Free Things You Won't Say by Sarah Pekkanen

she’d just shaken her head when Elroy offered to share.
    “She needs proof, right? Because if she confronts him he’s gonna say no. Or maybe she already has, and he’s got excuses. Too many excuses. His BlackBerry is for work and if she asks him for the password all of a sudden, he’ll know she’s onto him and he’ll delete all the messages. She can’t follow him around without being spotted. She’s picking something up, something she can’t quite prove but she knows is real. That’s when she comes to me. It’s like when birds sense a storm is coming and they suddenly strip a bush clean of its berries. Who knows how they know? Maybe an invisible change in the air. But they’re always right.”
    Christie nodded as Elroy nibbled on another fry. She’d never seen a guy eat so slowly; most men she knew wolfed down their food. The combination of his soft voice with the hint of a southern accent and his deliberate movements was oddly hypnotic.
    “Some of the time they’ll have another woman in mind. A co-worker, a neighbor, an old girlfriend—someone who gives off weird vibes. I tell you, bloodhounds got nothing on women when it comes to sniffing this stuff out. So they want us to follow hubby and see if he’s up to no good. But maybe he only sees the other woman once every week or two. That’s a whole lot of money to be paying for stakeouts; my rate’s a hundred an hour plus expenses. Most of them can’t afford it for too long, and their husbands would notice if thousands suddenly disappeared from the bank account.”
    This was fascinating stuff, better than watching soap operas. Not that she did that. Regularly, anyway. Christie leanedin closer, which meant she got a mouthwatering whiff of the fries. She cursed the sadist who’d invented carbs and tried to breathe through her mouth.
    “So what do they do next?” she asked. “The wives, I mean.”
    “That’s where you come in,” Elroy said. He used his napkin to wipe each of his fingertips in turn, then he took a small sip of water and pushed away his mostly full plate, which meant it was that much nearer to Christie.
    “In my experience, a guy who’s already cheating isn’t going to turn down another opportunity, if you get my drift,” he said, giving her a meaningful look.
    “You’re not that subtle,” Christie said.
    Elroy smiled. “The thing is, you gotta walk a careful line. A girl like you—if you throw yourself at a guy, he’s going to say yes, unless he’s the Pope.”
    A girl like you. Christie soaked in the compliment like a hot bath. Simon hadn’t called last night, and when she’d called him at 10:00 P.M. —the three glasses of wine she’d drunk had been coconspirators, urging her to do it—her call had gone straight to voice mail. She’d waited up, but he hadn’t phoned back. Then this morning, a bouquet of flowers had arrived with a note typed by the florist: Sorry I missed you.
    It wasn’t even an extravagant bouquet. There was baby’s breath filling a lot of spaces. What was it Elroy had said? A change in the air.
    “So what do I need to do?” Christie asked, shoving the fries back toward Elroy.
    “We trail the guy,” Elroy said. “Find a place for you to bump into him. An elevator, a sidewalk. Maybe you drop your purse to give him an excuse to help you pick it up. You send out signals—nothing too flashy, but you’ll let him know you might be interested—and see if he responds.”
    “Isn’t that entrapment?” Christie asked. She was proud of herself for remembering the word; she’d heard it on a recent episode of CSI.
    “Nope,” Elroy said. “We’re not arresting anyone here.”
    “Okay,” Christie said. “So if he responds, then what? Exactly how far do I take this?”
    She fixed her eyes on Elroy and folded her arms over her chest. He’d better not expect her to actually fool around with a mark. She liked her new identity as a businesswoman, someone smart and strong and capable. Someone who