The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(63)

"How would he even know where to find me?" I asked, not really expecting an answer.

John remained silent as he waited patiently for the initial shock to wear off. "Is it true?" he finally asked.

I lifted my head and looked into his eyes. They were soft and focused. But the most comforting sight of all was that there wasn't even the slightest trace of judgment.

I nodded.

John nodded back, quietly taking in the truth. I watched him react, seeing the wheels turning in his head. The puzzle pieces were all falling into place. The mysteriously empty spaces that were once breezed over and quickly forgotten about were suddenly filling with meaning and explanations that made perfect sense.

"They hire you?" John asked in a soft, inquisitive tone.

I nodded again.

"To test their husbands?"

I sighed. "I call it a 'fidelity inspection.' I've been doing it for the past two years. I wanted to tell you guys, I swear. But I was sure you'd all judge me. Especially Sophie."

John laughed and stood up, looking down on me. "Judge you? Honey, I idolize you!"

"Huh?"

"You're bringing 'em down. Taking on the cheaters. Freeing the world of evil. That's some serious shit."

I suddenly found myself laughing as well. "Well, I think that's taking it a little far, but..."

"Fuck that!" John said triumphantly. "I'm all for it. In fact, I think it's brilliant. You're practically Wonder Woman." He placed his hand on his chin and waxed pensive. "Hmm... maybe I should get myself into this business. I bet you get a lot of ass that way..."

"John!" I exploded, standing up and slapping his hand away from his chin. "I don't sleep with any of them!"

"You don't . . . but I would." He continued his deep contemplation charade. "Yes, I can see the advertisements now. 'John's Cheater-Buster Business.' It'll be a huge hit."

I rolled my eyes and sat back down in my chair, pulling it up toward the desk. "Isn't 'gay cheating' an oxymoron? Go back to the office. I have work to do."

John leaned over my shoulder, suddenly extremely interested in whatever I was doing on my computer. "What kind of secretive, cool spy stuff do you have to do? Steamy IM conversations with adulterous husbands? Elicit correspondence with desperate housewives?"

"No," I stated firmly, pushing his face away and typing wildly on the keyboard.

"C'mon, I need more details. Do you dress up in kinky outfits? Do you speak with cute accents? Do you—"

"John," I interrupted him, narrowing my eyes.

He stamped his foot on the ground like a petulant child refusing to eat his vegetables. I simply shook my head, trying not to crack a smile. John had a unique way of making me laugh no matter what was happening in my life. And I don't think he even realized it.

"I need to do some research on this Web site." I squinted at the screen and read the site's Web address aloud: www .dontfallforthetrap.com. I grunted. "Wow. Well, aren't they clever," I said sarcastically. "I don't even set traps. I follow, not lead. The guy who put this site up is probably some f*cking loser who can't even take responsibility for his own stupid actions."

John, still not giving up on his pursuit of details, grabbed hold of my T-shirt and started yanking on it. "Jennnnnn, pleeease. I neeeed something!" he whined.

I relinquished a sigh and turned my chair to face him. "Fine," I began indignantly. "Yes, once I had to do a British accent because a client said her husband was a sucker for girls with accents."

John nodded, half satisfied. "And..." he prompted.

I let out an incredulous laugh. "And just the other day, I dressed up as a flight attendant."

"Now, that's what I'm talking about!"

I shook my head in wonderment as I turned back toward the screen. I scrolled up and down the page, searching for information. Clues that might help me solve this nauseating mystery. I frowned. "There's absolutely nothing on here that could even hint at who was behind this."

John shrugged his shoulders. "You can always look it up on one of those Internet registrars. Like whois.com or something."

I turned and eyed him curiously. "What?"

"They have databases online that hold all the public records for Web site domain purchases."

"How do you know this?"

"I stalked a boy at work once."

"Ah." I nodded, and turned back to the computer. "How'd that turn out for ya?"

He shrugged again. "We dated for a week."

I opened another Web browser and navigated to the registrar John had mentioned. I typed in the name of the Web site that was blasting my, until now, well-kept secret to the world and hit Search.

Another window popped up filled with several lines of incomprehensible gibberish. I scanned the text for a recognizable name or company or something. But the only thing that made even the slightest bit of sense was the constant repetition of the word anonymous.

"What the hell does all this mean? Anonymous?"

John leaned over my shoulder and read the screen. "Yeah, that's what happened to me. It means whoever put that Web site up chose not to make their identity known to the stalker world. It's really a travesty, in my opinion. I mean, taking away every man's right to harmlessly stalk, what happened to the First Amendment?"