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Classy guy.
“God, I hope he didn’t screw some trashy skank on this chair,” she mumbled. It’d be a shame to sully such a quality piece of furniture with his pasty ass. She was moving on from disappointment to anger at being taken for a fool yet again. “Least he uses condoms.”
She pursed her lips as something sparked in the recesses of her brain. Wasn’t there some stupid story he’d told her from his fraternity days about Trojans?
“Shit, what was it?” She closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her forehead. “Think, Livy, think.”
Something about accidentally leaving a box of condoms at his grandmother’s house when he’d road-tripped through her town on spring break. She mailed them back along with a few more boxes and some homemade cookies. His frat brothers called her the Trojan Fairy and him…
“The Trojan Kid,” she said aloud. He’d loved that stupid nickname and wore it like some ridiculous badge of honor. What a stud. The guys from his frat still called him by the stupid label when they got together once a year for a weeklong Vegas bro-fest. She could only imagine how many condoms he went through during those weeks.
Could it be that easy? Her thirty-five-year-old fiancé reliving his glory days through his password? Unfortunately, even if she guessed the correct phrase, she could still fail. There were capitals, special characters, and numbers to consider.
“Here goes nothing,” she whispered as she clicked the keys. She capitalized the ‘T,’ changed the ‘o’ to a zero, and capitalized the ‘K’ as well. They seemed to be the most obvious options, and since she’d already established his lack of imagination, she’d assume he’d choose the obvious.
Closing her eyes, she hovered her finger over the enter key. “Please work.”
She smashed the button as she squeezed her eyes tighter. The sound of his operating system booting up filled the office space.
Olivia’s heart shot into overdrive. “It worked,” she whispered as she opened her eyes. Sure enough, the screen shone bright with a grid of their security cameras. “Oh, my God, it worked!” she shouted. “Trojan Kid. Of course.”
Now that she’d cracked the code, the real mission began—find irrefutable proof of Lance’s cheating.
Where to look first? The calendar, maybe?
Her gaze roamed over the grid of images on his large monitor. He’d left the security app open as he often did. Lance had cameras everywhere—inside the home, around the property, at the office, in the garage.
Huh.
She frowned. Three of the grid squares were darkened. Did that mean the cameras were broken? Lance would have a fit if that were the case. The malfunctioning squares were from the garage beneath his office buildings in downtown Chicago. Three cameras focused on the garage area with his designated parking spot. It made sense to keep an eye on his car, considering how much he paid for the Lamborghini.
So why weren’t they on?
She clicked around, trying to diagnose the problem, which didn’t appear to be major. In fact, it seemed someone had merely shut the cameras off. Maybe the office had some sort of power glitch, and they hadn’t kicked back on.
No matter, easy fix.
She selected the three dark cameras and, with a few flicks of the mouse, had them up and running again. As she was about to minimize the application, movement from the garage camera caught her eye.
Lance climbed out of his car with a scowl and then approached another vehicle parked two spots away. Frowning, Olivia leaned in closer. She didn’t recognize the other vehicle, a black SUV with opaque windows.
As Lance neared the SUV, the driver’s door opened, and a man stepped out. He was as unfamiliar to her as the car. Shorter than her six-foot-two fiancé by at least three inches, the newcomer was thin with a thick head of light-colored hair and a mustache to match. He wore jeans, a dark hoodie, and a frown.
“Who are you?” Olivia asked aloud.
This wasn’t some evening rendezvous with an airheaded mistress.
She watched, captivated, as Lance spoke to the man, who nodded then opened the back door of his SUV. Narrowing her eyes, Olivia leaned in even closer as though that would help her hear the soundless video. “What are you up to?” she whispered as she tapped her lower lip.
Was this something shady? Illegal? Lance seemed so polished and concerned with his image to engage in drugs or guns. He was way too worried about his socio-economic status to risk his livelihood with illegal activities.
Wasn’t he?
So what was in that vehicle?
The man reached in and yanked a woman from the back of his car.
“What?” Olivia reared back, making the wheeled chair roll away from the desk.
Shit, she looked young. Maybe eighteen or nineteen. And was she drunk?
The young woman stumbled and swayed as the unknown man set her on her feet. Her eyes were slits, and her head lolled as though too heavy for her neck. Alcohol wasn’t the issue. At least not the only issue. This woman had been drugged.
