The Fall Guy for a Fake Cheating Scandal

Clint Phillips was still roaring over the phone, as if he were genuinely beside himself with rage. "Ray, are you there yet?"

I watched the elevator doors slide shut again and kept my voice as steady as I could. "I'm here."

"Then hurry up and get up there! Room 1608. I sent you the code."

"How do you know the code?"

There was a beat of silence on the other end.

"Lainey told me a while back. She's lazy like that; she uses the same few numbers for all her passwords."

"Didn't you say someone sent you photos?"

"Yeah."

"So where are they? Let me see."

Clint paused and didn't answer.

"Didn't I already send you the room number? I'm too pissed off to deal with the photos right now. I'll send them later."

I looked down at my phone. All he'd sent me was one line: Prescolt Hotel, Room 1608. That, and a four-digit code.

No photos. No screenshot from an unknown number. Nothing at all to prove Lainey was in there hooking up with someone.

The floating comments were still hanging in front of my eyes.

[Don't touch that door.]

[The door lock log is exactly what he wants.]

[Enter that code even once, and you'll never be able to explain your way out.]

My palms were slick with sweat.

I had no idea what those words actually were. Hallucinations? Warnings? Or had I worked overtime for so long that my brain had finally glitched?

But I knew one thing. Under these circumstances, there was no way I was going upstairs alone to open a stranger's hotel room.

"Clint, switch to video," I said. "Let me see where you are."

"The signal's bad on the train," he shot back immediately.

"Then share your live location."

"My phone's almost dead."

"Aren't you on a call right now?"

His tone suddenly turned harsh. "Ray, are you doubting me right now?"

I closed my eyes for a moment. Then I looked up at the security camera on the lobby ceiling and set my bag on my knees. "I'm not doubting you. I'm just worried it's not safe to go up there by myself. How about I get someone from the front desk to come with me?"

Clint's voice changed in an instant. "No!"

Too fast.

So fast, it was as if he'd been expecting me to say that all along.

He quickly added, "I mean, don't alert the hotel. What if Lainey runs off? Just slip in quietly and take a picture to see if anyone's in the room."

"Then I'll call the police."

"Don't!" He practically screamed it.

I didn't say anything.

Realizing he'd overreacted, Clint softened his voice again. "Ray, this is just a relationship thing. Calling the cops would be humiliating. How am I supposed to face anyone after that? Just take a look for me. One look."

I took a deep breath and changed the subject. "Clint, which train are you actually on?"

"The one coming back from Sensmeier Station," he said vaguely.

"What time did it leave?"

"My head's a mess right now. Can you stop asking me this stuff?"

"Which car are you in?"

He went silent.

Someone rolled a suitcase through the lobby, the wheels clattering over the floor tiles, unusually loud.

Then Clint said my name quietly. "Ray."

"Yeah."

"We've known each other for seven damn years, and when I ask you to help me catch one cheater, you drag your feet like this?"

I tightened my grip on the phone.

He went on, "Bro, are you going to help me or not?"