BACKTRACKER, Milo Fowler [books that read to you .txt] 📗

In twelve other realities, Raul was not with his mother right now.If such realities even existed. The thought of it made Muldoon shiver despitehis coat.

 "Thanks, Sarge." He stepped out of the car and startedwalking, heading for the nearest dark alley and the frigid tunnel through timeand space that would return him to his own.

December19

"They say you are the best private investigator in town, Mr.Muldoon."

Muldoon leaned back in his desk chair to study the man seatedacross from him. On the younger side of middle-aged. Ridiculously wealthy. Proportionallyunhappy.

"Can't believe everything you hear, Mr. Lewiston."

"Granted." The flicker of a smile appeared on hisclean-shaven face, there and then gone. "You are one of the last, at anyrate."

"We're a dying breed."

Nowadays, any amateur could play detective on the Link. But somesituations required a professional touch. Discretion. Not tomention Muldoon's unique abilities.

"You have quite the success rate."

"I do what my clients ask me to. Keeps me in business."

"You get the job done." Lewiston nodded, pensive."Even when the task seems impossible. You have put the police to shame onmore than one occasion, by all accounts."

"They've got their hands full." Muldoon shrugged."I fill in the gaps from time to time."

"You are too modest."

"What can I do for you, Mr. Lewiston?"

"My wife..." He shook his head and sank forward onto his knees,elbows digging into the expensive woolish fabric. The slate-grey industrialcarpet held his attention longer than it deserved. "Elizabeth. I need youto follow her. I believe she may be...seeingsomeone else."

"Have you asked her about it?"

"I have no evidence. No reason to suspect anything."

"Yet you do."

"We have not been on the best of terms for the past fewmonths. We have become very cool toward one another, like roommates instead oflovers. We do not even sleep together anymore. Her bed is in the east wing,mine is in the west."

"Long-distance relationships can be tough," Muldoonacknowledged with a somber nod.

"I am no fool. I know she married me for my money. That iswhy she refuses to divorce me. I suppose I should be happy she has not tried tokill me for it."

"But that's what you want—a divorce?"

"I cannot continue to live like this. I married for love. Ourprenuptial agreement is as binding as it is clear. If either one of us is foundto be unfaithful, the infidelity clause will allow us to divorce regardless ofthe other's wishes. All I need is undeniable proof: a recording of heractivities."

"Why risk it?" Muldoon leaned on the desk. "Ifshe's determined to continue sharing your fortune, why would she throw thataway on some illicit affair?"

Muldoon already knew the answer. But he wouldn't find out untillater. Earlier. Whatever. Time travel could really screw with your headsometimes.

"Will you take my case, Mr. Muldoon?"

Muldoon eased his chair back. "Follow your wife. Record whatI see. You pay my daily rates plus expenses until I capture her in theact."

"As long as it takes. Say the word, and I will transfer thefunds to your account—the first week in advance."

The way things turned out, Muldoon needed only a few days. Mrs.Lewiston was good, international-woman-of-mystery good. Changed vehiclessporadically, had the cabs take her in elaborate circles, never remained at thesame destination for more than fifteen minutes until she was certain she hadn'tbeen followed. And she hadn't been, not for long. Not through space, anyway.

Unfortunately for her, whatever spy training she'd received didn'tprepare her for a private eye who traveled through time, who knew where to beand when to be there. Hiding in shadows while his ocular implant captured herhot and heavy shenanigans.

"Shouldn't take me long," Muldoon said.

"You are very sure of yourself," Lewiston replied.

"I'm good at what I do."

"You have that reputation. I hope you live up to it."

"You want me to send you the footage?"

Lewiston cringed. "No,no," he said, looking like he'd tasted somethingfoul. "Share it with her, and advise her to sign the divorce documents. Iwill send them to you as well. That is all I want from her. There is no needfor us to go to court."

There was such a thing as bad publicity, after all.

"I'll see what I can do." Muldoon stood and extended hishand.

"Thank you, Mr. Muldoon." Lewiston grasped his hand withall the vigor of a garden snail. "I will be quite relieved to put all ofthis behind me. You will find the funds and documents as soon as you Linkup." He turned to leave but paused. "Are you married?"

"Never had the pleasure."

"I hope you find someone you can trust. Someone who adoresyou for who you are. Not what you can give them."

"Sounds ideal."

Little Lord Lewiston left without another word, carrying theweight of his world on shoulders designed for lighter use. Once the office doorshut behind him, Muldoon tapped the plug behind his left ear and called up hisbank account. His eyes clouded over as the ocular implants focused on thebalance. It had never looked healthier.

Even so, Muldoon didn't like the case. Too seedy. Saving lives wasmore up his alley. Hero complex? Maybe. But it was the occasional case likethis one that paid the bills. He couldn't always collect when he rescued peoplefrom their pasts. Holding them hostage in order to ensure his own payday oftendidn't work out so well. Go figure.

With Alan Jeffries, the guy needed to learn a lesson: Don't gambleaway your family's livelihood. Muldoon had no problem holding those typesagainst their will. But kids like Raul needed to get home as fast as possible.More often than not, Muldoon ended up returning victims to their loved onesbefore the loved ones ever showed up at his office to request his services.They never became his clients, so he never got paid. The more he thought aboutthese wonky causal loops, the less sense they made.

Dirty work like this—playing the role of Peeping Tom, recordingthings he never would've wanted to see otherwise—kept food in his fridge andcovered the rent on both his office and his flat. Paid off his car, to boot, asleek electric coupe with a borderline passive-aggressive AI. The essentials.

Could he travel back through time and line his pockets with surebets? Do some big ticket gambling of his