To Catch A Cheat Part 1

To Catch a Cheat.

by Kelley St. John.

Acknowledgments.

My thanks and appreciation to: Beth de Guzman and Frances Jalet-Miller, for their insightful editorial guidance, Doug and Gay Duhon, for sharing their fabulous etouffee recipe, and Caren Johnson, my incredible agent.

Cheaters never win, but they sure can p.i.s.s you off.

-MARISSA K KINCAID

Chapter 1.

Boxers or briefs?" Marissa Kincaid asked, keying in the information for this week's AtlantaTellAll poll. She peered over the top of her computer monitor and wiggled her brows at her two best friends and business partners. "Johnny Depp. What do you say, boxers or briefs?"

"It depends." Amy Brooks leaned her head against the back of the couch and fingered the tip of her brown ponytail with one hand, while her other palm caressed her son's back. Bo, her three-year-old, stuck his rump in the air as he slept peacefully against his mother's chest. "Johnny Depp," Amy whispered, her mouth curving into an extremely wistful, yet satisfied grin. "Oh yeah, it definitely depends." Smiling against Bo's blond curls, she crossed one long leg over the other and let her blue rhinestone-embellished flip-flop dangle from her foot. "You never can tell what a guy might be hiding beneath his jeans."

"You aren't even talking about Johnny Depp, are you?" Marissa challenged. "You're thinking about Landon." No doubt about it, Landon Brooks was one hot cowboy, and Amy rarely had a thought about any male that didn't somehow come back to her hubby.

"Well, yeah, I was." Amy kissed Bo's crown.

Candi Moody unclipped her hospital badge from the front of her blue scrubs, tucked it in her pocket, and yawned. "Okay. I'm sorry, but after the day I had at work, I really don't need to hear about the hunk you've got waiting at home. And what do you mean, it depends? It's a simple question, and you just have to give her an answer so we can finish this poll, then get some sleep. Some of us have day jobs, you know, and one of us hasn't slept in, oh, two days."

"I have a day job," Amy argued. "Full-time motherhood. And it's exciting, even more than designing s.e.x toys."

Previously a designer of unique vibrators for Adventurous Accessories, Amy had decided to stay home and embrace motherhood with gusto the minute Bo was born. She put her all into motherhood the same way she put her all into her s.e.x toy designs, one hundred percent, and she hadn't regretted the decision one iota. But like Marissa and Candi, Amy hoped their webzine would continue growing in subscribers and that her weekly s.e.x advice column for the site would eventually pay off in spades.

So far, AtlantaTellAll had put a dab of cash in each of their pockets, but their readers.h.i.+p was steadily increasing, and Marissa dreamed of the day when she could quit her computer-programming position completely and run the magazine. Then she could be her own boss, work from home, and-she shot a glance at the little boy in Amy's arms-perhaps have a little Bo of her own.

Candi mumbled, "Yeah, I guess you're right. You do have a day job, but at least yours takes a nap every now and then, and probably lets you do the same. Now, come on and give Marissa your answer. We've promised our readers that the polls will go up every Monday. In an hour, we've missed that goal for this week. Johnny Depp, boxers or briefs? Answer."

"I can't," Amy said. "Because it really does depend."

"On what?" Marissa questioned, softly drumming her fingertips against the lower portion of the keyboard while she waited for Amy's answer.

"If we're talking Johnny Depp in Edward Scissorhands Edward Scissorhands, then I'd say definitely boxers, but if it's Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean Pirates of the Caribbean, then briefs."

"A pirate wearing briefs? Are you serious?" Candi rubbed her eyelids with her fingertips then informed Marissa, "My answer is boxers, whether it's freaky Edward or yummy Jack Sparrow."

"Gotcha," Marissa said, stifling her laugh. "Okay, we're using Johnny in Pirates Pirates, and that rounds out our poll of ten."

Candi stretched her arms in a big V and yawned until her jaw popped. "I'm sleeping over. I'm too tired to drive home, and I'm not due back at the hospital until tomorrow night." She yanked the white scrunchie out of her hair and let her ponytail fall free. Long sandy hair, straight except for the circular indention from the scrunchie, fell past her shoulders as her body sagged back down against the couch. "Man, I hope we have fewer stat patients tomorrow night. Let's hope the fireworks have ended by then, totally. The Fourth of July is havoc on the ER. I can't take another day like today." Squinting through tired eyes, she asked, "Okay. Before I crash, go over the list one more time."

"Orlando Bloom, Brad Pitt, Adrian Grenier, Viggo Mortensen, Denzel Was.h.i.+ngton, Tom Cruise, Usher, Jake Gyllenhaal, Matthew McConaughey, and Johnny Depp-in Pirates of the Caribbean Pirates of the Caribbean."

