Chapter 1

My name is Sarah Price, I was on my way to the airport and already running late when I stopped at the house. I only stopped here because my boss, Arturo insisted. I've never liked to meet the clients. I've always felt that it's a mistake. I prefer to simply do my job with a detached and emotionless attitude. I don't want to know the clients or the targets. It makes what I have to do easier. That way I can refrain from developing any opinions on the cases and stay professional.

Helen Harris came to the door. I asked her who she was and when she confirmed her identity, I sent her to get a form of identification to prove it. When she returned I'd already, unfortunately formed an opinion of her.

"I'm Sarah price, Mrs. Harris," I said. "I work for the Arturo Rios agency. Here is the tape of your husband's most recent week of cell phone calls and messages."

The woman standing in front of me just nodded. "Is there anything juicy on it?" she asked. "Time is getting short. You people need to dig something up soon or I'll be expecting to get all of my fucking money back." I heard a male voice from the other room and she thanked me and closed the door.

As I walked back to my car, I started wondering again why I did what I did for a living. The woman today was one of the reasons why I liked to avoid meeting the clients.

There were no two ways about it that woman was the lowest form of scum.

Helen Harris appeared to be in her late thirties, but could have been older or younger. She'd had a thin housecoat on and was naked under it. I truly wished that she'd taken the time to look at herself in a mirror before coming to the door because she had dried semen on her face and the smell of sex in the house was overpowering.

The male voice from the other room urging or ordering her to "Get her ass back in there," couldn't have come from her husband because he was currently in Detroit at some kind of automotive supplier's convention. I knew that because he was my intended target. I'd been given the case because the current operatives weren't able to turn up anything and Arturo didn't want to lose this case.

Judging by the question she'd asked me, Mrs. Harris seemed to believe that her husband was cheating on her. She was obviously cheating on him, so I just didn't understand her actions. Why couldn't the two of them just get a divorce and move on?

Of course I was sure that this was about money. Somehow these couples all started out very much in love, and they always ended up squabbling over money.

After a few years in this job, was it any wonder that I didn't date any more. I'd gotten to the point where I could tell by looking at a guy what his quirks were, and how our relationship would end up.

I simply no longer believed in love. I thought heavily about that as I waited for my plane to be called at the airport after checking in.

I have no illusions about myself. I'm pretty. I'm not bragging, I'm simply stating a fact. I was lucky enough to be born with a set of features that men find pleasing. I also have a well toned body that seems to please men as well. I just consider myself a normal girl. I can't help it if men's minds are constantly focused on sex.

Realistically, when it comes to men, a girl doesn't really have to be attractive to appeal to them. If she is though it only fans the flames hotter.

As I sat down on the plane, I noticed a guy two rows behind me get up and switch seats to sit next to me. "Hi," he leered. "Looks like good weather for flying."

I looked up at him, and in the most cheerful voice I could muster, politely answered him.

"What's your name?" I asked, opening my laptop.

"Frank Compton," he said flashing me a mouthful of yellow teeth. I quickly entered his name in a database that P.I.s use. Then I turned the screen and showed him the file on himself. He looked shocked that all of his personal information was so readily available.

"First off, Frank," I said. "I don't give a flying fuck about the climate. So your skills as an amateur weatherman are being wasted on me. Second I'm not interested in pleasant conversation or netting any new friends so take your fat, balding, beer bellied ass back to your original seat, or I'll call your wife Gladys and have divorce papers waiting for you before the plane lands. Do you have any questions?"

For a fat guy Frank really could move. He muttered "Dyke," and was back in his seat in less time than it took me to close my laptop.

I opened my briefcase and looked at the picture of Chris Harris. According to my information, he was only 28 years old. He was about 10 years younger than his wife. My first thought at seeing his picture was that he was pretty good looking.

As I read the file I realized that all of my first impressions were wrong. Before I'd even looked at the file, I was sure that he was cheating on his wife. I guess that I'd come to that conclusion because she was the person who'd hired us to get evidence of his infidelity.

Looking at the picture and reading through the file, I saw a young, good looking man with an older, less attractive woman. I was sure that he'd married her for her money. After a closer look at their finances, I realized that he was the one who was supporting her. She had no money, and didn't work.

Next I thought that maybe there'd been some kind of accident, and he'd married her for the sake of the child. They had no children, so that was out. This case seemed to be even more interesting as it went on.

A couple of hours later, as the plane descended, I still couldn't get the picture out of my mind. He was tall and handsome. He was also only a few months older than I am. Why would he saddle himself with that woman? She was 10 years older than him. She was short and chunky. Her ass was too big and her boobs were too small. It certainly couldn't be her personality. And to top it off, she was a slut. It just didn't make sense.

I checked into my room at the Westin hotel in Detroit. The Hotel was part of the Renaissance Center, in Detroit's Downtown area. Luckily the convention was being held less than a mile away in a conference center called Cobo Hall. I was sure that my target would have hated being in the Renaissance Center. It was GM's headquarters and he was supposedly heavily into Mustangs.

The room was nice as hotel rooms go, but I've been in so many of them over the years that the details have started to blur. I'm also so rarely home for any considerable period of time that I really don't remember many of the details of my apartment either.

I called the office back in Chicago to let them know that I'd arrived. Carla our office manager and Arturo's wife answered the phone.

"Hey, Sarah," she said. "How's Motown?"

"It's the same as every other crumbling industrial city," I said. "It's loud, aggressive and full of itself."

"Carl is really ready to hand the case over to you," she said. "His wife is due to go into labor any day now. Darryl will stay and assist you. He knows that you're in charge. Happy hunting, Sarah."