Trixsters Anonymous

“Absolutely.”

“What kind of damning evidence do you suggest we go after? He sounds like a swindler, but I’m not sure how close he’s skating the law. These women willingly had sex, willingly gave him gifts, and invited him into their personal business.”

“He’s an asshole. Maybe something he’s done is illegal. He lied about who he is.”

A bell goes off in my head, and I have our answer. “That’s it!” I snap, jerking up. “We find out who he really is. Then we find something to nail him on. If we have his real identity, it should give us a starting point.”

“Good plan, and if that doesn’t work, we create a situation that gives us leverage.”

“Let’s try my way first. I’d prefer to not get involved with the online dating scandal.”

I don’t wait for her to agree, searching through our standard correspondence, and emailing Stacy our terms and contract. I also ask for her to provide a copy of his online profile if she still has it.

By the time I’m done, Maren has located the address and parked in a crowded lot.

“What the hell?”

There’s a large man dressed in a full black suit, standing against a door with an earpiece and clipboard. There’s another man, similarly dressed but much smaller, standing at a valet stand. He’s busy talking to a man who hands over his keys then steps next to a woman. There’s another couple with them. They are all dressed up, the women in cocktail dresses and men in suits. The men each pull a small card from their wallets and hand them to the doorman, where he looks them over, glancing between the men and the cards a few times. He speaks into his mic, then the door opens.

“We are definitely underdressed for this club.”

“I have a weird feeling about this place. Did you see them? They were mature and classy. Why would Justin hide his membership here?”

“Maybe it’s another gambling ring?”

“Doubtful.”

“We need to get in,” I surmise, curiosity getting to me.

“I’ll work on it. Hand me a phone.” Maren holds out her palm, and I give her my TA phone.

She snaps a few pictures, then takes the computer from my lap, transferring them.

“There.” She points to the upper right corner of the screen. “That camera is going to help us.”

“How?”

“It’s going to be our eyes.”

“I’m not following you.”

She ignores me and zones in, her hands flying over the keyboard. Letters, numbers, and combination sequences all fill the screen. My head spins watching her scroll through and type, her face scrunched in concentration.

She sits up and flashes me a triumphant smile. “We’re in.”

The picture on the screen changes to a view of the entranc

e. “You hacked into their security cameras?”

“I’d prefer not to use the word hacked. I’ve joined their closed-circuit network.”

“How the hell?”

“Emi, I’m pretty good at this stuff.” She rolls her eyes at me.

“Is this legal?”

“Don’t see why not. We’re watching a man stand by a door.”