hotel on the outskirts of Texarkana. Ever since he moved from Houston to Birthright, he’d had second thoughts about what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. He’d gotten scholarships to go to college, but he’d still had a lot of money tied up in student loans. He had found out right fast that eighty-hour weeks and all that stress weren’t what he imagined his job would be, but he was stuck with the only real skill he had until his good friend Daniel Freeman, who had gone to law school with him, had quit and joined his father’s private investigator firm. That sounded like a fantastic idea to Noah, so when Daniel offered him a position, he jumped on it. He put in the hours and passed the test to be a PI, and after a year of working with the Freeman Firm, he’d left the company to start his own practice.
He picked up the mystery book he’d brought along and began to read. The story was about a PI who was always bumbling things up. So far, he’d never made any of the mistakes the character in the book had made, but after a year of this business, he was doubting it was for him after all. Sitting in a motel, waiting for dark so he could hit a couple of bars, when he’d rather be in Birthright—well, he had a lot of decisions to make by Christmas.
He hit the first bar at ten o’clock, sat on a stool at the far end of the counter, and sipped on a nonalcoholic beer until the right man came inside. The guy slid into a booth in a dark corner and ordered two beers. By the time the waitress delivered them, a woman had joined him on the same side of the booth. Noah positioned his phone so he could get several pictures of them kissing.
That woman looks younger than his daughter, Noah thought as he pulled up the family picture the man’s wife had given him.
It’s not your job to judge, that pesky voice inside his head reminded him. You are here to verify that he’s having an affair, deliver the evidence, and be on your way.
“But I don’t like being a part of breaking up homes,” he muttered.
“What was that?” the bartender, a cute little blonde who couldn’t be a day over twenty-one, asked.
“Sorry, I was talkin’ to myself.” Noah laid out a bill on the counter and carried his beer to the booth right behind the couple.
He turned on the recorder on his phone and decided they were, beyond a doubt, the stupidest couple he had ever surveilled. Even in the noise of the bar, he could hear them loud and clear.
“You’ll tell her tonight when you go home,” she said.
“If she’s asleep, I’ll do it in the morning before I go to work. By this time tomorrow night, we won’t have to hide things any longer. I love you, Chrissy.”
“Oh, Marcus, I love you, too.”
More kissing and then Marcus said, “Let’s leave these beers behind and go celebrate in our room.”
Noah knew the make and model of Cheating Husband’s truck, so he waited a couple of minutes before he followed them out. He got a few more shots of them all hugged up and making out next to a small compact car as he walked to his vehicle. Then they separated and each drove, as luck would have it, to the very hotel where he was staying. By the time they got into their room, he’d shot a dozen more pictures.
Figuring that his job was done, he went into his room, loaded all the pictures and the audiotape into his laptop, and sent them straight to the man’s wife. She responded by saying she would send a check for the rest of the money she owed him.
“Well, that was easy enough,” Noah said aloud.
His phone rang and the ringtone let him know it was Daniel. “You still in Texarkana?” Daniel asked as he picked up.
“Yep, got finished with a case, and I’ll be headed home tomorrow morning,” he answered.
“Got time to do a favor for an old friend?”
“Sure,” Noah said. “What do you need?”
“I’ve got a job that involves insurance fraud,” Daniel replied. “The feller lives in Fulton, Arkansas. That’s not far from Texarkana. Name is Quinn McKay, fifty-nine years old. I need pictures of him lifting or doing anything strenuous. I can be there Thursday to spell you if you haven’t gotten