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It’s a name. And address.

“What is she…?” I don’t understand.

“What did you find?” Nico again.

I squint at the paper. “There’s no way she would…”

“Would what? What did you find, Lucas?”

“I think… I think she might be physically checking on someone?”

Confusion radiates over the line, mimicking the way I feel.

“I thought you said she does all of her research online?”

“Apparently, this is part of the five percent that she doesn’t.” My stomach roils with worry. “Guys, I don’t like this. She’s a five-foot-nothing girl; she shouldn’t be checking on a”—I check her notes—“a fifty-year-old VP who’s in the middle of a gigantic acquisition.”

“I don’t like that either,” comes Alexander’s deep voice. “Did she put the location?”

I nod, even though they can’t see me. “It’s just outside of the city.”

“Text it to me. I’ll go get her.”

And maybe it’s hearing the worry in my Marine brother’s voice, or maybe it’s the accumulation of everything that happened today, but I’m hit with a fear so deep, my knees buckle.

What is she doing? Doesn’t she know I can’t lose her?

I have to do something. I can’t just sit here.

“Are you guys at Nico’s?” I demand. “Can you pick me up?”

“We’ll be at your place in five minutes.”

THIRTY-FIVE

CHARLI

The address is to an apartment building.

It wouldn’t normally make sense that a filthy rich vice president lives in an apartment by himself, but as it turns out, the filthy rich vice president doesn’t live in an apartment by himself.

This is the apartment he uses for his mistress.

After I saw the apartment and got curious about the why, I took a seat in the coffee shop across the street to dig a little deeper. It only took two searches to figure out he was having an affair. A married fifty-year-old man with two daughters and a successful career, but he skips out on Thursdays to spend the evening with his twenty-something assistant after a week of foreplay in the office.

I wish I could say I’m surprised, but I’m not.

What I don’t understand is how this plays into my case.

I sit in the coffee shop for another forty-five minutes, typing furiously on my laptop as I hack into every system I can think of. There’s something here, I can feel it. I’m just not seeing it.

I’m impatient enough to need a closer look. Maybe there’s a physical clue instead of something electronic. A cell phone, maybe.

It’s easy to sneak into the apartment building. I’ll just wait until someone exits the building and send them a disheveled smile, like I can’t find my keys.

Getting into the apartment should be harder.

It should be, but it isn’t.