Page 15 of Fraud
Not wasting a single second, I parked in a nearby lot, taking a precious minute to adjust my tie and run my hands through my dark brown hair and the bit of stubble that dotted my chin.
The clues I had from Kim’s flash drive had led me to the college town of Fremont. I had bits and pieces to figure out but mostly, I was on my own. I had known the author worked at the local college based on an email address I’d managed to hunt down on Kim’s hard drive, and before arriving, I had prepared myself for scouting out the place to find the perfect way to infiltrate her world.
And, once again, luck had been on my side.
As I’d sat at the airport bar, an hour before my flight departure time, trying not to talk myself out of going on this crazy journey, I’d happened to overhear a conversation that made my day.
“You should go give it to her right now!”
“Mom, that is a little creepy,” one of the women had said.
I’d turned my ear toward the booth behind me, suddenly interested. Writers were nosy. It was part of the job.
“If it means a book deal after all this hard work, then no, it’s not creepy at all.”
“I’ve already submitted it to her agency. That’s how these things work,” the daughter had pressed.
“I’ve got news for you, sweetheart. That is not at all how these things work. In the real world, you take every advantage you can. And, right now, you should start by taking this one. Go up to that woman, that Jane Sutton or whatever her name is, and tell her you are the next big thing.”
The name was what had struck a chord with me. I hadn’t stuck around to see if the wannabe writer actually found the balls to walk up to the big shot or not.
The last thing I’d wanted was to be seen earlier than necessary.
But I had wanted to have an upper hand, starting with this one.
Catching a glimpse of the well-known literary agent would have been ideal. But lurking around an airport was the quickest way to get put on the no-fly list, so I had done the next best thing.
I’d made a few phone calls.
Within minutes, faster than I could boot up my ancient laptop, I had gotten her travel plans, complete with hotel arrangements. It was amazing what you could learn when you said you were a florist trying to deliver a dozen roses but couldn’t find the recipient. Women would become putty in your hands.
From there, all I’d needed to do was stalk the hotel.
And, by stalk, I meant, investigate.
For professional reasons.
All of this sounded fucking creepy, and if I got caught, I had no one to back me up. No boss, nothing. No one had hired me to be here. It was my dime and my brilliant yet stupid idea.
But, after a year of trying to make it on my own, I was at my wits’ end. I was penniless with no prospects of employment, and I was the laughingstock of my profession.
I needed to get back in the game.
No, I needed to own the fucking game.
And this was my way back in.
The hotel Jane Sutton had picked was slightly out of my price range, but upon arrival in Fremont, I’d decided proximity was key, so I’d plunked down my credit card and bought a room at the same place as the literary agent I was hunting down. Unfortunately, I’d missed seeing her check in and had to dig even further into my pockets to bribe the guy at the counter to tell me her room number and plans for the evening.
And that was how I’d ended up here.
In the middle of a parking garage, checking myself out in the mirror of this rental, trying to convince myself I wasn’t going crazy.
Because this whole idea was flat-out insane.
The first thing I noticed about the restaurant was the noise.
It wasn’t a place you would take your significant other for a romantic evening out. The restaurant was teeming with activity. Large groups of people laughed and carried on energetic conversations while loud music played in the background.