Each week, AtlantaTellAll.com's poll started with their answers, then other women logged on to the site and made their own selections, while a running total displayed the results throughout the week on the home page. Then the AtlantaTellAll message board allowed site visitors to discuss how they had voted and why, and all the while, the number of hits skyrocketed, and the price for advertisers steadily increased, since they priced ads based on site visits.

Additionally, the three women produced juicy info on s.e.x toys, Atlanta gossip, and local events displayed in fun, romantic formats, typically hearts and flowers. Marissa covered the events for singles, since most of the computer programmers in her office were young twenty-somethings without a care in the world beyond the next party. At thirty-two, she was practically ancient around them, but at least she stayed in the know on the party scene and was able to convey that prized info to AtlantaTellAll's readers.

Amy, naturally, answered s.e.x questions and explained the latest in s.e.x toys. Her column, Adventures with Amy, was an instant hit, and she consequently promoted all of her husband's famed ma.s.sage oils, even including links for purchase. Candi's gossip column, Society Sauce, dished about Atlanta's and Gwinnett's most notable residents, ranging from society queens to athletes. Her trauma nurse position at Grady Memorial had generated several friends.h.i.+ps with Atlanta's elite, who happened to find themselves in the ER occasionally and were happy to dish on the culprits who had put them there, typically ex-spouses, lovers, or rivals. All in all, they kept a wide range of interesting topics covered within the roses, lilacs, hearts, and daffodils planted sporadically throughout their site.

Marissa quickly plugged in her own answers to the poll and smiled. "I guess that's it for this week. We've got our gossip, our latest s.e.x product recommendation-"

"Landon's new edible ma.s.sage oil in caramel apple, right?" Amy asked, while Marissa's mouth watered.

"Yeah," Marissa said, imagining someone licking her like a big, caramel-covered apple. Or even better, taking a bite. She swallowed. "We have our recommendation for shopping-the summer shoe sale at Nordstrom's-and our poll. I think this is going to be one of our most successful ones yet. Boxers or briefs," she mused. She leaned her head forward to stretch the bunched muscles in the back of her neck. Her black bangs. .h.i.t her cheeks like a dark curtain between her eyes and the computer screen. Funny how the only part of her hair that seemed to grow was her bangs. She'd tried growing the remainder of her black mop into a shoulder-length bob, but as usual, gave up fighting the untamable mess and moved back to the short, dark pixie that had graced her head since she graduated from college. It suited her face, anyway, or so her hairdresser-and her mother-said. And speaking of her mother . . .

"Candi, you're welcome to sleep over, but you know Mom will call at 6:00 A.M A.M. sharp."

Candi groaned. "Mona still does that, does she?"

"Even on my days off."

"Want to unplug the phone?" Candi asked.

"Then she'll show up to make sure I'm breathing."

Candi turned her head and groaned into the pillow. "Gotcha. If I stay, I'll ignore Mona's morning ritual." She frowned. "Bet that doesn't do much for the morning after when you have sleepovers, hmm?"

"Hardly," Marissa admitted. "Not that I've had many sleepovers in a while, so it really doesn't matter. But if things work out with Jamie . . ."

"You know, we could add one more category," Amy said, patting Bo's behind.

Marissa rolled her head from side to side then pushed her bangs out of her eyes. She kept her palm against the top of her forehead so she could ma.s.sage her temples while she prayed Amy's suggestion wouldn't warrant a poll edit. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but I will. What category?"

"Straight or gay." Amy started to laugh, but then stopped abruptly when Candi shot a look of warning her way.

Marissa knew that look. It was a don't-tell-Marissa-what-you-know look, and it meant one thing. Marissa had to know-whatever it was-and the sooner the better. "What?" she asked.

"Nothing," Amy said, dropping the blue flip-flop from her pink painted toes. She stretched her foot toward the fallen shoe, but jostled Bo in the process. The three-year-old mumbled, "Come on, Mom," then squished his nose as though smelling something rank before drifting back to sleep against her purple Adventurous Accessories T-s.h.i.+rt. Amy gave up on the shoe and forced a smile at Marissa. "Forget it. We don't need any more categories. Hey, have you thought about adding our photos to the site? Did I show you the one I took of you by the pool? Of course, you're probably not planning to put in a bikini shot, huh? Then again, if you look that good in a bikini, why not? I'll have to bring that picture over for you to see. Your hair is all curly in it, too. I wish I could pull off that short, sa.s.sy look . . ."

