The Real and Fake Wife in the Hotel

Two in the morning. The cold light of my phone screen slid across my face and left a strange bright streak behind it.

On the other end of the line, my buddy Hunter Reed's voice came fast and low. "Boris Fox, I think I just saw your wife. She went into the Hilton with some guy."

On reflex I turned my head. Beside me, my wife, Linda Pruitt, was breathing slow and even, sound asleep.

She'd gotten home from working late less than two hours ago, exhaustion still sitting between her brows, the kind that wouldn't smooth away.