Chapter 1
Stupid! So stupid! How could I have possibly been so fucking stupid?!
Lacy raced down the stairs, shot through the parlor, and burst out into the open air. Air that was a good deal warmer than the freezing house she’d just left. The sun beat down upon her as she pulled in silent, gasping breaths—trembling head to toe upon the sidewalk.
It took everything she had in her not to turn around. Not to pick up a handful of rocks and start pelting them at the windows. With her luck, she’d hit the blonde bimbo inside and get sued.
‘Oh—I was just fucking the man you were falling in love with, when this giant rock hit me right in the implant. You’ll have to pay for me to go up a cup size. Have to keep Dylan happy...’
Just thinking the name sent a fresh wave of anger coursing through her, and Lacy actually stomped her foot on the pavement, letting out a little shriek of rage.
Dylan Stone? Am I actually surprised? Did I actually expect anything different from Dylan fucking Stone?! How could I ever get involved with a playboy like that? That wasn’t my style. I didn’t date playboys. Because no woman can ever tame them! What was I thinking?
Lacy remembered the first time the name had ever crossed her radar. She’d gotten to the office early that morning, hoping to get in a few workable hours before she was due in court. It was a rare part of her job, but there were times (usually in divorce proceedings) when she was called in to testify. The coffee was brewing, her statement was ready, and she was just settling in to do some basic recon when the door flew open and a manic-looking woman stormed inside.
“Are you Lacy Larson?!” she demanded, brushing away the furious tears that were streaming down her face. “Is this your company?”
Lacy stood up slowly, giving the woman a careful once-over at the same time. She had learned long ago not to give out her name to strangers. When you made a career out of exposing infidelity, it meant that while one person would owe you for life—the other would hate you with the fire of a thousand suns. After the first two times her car had gotten egged by an angry ex-husband or disgruntled mistress, she’d stopped admitting to the name Lacy.
“Is there something I can help you with?” She averted the question by asking one of her own. In her experience, clients fell into two categories. The victims, and the vengeful. This woman looked to be a little bit of both. “Would you like to sit down?”
Instead of answering, the woman threw a photograph on Lacy’s desk. A grainy, black and white image that looked like it had been clumsily downloaded off a cell phone.
“Have you ever seen this man before?”
First rule of private investigation: Deny, deny, deny!
“I don’t think so.” Lacy squinted down at picture, trying to make it out. “It’s a little bit hard to tell.” She set it down and looked at the woman instead. “Why? Who is he?”
“He’s cheating on me!”
Okay, definitely the victim. But definitely vengeful at the same time.
Lacy nodded slowly, deliberately calming the pace of the conversation as she sank back into her chair. A second later, she gestured to the one on the other side of the desk.
“That has to feel terrible,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry.”
Her sincerity caught the woman off guard, and before she knew what was happening, she was sinking down into the chair. Her purse was set on the floor. Lacy handed her a tissue.
“Why don’t you start at the beginning,” she said calmly. “Tell me what happened.”
What proceeded was one of the most convoluted tales Lacy had ever heard. Filled to the brim with so many twists and turns and misdirection, that before long, she was actually scribbling down notes just to keep everything straight.
The short version was that the woman had been having an affair with a mouthwatering construction worker—Dylan Stone. They’d been going at it for a few months, when she ran into Dylan with another woman at a club downtown. After following them home, it became clear where the night was going. She panicked, snapped a picture on her phone, and drove straight to Lacy’s office after looking up female private investigators online.
Strangely enough, it wasn’t her own infidelity that was the problem. It wasn’t the fact that she was cheating on her husband with a man who was single, attractive, and had made no commitments to her either way. It was the fact that her lover was seeing other people.
To be honest, Lacy didn’t even know if that counted as cheating.
“We usually deal with people in committed relationships,” Lacy said.
“I’m loaded, lady. I will pay you triple! So what do you say?” The woman sniffed loudly, clutching the tissue to her face. “Will you help me? Will you catch him in the act?”
