Trixsters Anonymous

by Ahren Sanders

  We have money, and we’re willing to pay generously for your services.

  Sincerely,

  Stacy

  “That’s it? What services are they looking for? It seems they already know he’s a liar. What could they possibly want with us?” Maren asks.

  “There’s another one, I think it’s from her, too, based on the subject line.”

  “Well, read it.” She instructs me impatiently.

  To: Trixsters Anonymous

  From: {Website Contact- Anon 15}

  Subject: Serial Online Scammer Part 2- Read More

  Dear Trixsters,

  After I hit send, I realized I let my emotions get the best of me and didn’t give many details. So here goes:

  After my divorce, it took a while for me to even consider dipping my toes in the dating pool. My friends convinced me that meeting men online was a perfectly safe way to meet people. This was my first experience with online dating, and I was skeptical, but I relented and created a profile, careful to disclose only basic information about myself. My first few dates were during the day, coffee shops, local diners—safe places. That’s how I met Felix. He was my third attempt. We hit it off immediately, and after two lunches, I agreed to dinner.

  One dinner was all it took. He charmed the pants off of me—literally and figuratively. I woke the next day with regret and anxiety, but he erased those fears. I pulled back, and he respected my wishes to take things slow. After three months, he wore me down, filling my head with all sorts of enchanting thoughts. I was transformed back thirty years ago when I first met my husband and my vision was clouded with rose-colored glasses. I fell hard and fast, and he took advantage of my vulnerability.

  Pretty soon, I was caught up in the hype of being with a man who found me irresistible. Then he began to change. He wormed his way into not only my life, but my finances. By the time I realized he wasn’t who he said he was, I was in too deep. He broke things off, citing our relationship wasn’t working for him anymore. He left me devastated and also ten thousand dollars poorer.

  He used me.

  But I wasn’t going down without a fight. I went after him. It didn’t take long to realize everything was a lie. His name, occupation, address. Nothing was real.

  There’s no other way to describe him than a con-artist. Three other women, in similar situations, had met and fallen for the same man I did who they knew as Bob, Matt, and Kevin. I found them through a chat group, discussing being scammed from online predators. Their stories were similar enough that I reached out personally. We all had the same profiles: middle aged, divorced, and had substantial money. He ‘phished’ us from different dating sites.

  These women have become my friends. We’ve bonded over our humiliation. Now, we’re angry. Between the four of us, he swindled over sixty-thousand dollars, lavish gifts, and several extravagant trips.

  Another thing we have in common, we stupidly trusted him in all ways, including sexual relations. He has videos and pictures of us in compromising positions and situations. Each of us approached him, via email, phone, text—all demanding our money be returned and we wouldn’t seek legal action. We threatened going to the police. He counter-threatened us; either we back off, or he goes viral.

  Then he eliminated our ways of communication. Stupidly, we can’t find him any longer. He is a master at hiding his true identity.

  We all have enough shame already, but this type of scandal would affect us in irreparable ways. So, we decided to come to you.

  It’s not even about the money anymore. We can’t allow him to continue this con.

  Honestly, Stacy isn’t even my real name, but hopefully, knowing the whole story will help you understand I’m not irrational.

  Regards,

  Stacy

  “What a fucking lying-ass, shithead, prick!” Maren seethes.

  “It’s not uncommon, Maren. You know this. It’s a decade old scam.”

  “Yes, but it still grinds my ass. He deserves a taste of his own medicine.”

  “How do you suggest we do that? It’s not like we can walk up to him and demand he hand over the explicit photos.”

  “I suggest we lure him in and find our own damning evidence. Put his ass to shame.”

  At the phrase lure him in, my stomach rolls. “You aren’t suggesting—”

  “Yes, we’re going to trap him. Beat him at his own game.”

  My stomach roll turns into an all about lurch. I groan and throw my head back to the headrest. “Absolutely not! I draw the line at online dating.”

  “But you’re the one with all the experience!”

  “Once, Maren. Once! I tried it once, and if you remember, it was so bad I swore I’d never, ever do it again.”

  “But you don’t have to do it. We’ll make up a fake profile.” She uses air quotes on the word ‘you’.

  “Fake or not, I don’t want to be a part of any of that ever again. Don’t you remember the clinger?”

  “He wasn’t that bad.”

  “He was awful! No.”

  “I think you should reconsider. This could be good for us.”

  “NO!”

  “Fine! I’ll do it.”

  “You’ll do it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “What kind of damning evidence do you suggest we go after? He sounds like a swindler, but I’m not sure how close he’s skating the law. These women willingly had sex, willingly gave him gifts, and invited him into their personal business.”

  “He’s an asshole. Maybe something he’s done is illegal. He lied about who he is.”

  A bell goes off in my head, and I have our answer. “That’s it!” I snap, jerking up. “We find out who he really is. Then we find something to nail him on. If we have his real identity, it should give us a starting point.”

  “Good plan, and if that doesn’t work, we create a situation that gives us leverage.”

  “Let’s try my way first. I’d prefer to not get involved with the online dating scandal.”