Marissa glared at Amy, doing her best to ramble past the issue at hand and make Marissa forget her comment. It wasn't going to work. "I don't want to talk about photos now." She turned to Candi, who she knew wouldn't be able to sidetrack the issue. "Tell me. What is it?"

"What's what?" Candi asked, but her clenched jaw gave her away.

"What's with that look? And, more important, what does that look have to do with me?"

Amy s.h.i.+fted on the couch, moved Bo to the opposite shoulder, and tossed the other flip-flop. Then she wiggled her feet into the crack between the brown leather sofa cus.h.i.+ons and let Bo cover her side like a blanket. "We should tell her," she said to Candi.

"Yes, you should," Marissa agreed. "Tell me what?"

"It's Jamie," Candi said.

Marissa's stomach knotted. Jamie Abernathy was the guy who'd effectively swept her off her feet for the past two weeks. They'd been out four times so far, and Marissa was seriously contemplating moving on to the next step, that is, the horizontal (or vertical-whatever worked) step, on their next date, already scheduled for this Friday. Things had been progressing nicely. Very nicely. Too nicely, she suspected, when compared to her long line of monster mistakes. Unfortunately, Marissa had a knack for dating men of the serial nature. Not serial killers, but serial cheaters. Though she'd wager that both types of "serials" deserved the same punishment. So far, she'd played second fiddle to a mother, an ex-girlfriend, an additional girlfriend, a guy best friend, and a tuba. She didn't even want to think think about the tuba. about the tuba.

"What about Jamie?" she finally managed, dreading what she'd learn with that simple question.

Amy gave her one of her half-frowns, then pushed her cheeks toward her eyes in a you-do-it gesture to Candi.

Resignedly, Candi leaned over the side of the couch and scooped up her purse, then dug through the contents until she found her phone. "Here," she said, taking on the tone she used when she wanted Marissa to remember that she was the oldest of the three. At thirty-six, Candi had merely four years on Marissa and six on Amy, but occasionally, she still managed to turn all motherly. Right now, evidently, was one of those occasions. "They say a picture is worth a thousand words." She flipped through the photos on her camera-phone, then winced when she got to the one she wanted. "I took this Friday night when I was out clubbing with Fiona, that new nurse at the hospital. She's really cool, by the way. I think you'd like her, and she said she was already hooked on AtlantaTellAll.com even before she learned I was one of the contributors," Candi said, stalling.

"Candi," Marissa warned.

"I'm sorry." Candi extended her hand.

A flood of apprehension, quite similar to the feeling she experienced before throwing up, washed down Marissa, starting with the top of her skull then fingering down her body with rapid urgency. She stood and reached for the small red and silver phone. Dreading what she knew she'd see, she turned it . . . and let her jaw fall. Jamie was in an intense all-out gropefest with a tall blond, a six-foot-plus blond with a close-shaved beard, an abundance of muscles, and an even bigger abundance of testosterone. "Super."

"He wasn't the one for you," Amy said, ever the optimist.

Raw, burning heat fisted in Marissa's chest, then slowly, steadily spiraled outward. She fought the impulse to throw the phone-it wasn't hers, after all-and wished like h.e.l.l that she could throw Jamie . . . under a bus. A Greyhound. With a full capacity of pa.s.sengers. All sumo wrestlers.

"You know, I kind of wondered if he was really straight after your second date," Candi admitted sleepily, snuggling back into Marissa's overstuffed couch. "Amy's right, though, he wasn't the one."

"What about our second date?" What was wrong with their second date? They had gone to the Atlanta Botanical Gardens, and he held her hand as they admired all of the hot colors, cool sounds, and wild abandon of Orchid Daze, the carnivale-themed celebration of orchids.

"He knew the plant profiles," Amy reminded her. "Isn't that what you said? He told you all about them, in detail."

"Yeah. So?" The fingers on Marissa's right hand tapped harder against the edge of the keyboard. If she'd had fingernails, it would've made a more satisfying clicking sound, but given she continually bit her nails into oblivion, she could produce no more than a dull drumming, which, for some reason, made the situation seem worse. And while the fingers of her right hand stung from her determination to make the d.a.m.n nubs "click," her left hand squeezed the blood-red cell phone currently showcasing Jamie in a tongue-tangle with another hunk as though she could pop him right out of the screen . . . and break his neck in the process.

It wasn't a bad image.

"I'm betting not many straight guys know flower profiles," Candi said, "if any."

"And if they do, they probably don't admit it," Amy reasoned.

Did they actually think their a.n.a.lysis of yet another of her failed relations.h.i.+ps would make her feel better? Marissa glanced again at the photo, then snapped the phone shut. If only she could snap Jamie. Like a twig. "How many is that?" she asked.

