The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(144)

His trip was more than likely cut short. He told me he had to come back to Los Angeles to work on other accounts. So why wouldn't she know he was here? And if she knew he was here, why wouldn't she call me for the results?

The whole thing was just very strange. It always had been. It had never quite added up entirely. And I was in no mood to start trying to dig to the bottom of it with a teaspoon. It would undoubtedly take forever and the metal would probably give out halfway through.

So I vowed not to even try.

Not to even think about it.

But I knew that was easier said than done.



I WASN'T exactly looking forward to my meeting with Lauren Ireland, but I wasn't exactly dreading it, either. I was certainly intrigued by her request to meet, not having a clue about what she might possibly want to talk to me about.

Her phone call had come about a month after I informed her and her father about Parker Colman's failure in the hotel room – and at the poker table, for that matter. And she had been completely blind-sided by the information. So not only did she have to digest the fact that she and her soon-to-be husband had differing opinions on what was "appropriate" bachelor party behavior, but she also had to come to grips with the fact that her father had hired someone called a "fidelity inspector" to prove it. Most people don't even know that someone like that exists to begin with.

That's why I initially suspected an attack. A way to get me alone so she could give me another piece of her mind. A more well-thought-out, well-taped-together piece. I mean, her previous outburst was entirely impromptu, no preplanned speech or carefully premeditated insults. I could only imagine what the girl would be able to come up with had she been given adequate time to prepare.

But something inside me was telling me it wasn't a trap. That Lauren had another agenda, a much less violent or verbally abusive one. And that something inside me was the very reason I was now stepping into the coffee shop on the corner of 18th Street and Santa Monica Boulevard.

Well... that and just plain old curiosity.

"Ashlyn!" I heard someone call out.

I turned to see Lauren seated at a small table with one empty chair. She appeared well rested, peaceful, not at all what I imagined my clients (or daughters of clients in this case) to look like only a month after an assignment. I immediately remembered how attractive she was. Conservatively dressed once again, but without a doubt, a very pretty girl.

She waved amicably and I made my way over. As I approached she put away a small, wireless device that she had been toying with and stood up to greet me with a handshake.

"Thanks again for coming." Her face was pleasant and relaxed. And she looked extremely grateful to see me show up.

If this was a surprise attack, she certainly took the word surprise very seriously.

"It's no problem," I replied, and took the empty seat across from her.

"Can I get you something to drink?" she asked. "Coffee, tea... they have amazing chai lattés here."

"Chai would be fine."

I watched her hurry to the counter, order the drinks, and then return to the table. "They'll bring them over," she said as she pulled her calf-length A-line skirt close to her legs and sat down.

I smiled politely. "Great."

"So," she began, fidgeting with the sugar holder, "you're probably wondering why I asked to meet you."

I nodded. "Yes, I am a bit curious. Your phone call definitely wasn't expected."

"Do you get a lot of nasty phone calls?" she asked with genuine interest.

I shrugged. "Some," I said, cautiously opting not to share the privileged information about my recent retirement until I knew a little bit more about her reasons for bringing me here. "I can usually tell by the person's tone of voice within the first five seconds of the call, and I simply hang up," I continued. "Then I store their number under the word screen."

She listened to me speak, her eyes devouring my words, thirsty for more. I started to feel a bit uneasy. And then a strange thought crossed my mind. Maybe she had a crush on me.

I immediately dismissed it. That's ridiculous!

"So what do you charge for something like this?" she asked next.

I looked at her peculiarly. What was with all the interest in my job? I'd never had a former client be this probing before. "Wait a minute," I said apprehensively. "Are you writing an article or something? What is this about?" I demanded, my tone instantly changing from patient to borderline aggravation. I eyed my bag on the floor and wondered if I should make a mad dash for the door before some hidden photographer busted out to take my picture (again!) and plaster it all over the front of The LA Times: THE LEGENDARY "FIDELITY INSPECTOR" CAUGHT ON FILM!

All I needed right now was another dose of national exposure.

Her eyes shot open. "No! Oh, no! I'm sorry. I should have told you why I was here before I started in with all the questions."

I raised my eyebrows suspiciously. "Okay, then, why don't you tell me now?"

She lowered her eyes slightly, as if embarrassed about the topic of discussion. After a brief moment she lifted her head and focused on me. "Actually, I asked you here because—"

"Two chai lattés," a voice announced.

We both looked up at the teenage boy in a green apron hovering above us holding two ceramic cups filled to the brim with steaming hot liquid.