  I don’t wait for her to agree, searching through our standard correspondence, and emailing Stacy our terms and contract. I also ask for her to provide a copy of his online profile if she still has it.

  By the time I’m done, Maren has located the address and parked in a crowded lot.

  “What the hell?”

  There’s a large man dressed in a full black suit, standing against a door with an earpiece and clipboard. There’s another man, similarly dressed but much smaller, standing at a valet stand. He’s busy talking to a man who hands over his keys then steps next to a woman. There’s another couple with them. They are all dressed up, the women in cocktail dresses and men in suits. The men each pull a small card from their wallets and hand them to the doorman, where he looks them over, glancing between the men and the cards a few times. He speaks into his mic, then the door opens.

  “We are definitely underdressed for this club.”

  “I have a weird feeling about this place. Did you see them? They were mature and classy. Why would Justin hide his membership here?”

  “Maybe it’s another gambling ring?”

  “Doubtful.”

  “We need to get in,” I surmise, curiosity getting to me.

  “I’ll work on it. Hand me a phone.” Maren holds out her palm, and I give her my TA phone.

  She snaps a few pictures, then takes the computer from my lap, transferring them.

  “There.” She points to the upper right corner of the screen. “That camera is going to help us.”

  “How?”

  “It’s going to be our eyes.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  She ignores me and zones in, her hands flying over the keyboard. Letters, numbers, and combination sequences all fill the screen. My head spins watching her scroll through and type, her face scrunched in concentration.

  She sits up and flashes me a triumphant smile. “We’re in.”

  The picture on the screen changes to a view of the entranc
e. “You hacked into their security cameras?”

  “I’d prefer not to use the word hacked. I’ve joined their closed-circuit network.”

  “How the hell?”

  “Emi, I’m pretty good at this stuff.” She rolls her eyes at me.

  “Is this legal?”

  “Don’t see why not. We’re watching a man stand by a door.”

  “Then what?”

  “Here we go.”

  A black Escalade drives up, blocking our view, but the camera shows four women getting out, all dressed in the same skin tight black dresses. The man in the suit seems to know them and opens the door, allowing them to saunter through.

  “Do you think they work here?” Maren whispers.

  “Those outfits are phenomenal. What kind of night club is this?”

  “We’re going to find out.”

  As if on cue, a sleek Mercedes drives up to the valet and another couple exits. They go through the same process as the earlier couples. When the doorman is satisfied, they disappear behind the door as well.

  Maren clicks furiously on her computer. “I think I have what we need.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I locked in the video and saved. When I get home, I’ll freeze frame and zoom in to get a better look at those cards. Maybe with that, combined with all the information from Justin’s account and the city permit, I can figure this out.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then we find a way to get in.”

  “Oh my God, is there anything you’re not good at?” I praise, soaking up the last of my spaghetti sauce with garlic bread and popping it into my mouth.

  “I can’t take credit for this one. My mom dropped it off today. I only had to heat it up and cook the noodles.”

  I go still at his statement and swallow. “Your mom made us dinner?”

  “Yes, she came to Charleston today. I met her here, we had a cup of coffee, talked for about half an hour, and then she went shopping.”

  “She was here? In your house?”

  “Yeah, Emi.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” My eyes scan the living room, dining area, and kitchen, looking for anything I’d left hanging around. Tuesday after spin class, I not only brought over a bag of clothes, but a few personal items, too. Thankfully, besides a few magazines, everything is in his bedroom and bathroom.

  “I just told you.”

  “Did you tell her about me?”

  “She’s known about you from day one. Why do you think she conveniently skated into town, hauling her famous sauce, and the guilt trip from hell? She’s buttering you up.”

  “Me? Why? Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” The question comes out a little shaky. He’s mentioned his parents a few times, but briefly. I know they have a great relationship, and now I’m kicking myself for not prying.

  His lips start to twitch and his dimple pops. “I’m not a woman, so I can’t answer that. But she’s not-so-subtly dropped a dozen hints today that she wants to meet you.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told her that we’d come over when things calmed down at work. I’ve been wanting a weekend away.”

  “Weekend?” I squeak, anxiety rising at spending the weekend with his parents. I love Walker, and he loves me, but what if his parents don’t feel the same.

  “My parents live on the adjoining property of the hunting camp. I have a small cabin there. We wouldn’t be staying at their house.”

  “You want to take me to your cabin, meet your parents, and stay the weekend?”

  He studies my face, his eyes lighting up with amusement. “Yes, Emerson, I want all that.”

  “Isn’t bringing a woman to your hunting camp usually frowned upon?”

  “Why the hell would you think that?”

  “Because, in my mind, I picture a bunch of men sitting around, drinking beer, cleaning guns, and being manly.”

  He stands and takes our plates to the sink then comes back, lifting me off of the barstool and setting me on the counter. His hips slide between my knees, and he scoots me until we’re pressed together.

  “You’re partly right. When we’re not hunting, we do sit around, drink beer, and clean guns. The acting manly part is questionable. We also play corn-hole, watch sports, talk shit, and eat like kings. My dad usually hunts at least one morning. Then he and Mom come out for dinner. Depending on the weekend, a few of the guys set up their campers, and we have a full crowd.”