"How many is what?" Amy asked.

"Cheaters. Men who've cheated on me. How many? And why have they been so d.a.m.n plentiful?" She'd been around cheating men most of her life, she realized. When she was a child, her father had filled that unwanted bill; and now, cheaters still kept finding her.

"Oh, it isn't you," Candi said, once again in her motherly, yet sleepy-motherly tone. "It happens to the best of us. I mean, look at me and Cal. We were married, what, eleven years, and he cheated three times. Third time's a charm, I always say," she muttered, her mouth smothered by the gold crocheted afghan Marissa's grandmother had given her for college graduation.

"Why did did you wait until the third time to dump him?" Amy asked. "I always wondered." you wait until the third time to dump him?" Amy asked. "I always wondered."

"Who says I dumped him? I kept taking his sorry a.s.s back. Believed him every time he said he'd changed. That last time, though, he didn't come back. Ran off with a girl he met at my my high school reunion. Always hated Betsy in school. Hate her more now." high school reunion. Always hated Betsy in school. Hate her more now."

"He'll do the same thing to her," Amy said. "Wait and see."

"I hope he does," Candi said, her yawn twisting into a snide smile. "I really hope he does. And at the next reunion, I hope she's fat. And single."

"But that's it," Marissa said, tossing the phone at Candi and ignoring her m.u.f.fled yelp of protest when it pinged against her arm. "They keep doing it, and there's no way for any of us to know which ones are guilty."

"Who?" Candi asked, rubbing her biceps.

"Cheaters," Marissa said.

"Guilty?" Amy's green eyes glittered as she obviously wondered where Marissa was headed in this conversation.

"Yeah." Marissa's mind churned with a new idea, an idea that she liked. Very much. "Guilty. Someone should warn women about serial cheaters. I mean, the cops have databases where you can find the location of s.e.x offenders, don't they? It only stands to reason that women should be able to find out the location, and the background, of serial cheaters. It's a crime, too, but a crime that hasn't been punished. So far."

Candi blinked, apparently trying to grasp this train of thought with her sleep-deprived brain. "Run that by me again."

Marissa clicked keys on the computer and was oddly satisfied that she could could generate a clicking noise, even if she couldn't do it with her nails. generate a clicking noise, even if she couldn't do it with her nails.

Amy stood and gently placed Bo on the couch. Then she took the afghan from Candi and draped it over her son.

"Good thing I like him," Candi said, reaching for yet another blanket from the back of Marissa's recliner. She draped the red fleece over herself and frowned. "This one isn't nearly as soft."

Amy simply laughed as she crossed the room and looked over Marissa's shoulder. "Oh, I like where you're heading," she said, eyeing the Word file currently filling up the screen with Marissa's rapidly growing list of bulleted notes. "A poll of cheaters? The biggest cheater of the week?" Amy read aloud.

"Not exactly," Marissa said, collapsing the doc.u.ment to view the home page of their site, then squinting at the screen as she envisioned a new, highly visible icon, one that would prompt a database completely devoted to exposing cheaters. She opened another Internet window. "Hold on while I check a domain name. We're going to build another site. You up to creating a few logos for me?"

"Sure," Amy said. Every now and then, Marissa found an additional use for Amy's wildly creative mind. Not only could she design s.e.x toys and talk about them in her column, but she was an artiste at web graphics. Consequently, the AtlantaTellAll site was gorgeous, due to Amy's creation of the colorful floral theme.

Marissa accessed G.o.daddy.com, entered her desired domain name, and hoped it wasn't already taken.

"I can start on it in the morning," Amy said, grinning. "Bo can play with Petie while I work on the site."

"Petie?" Candi looked at Marissa. "Dare I ask?"

"A miniature schnauzer," said Marissa. "Bo bought him for me today, and he's asleep on my bed."

"You actually bought her a dog?" Candi asked Amy incredulously. "With her crazy work schedule?"

"Marissa said she wanted someone to keep her company when she sleeps," Amy said. "Bo and I saw him in the pet store, and he thought I should buy him for 'Aunt Rissi.' He even named him Petie."

Marissa looked at the sleeping boy, his mouth open in a kisslike pucker and his hand fisted beneath his chin. "You know, it would make more sense for Bo to have his own dog."

Amy swallowed, cleared her throat. "We've been discussing it," she admitted. "But Landon and I thought it'd be better for him to, you know, be around one first."

"And you decided to let me be the guinea pig for this little training period?" Marissa asked.

"You did say that you hated sleeping alone," Amy reminded her.