“I have another late shift tonight.”
Andrew looked at her.
“What time?”
“Don’t wait up.”
Then she kissed his cheek.
Not his lips.
She left twenty minutes later.
Andrew waited until her car disappeared.
Then he took out his phone.
Tommy Blake had been his friend since college.
Back then, Tommy had been studying criminal justice while Andrew studied engineering. Their careers went in very different directions.
Tommy spent twelve years in law enforcement before leaving and opening a licensed private investigations firm.
They still spoke occasionally.
Birthdays.
Christmas.
A beer every six months if schedules aligned.
Andrew had never imagined needing his professional services.
The receptionist answered.
“Blake Investigations.”
“Is Tommy in?”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“Andrew Callahan.”
Thirty seconds later, Tommy came on.
“Callahan?”
“Hey.”
“Been a while.”
“Yeah.”
Something in Andrew’s voice stopped the usual small talk.
“What happened?”
Andrew looked at the empty kitchen.
“I think Lauren is having an affair.”
Silence.
Then:
“You think or you know?”
“I have a hotel receipt and a message notification on a phone I’ve never seen.”
“Do not access accounts you don’t have lawful authority to access.”
“I haven’t.”
“Good.”
Tommy’s tone became professional.
“Meet me tonight.”
“Where?”
“Murphy’s.”
Their old place.
“And Andrew?”
“Yeah?”
“Do nothing before we talk.”
Murphy’s Bar had changed less than either of them.
Same dark wood.
Same framed photographs on the walls.
Same bartender, only with less hair.
Tommy sat in a back booth.
He was fifty-two now.
Gray through the temples.
Thicker than college.
Still possessed the unnerving habit of looking at someone as if he were listening to both what they said and what they avoided.
Andrew showed him the photograph of the hotel receipt.
Then described the notification.
Tommy wrote everything down.
“Who is W?”
“I don’t know.”
“Any names she mentions often?”
Andrew hesitated.
“Dr. Wesley Grant.”
Tommy looked up.
“Orthopedic surgeon?”
“You know him?”
“Know of him.”
“How?”
“Divorce work. Not mine directly.”
Andrew’s jaw tightened.
“Recently divorced?”
“About six months.”
“That fits.”
“Don’t make it fit too early.”
Andrew gave him an irritated look.
Tommy did not care.
“You hired me because you need facts, not because you need me to agree with what you already believe.”
Andrew leaned back.
“Fine.”
“I can document public movements. Hotel arrivals. Meetings. Things visible from lawful places.”
“Do it.”
“What’s your end goal?”
Andrew looked at the whiskey he had barely touched.
“I don’t know.”
“Figure it out.”
“I want the truth.”
“Good.”
Tommy closed the notebook.
“Start there.”
Lauren came home after midnight.
Andrew lay in bed pretending to sleep.
She moved quietly.
Her clothes smelled faintly unfamiliar.