“I can’t believe this case could possibly be this easy,” Parker chuckled. “Hand me one of those spring rolls, would you?”
“I can’t believe my luck.” I passed her the little bag with our cooling dinner in it. I’d spent exactly thirty-eight seconds earlier that afternoon planting a tracking device onto Jackson Piedmont’s car, so as I waited in line for our take-out, I recognized it easily in the parking lot outside. A quick peek in the windows of the restaurant next door when I came out confirmed that it was Jackson, clearly visible sitting in the front, with a redheaded woman who was most certainly not Lisa Piedmont.
“It has to be said, if she’s the mistress, she must be either an amazing conversationalist or a wildcat in bed.”
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