Mapping the Route

They wanted me exactly where I was. I chewed the roast beef, swallowed the expensive wine, and smiled. I played the part they demanded until dessert was cleared and Julian finally suggested we head home.

The next morning, the performance continued.

It was Monday. Julian was packing a different bag, an olive-green duffel he favored for 'casual' site inspections. He stood in the kitchen, checking his watch, the very picture of a busy executive.

"I've got the city planners all afternoon, then a dinner with the concrete suppliers," he announced, zipping the duffel. "I'll be at the usual Marriott downtown tonight."

"Good luck with the planners," I said, handing him his insulated travel mug. "Don't let them push you around on the zoning variances."

"They won't." He smiled, that perfect, winning curve of his mouth. "Love you, Clara."

"Love you too," I replied smoothly.

He headed for the mudroom. I waited exactly three seconds, listening to the heavy tread of his oxfords on the tile. The moment the door to the garage clicked shut, I moved.

I didn't run. Running would betray panic. I walked swiftly to my office, unlocking the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. I bypassed the empty box where my notary stamp used to be and grabbed the small, black plastic square tucked behind my spare hard drives.

It was a commercial-grade GPS tracker. I had ordered it with cash from a defunct electronics store three towns over.

I slipped out the back patio door, the frost biting at my bare feet, and hurried around the side of the house. Julian was still in the garage, the Audi’s engine humming to life.

I crouched low, pressing myself against the frosted siding of the garage wall. The automatic door rumbled upward. Julian backed the Audi out, pausing at the end of the driveway to sync his Bluetooth.

I held my breath, waiting for him to look down at the dashboard.

The moment his head dipped, I lunged from the side of the house. I reached under the rear bumper of the Audi, my fingers scrabbling against the cold metal and road grime. I found the steel lip of the undercarriage and slapped the magnetic base of the tracker against it.

It caught with a heavy, satisfying *clunk*.

I threw myself backward, rolling behind the thick trunk of the oak tree bordering the driveway just as Julian shifted into drive. The Audi rolled smoothly down the street, turning right at the corner.

I stood up, brushing dirt from my pajama pants. My hands were shaking, but my mind was entirely clear.

I went back inside, locked the doors, and booted up my laptop. I didn't open the accounting ledgers. I opened the proprietary tracking software linked to the device.

A digital map of the city filled the screen. A single, pulsing blue dot represented Julian's car.

He was supposed to be heading east, toward the city center and the high-rise development. I watched the dot traverse the arterial roads, navigating the morning traffic.

He merged onto the interstate.

The dot didn't turn east. It hit the junction and immediately veered west, merging into the fast lane heading away from the city.

I sat back in my chair, the tracking software illuminating my face in the dim office. The lie was physical now. I was watching it unfold in real-time.

He wasn't going to a site visit. He wasn't meeting concrete suppliers.

The dot sped along the highway, exiting at the affluent boundary line. It navigated the winding, manicured streets with the practiced ease of a daily commute.

I watched the screen, my breath shallow and controlled, as the blue dot finally came to a complete stop.

The dot didn't go downtown. It drove straight to Oak Brook and stopped at Whispering Pines.