The computer demanded a password. This would be no four-to-six-number PIN but could be anything: a word, a sentence, a randomly generated sequence of letters, numbers, and special characters.
Holly tried for twenty minutes before quitting, utterly defeated. She couldn’t even access his desktop. It would probably be the same story with his laptop and tablet—not that they were in the house. They went with him everywhere.
She had already spent hours googling him, using his full name, adding Cancura and Jessica Meyers as search terms, but there just wasn’t anything to find. Her heart stopped for a moment when she spotted a result from Facebook—until she realized it was her own page and the Jessica and Meyers came from their unconnected friends Jessica Ames and Dan Meyers.
Real detectives had access to secret databases no member of the general public could use. TV detectives talked to people. Sometimes pretending to be someone else.
Did Olivia know? Though it had been years since they worked together, she still thought of Olivia as a friend. The thought that Jack’s executive assistant could be aiding and abetting him in an ongoing affair—or affairs—made Holly want to vomit. Then again, if Olivia knew from observation, not because Jack confided in her, why would she sacrifice her own job by going to Holly? Even if she mostly owed her career to Holly?
Maybe Olivia could help her another way. Using her cell phone instead of Jack’s desk phone—caller ID—Holly called the office, silently rehearsing what she’d say.
Jack’s been going on and on about what a great job Jessica Meyers has been doing. I’d love to send her some flowers!
No, to her home address.
Why not at work? No reason.
She was trying to disconnect when Olivia answered. “Hello, Holly!”
“Olivia—I’m so sorry,” said Holly, stammering while she stalled for an excuse. “I misdialed. You’re next to Jack in my favorites.”
“I think he’s in a meeting. Do you want me to try to put you through?”
“No, no. It’s not urgent.”
“I’ll tell him you called, then.”
Great. Now she needed to think of some mundane reason she might have called. Don’t forget to get Dave O’Connell to come to the Hay Bale Ball!
She wished now she had raced outside that godforsaken bar on New Year’s Eve, hailed a taxi, and followed Jack to Jessica’s apartment. To the love nest. God, it sounded like one of her mom’s potboilers she used to read when she was twelve years old, thinking the adult characters’ forbidden desires and tangled relationships were so wonderfully exciting.
But maybe literally following them would be the easiest way to do it. Following Jessica, who had seen Holly only once and hadn’t recognized her on sight. She had no idea what Holly’s car looked like. And in any case was unlikely to be checking her rearview mirror like a fugitive as she made her way home from work.
Holly drove into the city and was in place for her stakeout by four thirty. After circling the block several times, she found a spot on the other side of the one-way street from Cancura. She could see the side door that led to the parking lot, and when Jessica pulled out, there would be only one direction she could go. Holly could easily pull in behind her.
Though the late-January sun was already almost down, she was wearing sunglasses and had driven her Range Rover because it had tinted windows. Keeping the engine running and the heat on full blast, she lowered the passenger window halfway until she had a clear view and then reluctantly ditched the sunglasses.
How long would she have to wait?
Quite a while, as it turned out. Jack modeled an always-working leadership style his subordinates were highly motivated to emulate. Holly sat, listening to NPR on low volume, until she’d heard the same news repeated three times and rush hour had come and gone as the neighboring buildings emptied out. She’d texted apologies for running late to Galenia, then did her best to manage the kids’ homework remotely, all the while keeping an eye on the Cancura entrance. Her legs and feet were hot, and her head and shoulders were chilled from the frosty air whipping in the lowered window. If she raised it, though, she might not recognize Jessica.
Only a dozen cars were left in the lot, Jack’s among them. Would they be so obvious as to leave together? She wished she had a camera with a telephoto lens.
Finally, she saw her, recognizing that lovely chestnut hair in the security light over the side door as Jessica came out of the building, hunched against the wind, and scurried over to an anonymous silver sedan that was at least ten years old. Apparently, Jack hadn’t gotten around to giving her a nice new car yet.
As Jessica waited for the gate to open, Holly saw the silhouette of a cactus on her front license plate. Arizona. Holly raised her tinted side window. And when Jessica pulled into the street, Holly gave her a half-block lead and then followed along behind.
With traffic getting lighter, it was easy enough to keep track of the car. Jessica drove cautiously, as though she were still new enough to Chicago streets to be intimidated by them. And the route was simple enough: after heading east toward the lake for a few blocks, Jessica turned north on Halsted and then followed the stop-and-start traffic out of the West Loop, under expressways, and over the river into Lincoln Park, then Lakeview, where she turned left on Belmont.
A short distance and a right turn brought them to a picturesque one-way street crowded with tall three-flats and small apartment buildings. In summer the leafy canopy would connect overhead, filtering the streetlights with a soft green glow.
Suddenly, theirs were the only cars moving on the block. Her heart thudding, Holly lifted
