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I take out my earbud, remove the glasses, and throw my blonde wig in a pile on the bed. “I can’t believe they’re going at it in the open. That’s ballsy.”

“It is, but it’s off season. This hotel is practically vacant. Considering they spent the last four hours holed up in their room, I’m surprised they even have the energy to go at it like this.”

“Maybe voyeurism is a turn on?”

“True, but looks like they’re coming to a finish. Pun intended.”

“Ugh, gross.” I crinkle my nose as Cyndi throws back her head with a moan loud enough for the audio to pick up. Her boyfriend follows soon after with his own groan.

They stay together for several minutes, kissing some more and then righting their suits before getting out. Her diamond wedding set flashes bright on her hand.

I grab my own computer and search for the discovery email from Mr. Trek. Maren told me the basic details, but I never read his story. After witnessing Cyndi’s tryst, my heart bleeds for the man.

Mr. Trek explained they’ve been married nine years, but he noticed changes about six months ago. She joined the gym and hired a trainer, started losing weight and spending more time away from the house. He’s tried to get her to talk to him, knowing something was happening, but she insisted he was overreacting. Then, two weeks ago, he found a shopping bag with lingerie hidden under her back seat.

He waited patiently for her to show him any sort of affection, holding hope that the lingerie was a sign she was rekindling their diminishing intimacy. The time never came. Then she approached him with the trip to Myrtle Beach, presenting it as a fitness and wellness retreat. That’s when he emailed us.

Maren was able to hack into Cyndi’s email and confirm there was no retreat scheduled for this weekend in Myrtle Beach. There was, however, forwarded confirmations for this hotel.

He asked for absolute evidence if she was cheating. He needed something hard and concrete because he was going for primary custody of their son.

I get the impression he thinks he’s dealing with a man on this assignment because, in one of his emails, he says, ‘I’ve been told you are the best man for the job.’

Maren and I agree this is a good thing. It’s one more layer of our anonymity.

“Okay, I’m going to get the pen so we can download the information.” She throws on a hoodie and starts to lace her tennis shoes. “Be back soon.”

I turn my attention to her computer screen and watch a few minutes later as she comes into view. She jogs right past the Jacuzzi, stopping at the table I was sitting at earlier, and pretends to tie her shoelace. To anyone watching, it looks like she’s out for an evening run, but I know the instant she swipes the pen because the screen goes black.

While I wait for her to get back to the room, I consider calling Walker, maybe apologizing for acting snitty. Instead, I lift my feet in the air and snap a picture of my freshly polished, electric blue toenails and text it to him.

Me- Perfectly safe… Massages and pampering was fun. See? No trouble here.

I hit send and wait less than five seconds before the bubbles appear and I know he’s replying.

Walker- Night is still young. Who knows what can happen? Get back to me with no incidents and we’ll talk.

Me- You’re going to eat your words. We’re being angels and thoroughly behaving.

Walker- Get back to me with no incidents, and I’ll be eating more than my words.

Holy Shit! My stomach and chest constrict at the same time, sending a thrill up my spine. I picture him lying on his sofa watching his gigantic TV in his athletic shorts and nothing else, that damn tattoo on display that begs me to touch it every chance I get. My fingers tingle at the thought. I type my response before losing my courage.

Me- Is that a promise? Or a tease?

Walker- I don’t tease

I grow a little bolder, biting my lip as I respond.

Me- I could disagree. Maybe we should go on that stakeout?

Walker-You’re playing with fire

Me- Who’s playing?

Walker- In about 20 hours, we’ll see who’s playing

Me- Can’t wait