If I Didn't Know Better (The Callaways #9)(89)

It might not mean that, but it certainly hadn't helped his cause. "Why did you leave the Bureau?"

"I'm sure they told you why. I needed time to work the case."

"That's why you're now tracking cheating husbands?"

"Yes. It pays the bills and gives me the time and the freedom to find Sam's killer."

"Were you and Agent Parker involved?"

The anger that came off him at her question heated up the air between them. His intense glare instinctively made her edge toward the door.

"No," he said, his voice tight, as if he were fighting for control. "She was my partner and my friend. She was also a loyal agent, and she deserves justice."

Despite his words, she felt like there was a more emotional connection between him and his partner than he was saying. But she changed the subject. "Tell me why you're so sure the man who was found in the house wasn't the killer."

"Because Sam left me a message right before she went to the scene. She was excited about a new clue she'd discovered."

"What was that?"

"She didn't say, but she did say we'd been on the wrong track, that everything made sense now, that the profile we'd been working was completely wrong."

"That sounds very general."

"Unfortunately, yes. She said she would tell me more when we met. She gave me an address and said 'see you soon.'" He let out a heavy breath. "That was the last thing she ever said to me. I played her message for everyone to hear, but it wasn't enough to convince anyone that Baines wasn't the right guy."

"Maybe she got it wrong," Kate said tentatively. "Maybe Baines was the guy. He was there. He died with her."

His jaw tightened. "She didn't get it wrong."

"What aren't you telling me? You would need more than a phone message to go against the entire Bureau."

"There's a hell of a lot more," he agreed. "But it's going to have to wait. We're here."

He pulled into a parking spot across the street from a seedy-looking bar named Allure. But it wasn't just a bar, she realized; it was also a strip club. Great. Just what she wanted to do on a Wednesday night. "That's the place?"

"That's it."

"What are you going to do?" she asked curiously.

"Take photos of the cheater for his wife."

"And then what?"

"Give them to her in exchange for a nice wad of cash."

"I mean—what is she going to do with the pictures?"

He shrugged. "Don't know. Don't care. Not my job to ask."

"I can't understand how a man trained to ask questions wouldn't want to ask that question. What if she's blackmailing him? Or setting him up in some way?"

"She just wants to know if he's lying to her. And I can already tell you—he is."

"You've followed him before?"

"No, I ran his credit cards. He comes here twice a week, on Monday nights when his wife is at her book club and on Wednesday nights when she goes to Pilates. He's, of course, allegedly working late."

"Where does he work?"

"An advertising agency. He's an account manager."

"How long have they been married?"

"Seven years."

"Does the wife work?"

"She does. She developed a line of popular skin care products that she sells online. Apparently, her business is quite robust."

Kate thought about that. "It sounds like she's more successful than he is. Maybe that's why he's cheating. He can't stand that his wife is doing better than him. I know men like that."

Devin sent her a speculative look. "Are you speaking from personal experience?"

"Of course not," she said quickly, realizing she had let a little of her personal past creep into their conversation. "Just saying he sounds selfish."

"Most people who cheat are selfish."

"I suppose. But you don't actually know if he is cheating. He might be watching the strippers but not actually doing anything."

"I doubt it."

"You really think you know everything, don't you? Yet, you were wrong about why I came to your office."

He frowned. "For about thirty seconds."

She smiled. "You hate to be wrong, don't you?"

"I'm guessing you share the same attitude."

"Well, so far tonight you're the only one who has been wrong, so I don't actually know what being wrong feels like."

"You're wrong if you think chasing Sam's killer is a pointless exercise."

She met his gaze. "I haven't made that assumption yet. I'm still gathering the facts."

As he reached for the door handle, she frowned and said, "Wait. Where are you going? I thought we were watching the door."

"We'll wait for him inside. It's more comfortable, and I could use a drink."

"You drink on the job?"

"One of the perks of working for myself now. Come on, I'll buy you a beer." He paused. "You're not going to tell me you don't drink, are you?"

"Since I met you twenty minutes ago, I've actually been thinking a lot about having a drink—or two," she said dryly.