Conspiracy Read Free

on. But she did know that he hadn’t planned on doing any real work until tomorrow.
    Amanda called the desk again. Had Mr. Forester checked in yet?
    â€œNo,” said the clerk, annoyed. “Did you call earlier?”
    Amanda put down the phone. And then, on a whim, or maybe to satisfy a growing sense of insecurity, she began dialing other hotels in the area, asking if a Gerald Forester had checked in.
    Did she think he was cheating on her? It wouldn’t be cheating, exactly, if they weren’t married. She was worried, and insecure, and unsure. After the third call—“No guest by that name, sorry”—Amanda got up and began pacing the room.
    Amanda heard a noise in the hall. She stopped, held her breath as she heard the footsteps.
    Decide, she told herself. Are you mad at him for being late and not calling, or are you happy nothing is wrong and he’s finally here?
    Happy.
    But whoever was outside didn’t stop at her door. She opened it, saw another man taking out a key several rooms away.
    Back inside, Amanda called the next hotel.
    â€œDo you have a Mr. Gerald Forester there?”
    â€œYes, ma’am. Should I connect you to the room?”
    Amanda felt as if she’d been punched in the chest. “Please.”
    The phone rang, but there was no answer.
    Â 
    THE DANBURY RAMADA was only two miles from the InterContinental, and it took less than ten minutes to get there. Amanda’s heart sank when she saw Forester’s car in the parking lot. She sat in her car with the engine running, literally feeling sick to her stomach.
    And then her anger took over.
    Who the hell was he in there with? Where did he come off calling her—
calling her
—and then standing her up?
    Amanda got out and walked toward the hotel. She was angry—too angry, she thought—and she reversed course.
    Why would he reserve a room in another hotel without telling her?
    Maybe it was to keep their affair a secret.
    Amanda passed by his car. Looking inside the passenger-side window, she saw a notebook, some pens, and the edge of a room card.
    So he’d checked in earlier, without even telling her!
    Forester was always locking his keys in somewhere—his car, his office, his house. To avoid embarrassment, he planted spares all over the place. When he stayed somewhere, he made sure to get two cards and left one in his car. He must have gotten up here earlier, gone out, come back—maybe to pick up someone.
    Amanda ducked under the rear bumper on the passenger’s side, fishing for the small metal key container Forester kept there. She took it, then slid open the top and took out the car key, only to find that he hadn’t bothered to lock his car.
    There was no room number on the key—but the small envelope it came in had the number in tiny script at the bottom edge.
    She could surprise him if she wanted. Surprise him in bed with whatever whore he’d picked up.
    Unless it was his wife. Amanda scanned the parking lot, sure for a second that his soon-to-be ex had come up here to confront him about something. But Amanda didn’t see the car.
    She was being ridiculous, acting like a petty bitch herself. She put the key card back and started toward her car.
    He
did
owe her an explanation. Leaving her waiting at the bar for hours was rotten.
    And uncharacteristic.
    Why not go up there right now? If he was cheating on her, at least she would know.
    Amanda realized that she hadn’t replaced the spare key holder. She turned and walked back to the car. But before she got there, she changed her mind again: she was going up to his room. She opened the car door, grabbed the room key, and then walked quickly into the hotel, determined to confront him before she could change her mind.
    There was no one at the front desk. She walked straight ahead toward the elevators, head down, determined.
    Angry.
    The elevator doors opened in slow motion. Amanda got inside, pressed the button