Fidelity Files Read Online Free PDF Page B

somewhere made us feel better about the situations we found ourselves in. As if despite all the agony and hardship, there was nothing we could say or do that hadn't already been solved, sorted out, and properly labeled by some hotshot shrink along the way.
    In recent years, however, it had mainly been Sophie calling for the sessions. For some reason, drama seemed to have a strange attraction to that girl.
    As I turned off of Wilshire Boulevard, I began my usual six-turn routine. As a rule of thumb, I never drive directly home. No matter what. I take five separate side streets before finally turning onto my own street and into the garage of my building. It makes it easier for me to spot anyone who might be following me. Wilshire is a huge street, and someone can tail you easily from a couple of cars back. But the five turns I make before returning home are all on smaller, quieter streets. Anyone making that many unnecessary turns behind me would certainly be noticed. In my line of work I couldn't take any chances. The last thing I needed was some lunatic, enraged husband banging on my door at two A.M.
    I waited patiently at a stoplight while the car behind me passed to my left, the driver throwing me a dirty look in the process, and then turned onto my street. I pulled into the parking garage of my complex and parked my Range Rover in its reserved spot. I then quickly gathered up my things and hurried inside. I had only about ten minutes at home before I had to be out the door again to meet with my client, Raymond Jacobs's wife.
    I dragged my rolling suitcase behind me, then turned my key in the lock and stepped inside to find the place exactly how I'd left it: immaculately clean.
    My work afforded me the luxury of employing a housekeeper, Marta, who comes twice a week. She does an excellent job making my house look and smell new every time I walk through the door. And I know how hard it is to keep a house clean that's decorated entirely in white: white carpets, white walls, white sheets, white comforters, white throw pillows, white countertops.
    I remember when my friend Zoë first came over to see my new condo after the interior decorator had artfully transformed it from the washed-up bachelor pad it had been into the chic masterpiece it is now.
    "It's very... white," she remarked playfully.
    "I know. Isn't it great?"
    She nodded. "It's amazing. That must have been some raise you got."
    Raises and promotions had quickly become my cover of choice as soon as the fidelity inspection business started to take off, and I was suddenly able to afford a lot more than just the basic necessities.
    Marta greeted me at the door and took the suitcase from my hand.
    "Thank you," I said politely. "I have to change really fast, and then I'm back out." I rushed through the living room toward my bedroom. "Any messages while you were here?"
    "No, Miss Hunter," Marta replied cordially in her thick Hispanic accent as she stood and watched me frantically make my way through the house. "I think maybe the phone ring when I vacuum. But I not sure, so I no turn off the vacuum to answer."
    I smiled and walked into my bedroom. "That's fine."
    "Usual clean?" she asked after me, nodding toward my suitcase in her hand.
    I stuck my head out the bedroom door. "Yes, please. Thank you."
    Marta nodded and started toward the laundry room as I shut my door to change.
    I quickly unbuttoned my jeans and slid my T-shirt over my head. Just as my chin was clear of the neckline, I noticed the blinking message light on my answering machine. I was always curious when people called my home line. Mostly because very few people actually had the number. And most of those people knew to call me on my cell phone. My business cell phone was the third number I had. But that was reserved strictly for clients and new referrals.
    I pressed Play on the machine as I hurried into my walk-in closet, throwing my clothes into the hamper and sifting through the hangers in the "business