Chapter 25 #3
That’s called voyeurism, the anonymous privacy lawyer informed her when Cole told him what they’d said. Which is a criminal act. How badly do you want to do this?
She thought about Jordan and Annika—her husband and her friend—having sex. If she was going to do this, it was go big or go home.
Badly, she said. Desperate times and all that.
The following day, she received a message from Parker.
The woman finishes her assessment and meets her in the kitchen, where Cole has made them both coffee.
Cream and sugar for Parker; a generous pour of Baileys for Cole.
If Parker can smell the whiskey, she doesn’t acknowledge it.
And if she recognizes Cole from Trophy Wives, she gives no indication at all.
Mind you, the surveillance expert doesn’t seem like the type who’d watch her show.
“So the good news is, there are no cameras installed inside your house already,” Parker says, taking a seat across from her at the table. “You’re not being watched.”
Cole lets out a breath. “I didn’t think there were, but that’s good to know.”
“The bad news is, I have to increase the quote I originally gave you.” Parker takes a sip of her coffee. “Everything here is so minimalistic that I’ll have to use the smallest cameras I have in order to make sure they’re not detected. They cost a lot more. You good with that?”
“That’s fine,” Cole says. She’s already paid half the original quote as a deposit. “It just has to be done today. My husband will be home this evening and then I leave for—” She almost says rehab, but catches herself in time. “Oregon. I’ll be away for a few weeks.”
“Absolutely.” Parker checks her watch. It might be the girthiest timepiece Cole’s ever seen, all rubber and steel, the type that could probably survive a fall from the CN Tower. “I should be done by three, four at the latest.”
“Can I see them?” Cole asks. “The cameras?”
Parker reaches for her suitcase. Placing it carefully on the kitchen table, she snaps it open, revealing a vast array of tools.
But it isn’t a regular toolbox. The drill, the hammers, the screwdrivers—everything is so much smaller and much more sophisticated-looking than she expected.
Parker selects a small container. Inside, nestled in foam compartments, are a dozen tiny black screws.
She picks one out carefully, and hands it to Cole.
Cole looks down at it, her mouth falling open as she rolls it around in the palm of her hand. It looks like a screwhead, but as she looks closer, she sees it’s not a screw at all. “This is a camera?”
“What you’re paying for isn’t just the camera, which you can buy anywhere.
You’re paying to make them undetectable, which requires the cameras to be small, high quality, and installed perfectly.
This requires a lot of training, and a little finesse.
” Parker grins. “I know what you’re thinking. This is some real James Bond shit.”
“How’d you even get into this line of work?” Cole asks, curiosity getting the better of her.
“Army, ten years. American, not Canadian—I’m originally from Boston.
” Parker takes the camera and places it back into the foam.
“Did two tours in Afghanistan, plus a couple of other places I can’t tell you about.
Job was mainly surveillance, special ops.
Then I burned out, shocker. Left the army after a decade, worked for my uncle’s landscaping company, turned out I liked growing gardens and shaping hedges.
Went on a weekend trip to Toronto, fell madly in love with a Canadian, married her, settled here.
Couple years in, suspected she was cheating on me.
Put my old skills to use and confirmed that she was.
Broke my fucking heart. After the divorce, I started doing surveillance again, but now I do it in the private sector.
Pays much better, and I’m not getting shot at. ” She pauses. “At least not yet.”
“So your truck—the landscaping thing—it’s legit?”
“Hell yeah,” Parker says. She taps the briefcase. “This is just my side gig.”
“I’m American, too,” Cole says. “You think you’ll ever move back to Boston?”
“Nah, I like it here. You?”
“Don’t know,” Cole says. “My life here is really my husband’s life. All our friends were his friends first. When we split, they’ll choose sides. And it won’t be mine.”
She thinks of Cecily Monaco, and feels an ache in her gut. Of all the people she thought would call to check on her after RealityCon, she assumed one of them would be Cecily. But she hasn’t heard a peep from the woman she believed was her friend. In fact, she hasn’t heard from any of her friends.
Ironically, the only friend who never betrayed her is Barb.
Parker finishes her coffee and stands. “I’ll let you know if I need anything,” she says, then pauses.
“And for what it’s worth, we all fuck up.
All this internet shit will soon be replaced with new internet shit, and what happened in Vegas will be old news.
They’ll bring you back once you finish rehab. They have to.”
Cole stares up at her in surprise.
“Haven’t missed an episode.” Parker winks. “You’re my favorite trophy wife.”