it like a child searching desperately for the best pieces of candy from the recently busted pi?ata.

But I knew this process would have to go at her pace. And so I would wait.

"I don't know why I've kept this," she said softly, still holding the envelope close to her body like a shield. "My husband doesn't even know I have it."

I nodded, trying to look sympathetic and understanding, while all the while trying to keep my lips as tightly closed as they would go. Because I knew that one tiny crack would leave enough space for those persistently inquisitive words to pry my mouth open and escape.

She moved back to her seat on the couch, clutching the envelope in her hands. "I guess it always made me feel like I had something. Something that would protect me. Doesn't that sound silly?"

I shook my head insistently. "Not at all!"

She shrugged and eventually surrendered a nod. "Yeah. I guess it doesn't seem so silly now."

I smiled, the impatience boiling up inside of me. This had to be it! This had to be my key. The key that fit the rusty lock that kept me chained to the evil man's maliciously destructive schemes.

And then I watched as the woman's tightly clasped fingers slowly started to loosen. And her firm, securely wrapped arms slowly started to relax. Until I could see the mysterious manila envelope held close to her body slowly starting to be pulled away.

She looked at it as if she were saying good-bye to an old friend. Throwing away the security blanket that used to keep her warm at night, the only thing that promised her a way out from under a pile of rubble that had hung threateningly over her head for what felt like a lifetime.

Then she began to laugh at her own foolishness, mocking her childish desire to grasp on to something that had promised to keep her out of harm's way. When all along, as it would turn out ...she had never been safe. "Well," she said, extending the envelope across the coffee table in my direction. "Looks like you have something now."



RAYMOND JACOBS was quite pleased with himself.

He had successfully managed to lure this helpless little girl into his clever web of trickery and illusion. And I had without a doubt fallen into it.

And the reason he knew I had fallen for it was because I now sat on his red leather couch, feeling overpowered and lost and ready to give in. To lie down and simply accept my defeat... literally.

This time... he had won the game of chess.

This time... he had conquered the conqueror.

This time...he had made me feel small and helpless. Just as I had done to him. And he took every ounce of satisfaction from the triumph that he knew he deserved.

Raymond shifted his weight onto one hip so he could dig into his pocket and pull out a mangled piece of paper. From the inside of his suit jacket he carefully removed a shiny, silver ballpoint pen that he clicked to life with great fervor and pride. He then began scribbling words onto the piece of paper and handed it to me.

"Here's my address. Shall we say ten-thirty? I have an early meeting tomorrow morning, so I don't want to be up too late."

He winked at me as I hesitantly reached out and took the death sentence from his large grimy hands and attempted to read the illegible black handwriting