That was the first time Dylan’s face had come across Lacy’s desk. Over the next few months, it became a little game. An office joke. Who was Dylan Stone sleeping with this week? It got to the point where they could virtually throw a dart at the Cleveland phone book and end up hitting one of his conquests. The man knew no limits. There was no end to the insatiable hunger. The women Dylan slept with came from every end of the social spectrum. House wives, to bartenders, to heads of industry. Once or twice, he’d managed to ‘date’ every sister in the same family.
And yet...they could never manage to catch him in the act.
It wasn’t that he was particularly good at hiding—and Lord knows the man wasn’t discreet. It was like he was charmed or something. Whenever they showed up at his house, he wasn’t there. Whenever they went to his various hotel rooms, he and the woman would have just checked out. Whenever they tried to follow his car, he inexplicably decided to call a cab or walk.
His picture quickly earned a spot in their private breakroom. Bigger than the rest of their adulterous suspects. Public enemy number one. The client paid the big bucks and they were
determined to help her. Quin fell in love—fantasized about him at her desk and secretly prayed they’d never catch him. Sarah Green, Lacy’s business partner, started making Moby Dick comparisons—Captain Ahab hunting the mythological white whale. It didn’t matter what they called him—he always managed to escape in the nick of time.
Of course, they’d come close. Incredibly close. Lacy remembered one particular time when she and Sarah had been hiding in the bushes outside his house. Two cameras clutched at the ready. A pile of empty coffee cups littering the ground at their feet.
“This is fucking ridiculous,” Sarah muttered, shifting uncomfortably as her designer heels sank further into the mud. “Tell me again why I let you drag me into this?”
Lacy’s eyes never left the window. They’d heard the water running in the shower, but that was off now. He should be coming down any minute. Ready for his next engagement.
“Oh, I dragged you, did I?” she asked caustically. “It wasn’t that you begged me to come along in the hopes of seeing him in person. And the hopes of getting away from Quin. And this client is paying our damn rent this month.”
Sarah flashed a guilty grin and peered once more into the living room.
It was true. Quin had been getting especially unbearable lately. Ever since Sarah had made the fateful comment that Dylan would sleep with anyone who had breasts, the neurotic secretary suddenly felt as though she had a shot. She’d started wearing shorter skirts. Painting her nails a host of bizarre colors. Even teasing the ends of her hair. (Yes, she thought that was a good idea.) All in the hopes of running into him some night in one of the downtown clubs.
“You had to open your big mouth...” Lacy muttered, shaking her head. “It was bad enough when I caught her photocopying pictures from his file.”
Sarah laughed softly, then fell instantly quiet when they heard a creak from the second story. He was up there alright. Just biding his time.
“It’s not my fault the girl’s deranged—you’re the one who hired her,” she whispered, tossing a handful of leaves at Lacy with a teasing grin. “And I highly doubt the worst thing she’s done with those pictures is photocopy them.”
“Oh gosh—like I need that image in my head!”
Before they could say another word, there was a sudden commotion from inside. The sound of claws scurrying down the stairs. The sound of rapid, shallow breathing. Both girls stretched up to peer beneath the curtains, then jumped back when a giant dog leapt into view.
“Shit!” Sarah gasped, scampering back into the bushes. “You said he had a dog, not a leviathan! We need to get the hell out of here—”
“Relax,” Lacy reached into her purse, keeping her eyes on the dog all the while, “I’ve been here before, remember. Some of us embrace both field work, and the desk.”
With a sweet smile, she extracted a handful of little dog treats and held them up to the pane of glass, waving them gently back and forth. The dog stopped barking at once and followed every movement like a hawk, openly salivating on Dylan’s couch.
“That’s it, that’s a good boy...” she cooed. “Come here. Just a little closer.”
Sarah peered nervously over her shoulder, squinting up into the light just to see the top of the dog’s head. “How do you know it’s a boy?”
“Only a boy would be so easily controlled with the promise of food,” Lacy answered automatically. Without breaking eye contact for an instant, she reached into her purse again and pulled out something slightly more ominous than a handful of dog treats. She pulled out a knife.