  “It sounds like fun,” I tell him genuinely. All my life, I’ve assumed a weekend at a hunting camp would be tortuous. Being in nature is not my forte, unless you count the beach. That’s my kind of outdoor activity.

  “We take our hunting seriously, but the rest is fun. And I think you and I will have lots of fun.”

  I can’t miss the insinuation in his tone.

  “I’m not really an outdoorsy person. I should go ahead and warn you.”

  “You’ll get used to it.”

  Suddenly, I want nothing more than to run away and spend the weekend in his cabin. The trepidation from earlier disappears, and I throw my arms around his shoulders, bouncing in place. “When can we go?”

  He smiles wide, leaning in to run his lips over mine. “As soon as all this shit is handled, we’re going.”

  “Okay, do you think you can hurry this shit up?”

  He chuckles, squeezing my hips and backing up a few inches. “That’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about. I’m going to be working Friday and Saturday night.”

  “I figured, you already mentioned it.”

  “Are you upset?”

  “I’m not upset. Disappointed maybe, but I understand.” I try to reassure him. “I’ve already made plans with Maren for Saturday. We’re going to Rachel’s spa during the day. She’s setting us up with VIP treatment. Then we’ll probably do a girls’ night in. Watch movies, drink loads of wine, talk about you… the norm.”

  His eyes grow warm, and I feel a tinge of guilt. It’s not exactly a lie; we will do all of those things, but we’ll also be working on Trixsters Anonymous. If we can’t find anything on the Serial Online Scammer, I have a feeling we’ll be setting up Maren an online dating profile.

  “Friday night, it makes sense to stay here then. Saturday, I’ll come to you when I’m done.”

  “You don’t have to. I know you’ll be tired.”

  His head jerks, and I know I’ve said something wrong. “Thought we buried this shit Monday night, Emi.”

  “No, you misunderstand. I’m not mad or trying to be difficult. But I know you like your bed. It’s bigger and more comfortable. You can come home and get to sleep, and I’ll come over when I wake up.”

  “You’re wrong. I like any bed that has you in it, whether it’s yours or mine. You choose, but seeing as you plan on drinking heavily, I assume we’ll be in yours.”

  My heart melts. “I really suck at this.”

  “What?”

  “This being in love stuff. Maybe I should take lessons so I don’t keep screwing up.”

  The irritation on his face dies, and he slides his hands from my hips to my butt, squeezing firmly. “You’re doing perfect.”

  “See! You’re even good at this relationship and love stuff. I knew there’s nothing you’re not good at.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find something.” He starts to kiss a path along my jawline until he reaches my ear. “I’ll make it easy on you and give you one thing. About six weeks ago, I became completely enamored with a firestorm that makes me want to lose all reason. Just so you know, I love that you worry about me, but in the future, never suggest that we sleep separately.” His tongue grazes the outside of my earlobe, and goosebumps pop up all over my skin. I tighten my hold on his shoulders, feeling my heartbeat start to speed up.

  “Never again,” I promise, slanting my head so my mouth reaches his.

  Then no more words are spoken before he has me naked and proves my theory that he is good at everything.

/>   Chapter 19

  Walker

  It can’t be. I rewind the video, and instead of focusing on the foursome, I close my eyes and listen. It’s there… barely, but it’s there.

  The undeniable sound of a breath hitching, followed by a low squeak. But it’s not the noise that catches my attention; it’s who’s making it.

  I’ve heard it before, over and over. The similarity is uncanny. Emi’s face fills my mind, the sound whishing through the air.

  I’d bet my badge that’s Emi.

  I listen closer, only picking up a few rustles, probably someone repositioning themselves in the bushes.

  Then it happens again, right as the orgy finishes. This time, it’s a horrified sigh mixed with disgust.

  The same sigh I heard when Emi’s parents decided to harass her last Sunday in the car.

  The same sigh Emi let out when Maren embarrassed her at the bar.

  What the fuck is happening here?

  I listen twice more and reach for my phone, dialing Marcus.

  “Walker, you ready for tonight?” he asks.

  “Yeah, we’re ready, but that’s not why I’m calling. I need more information on your client.” I cut to the chase.

  “Which one?”

  “The divorce, the video, the fucking disgusting shit you sent me.”

  “What do you want to know? I can’t say much.”

  “You said the client said she received this anonymously, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “But whoever is filming this is obviously on their personal property.”

  “Looks like it, but now, we’re skating close to confidential information.”

  “Tell me this. Can you confirm or deny your client hired someone to catch her husband?”

  “I can’t CONFIRM or deny that insinuation.”

  The way he says CONFRIM gives me all I need. “Okay, thanks.”

  “Wait, do you know something?”

  “Not yet, but I should kick your ass for bringing me into this. Now, my curiosity is running wild.”

  “Did you talk to Emi?”

  “Kinda, but I’ve had a lot on my mind,” I lie. I did talk to Emi, but I’m not ready to get into details.