To Catch A Cheat Part 10

"All right, then," Coleman said. "Folks, I'm not sure if you could hear it in Ms. Kincaid's tone, but trust me; if you were in the studio now, you would feel the heat of her animosity toward Trent Jackson, her very first cheater. And, according to the Atlanta Journal Atlanta Journal, the one who set the pattern for all others to follow."

"You know, I've seen that look a time or two," Speedy said. "Whenever my old hound dog, Buzzard, cops an att.i.tude. He's looked at me like that before, usually when I try to take his pig's ear away. I tell you, sure enough, you'd better not come between Buzzard and his pig's ear. You ever bought any of those pig's ear chewies at the PetSmart, Coleman? Buzzard loves them."

"We are not here to talk about Buzzard, Speedy," Coleman interjected, ever the voice of reason. "Today we're here to talk to Marissa Kincaid, co-owner of TheGuy Cheats.com and AtlantaTellAll.com, and Trent Jackson, owner of DieHardAtlanta.com and TheGirlLies.com, and consequently, the current CEO of Jackson Enterprises."

With Coleman's last description, Trent flashed Marissa a knowing grin. Did the DJ realize he'd effectively deleveled the playing field? Trent was a Jackson, of the Jackson Enterprises Jacksons, and she . . . wasn't.

"Fine," Speedy continued, and somehow gave the word three syllables. "We don't have to talk about Buzzard, but you and I may need to talk about something. From the looks of this woman, she don't want to be in the same room with this Jackson fellow, much less talk on the air with him." Speedy really laid the hick accent on strong. Oddly enough, when she listened to him in the car each morning, it didn't sound nearly as irritating, but now that she'd heard him speaking off-air and knew that the guy wasn't nearly as backwoods as he claimed, the whole fake hick thing got old. Quick.

Then again, was it really his accent bothering her? Or the fact that he was so on-target with his a.s.sessment? She didn't want to be in this room, or talk on the air, with Trent. Speedy pegged her right. Thank goodness he couldn't also tell that as aggravated as she was with Trent Jackson, she could still hear his s.e.xy voice from that phone call this morning.

"When and where?"

Suddenly, the woman in the other room popped up her head, and Marissa noticed she also wore a small headset. She pointed to Coleman, gave Marissa an apologetic, flatline smile, then turned her attention back to the control panel in front of her.

Why was she apologizing? And did Marissa really want to know?

Didn't matter. She was about to find out.

"And we have our first caller," Coleman said, reading something on his computer monitor. "Sh.e.l.ly from Alpharetta. Welcome to the show, Sh.e.l.ly."

"Hi, Coleman," the woman said. "I listen to you and Speedy every morning."

"Ooh, it sounds like we have a first-time caller. Is that right, Sh.e.l.ly?" Speedy asked.

"Yes," the woman said with a giggle.

At that, Speedy pressed a b.u.t.ton and a drum roll beat through the silence, followed by cheers and applause. "Welcome to the world of Speedy and Coleman," Speedy said. "Always nice to hear from a virgin caller."

"Speedy," Coleman warned.

"Sorry, couldn't resist," Speedy shot back.

"So, Sh.e.l.ly, you haven't called in before. What made you want to call this time?" Coleman asked. "I'm always curious about what the show can do to encourage folks, like yourself, to partic.i.p.ate."

"It's the cheater site," Sh.e.l.ly said. "Is Ms. Kincaid there now? Can she hear me?"

Speedy pointed to Marissa, and Trent reached up and moved the microphone down a little, closer to her mouth than his. Marissa pushed it back to the central location. No way did she want to yell at the callers. She sent another look of warning Trent's way, and he responded by lifting one corner of his mouth in a seductive smile that made her breath catch in her throat.

She was speechless. And Speedy noticed.

"Ms. Kincaid, can you hear the caller?" he asked, then added, "She's quite interested in staring down Mr. Jackson right now, Sh.e.l.ly. Give her a sec."

"I can hear you, Sh.e.l.ly," Marissa said sweetly and debated whether to s.h.i.+ft her glare to Speedy. Better not; he was one of the two parties in the room with the most control of this situation.

Marissa sure wasn't.

"Ms. Kincaid, I want to thank you. I'd been dating this guy for a few weeks and heard about your site, so I keyed in his name, and sure enough, there he was, with over twenty posts from women talking about his track record. I don't know if I'd have found out about the kind of guy he really was without your site."

"I'm glad to have helped," Marissa said, and noticed her voice sounded much raspier through the headset. Or did her voice really sound like that? Was that what Trent meant when he said he liked it? She'd kept her attention on Speedy and Coleman while she answered, even though the microphone was directly between her and Trent, but now she darted a glance his way.

He leaned back in his chair, all comfortable and waiting for his turn, apparently not nervous at all, while Marissa's stomach was in knots. At least she had handled the first caller okay. Or she thought she had, until she saw Coleman hold up his hands in a surrender gesture, then continue talking to Sh.e.l.ly, still on the line.

Why hadn't the woman hung up like a good little caller?

"Okay, okay," he said. "Sh.e.l.ly, I have to clarify here. Did you end things with this guy solely on the information you gained from TheGuyCheats.com?"

"Oh, no," Sh.e.l.ly said. "But I found out about his cheating habit there. Then I started asking questions of the other women he dated in the past, learned his pattern, and caught the cheating-"

Sh.e.l.ly's next word was beeped out.

Speedy's cackle trickled through the line on the wake of the cover-up bleep. "Learned his pattern?" he asked. "Oh, this is good. So not only do the cheatees report their cheaters on the site, but you all kind of form a-what would you call it-a posse, maybe? Gang? Clan? Well, whatever you wanna call it, you all get together and figure out how to get back at the guy who has done you all wrong, right? Sounds like something Steven Spielberg might be interested in for a movie, don't you think, Coleman? What would he call it? Revenge of the Women Done Wrong Revenge of the Women Done Wrong? Hey, I'd go see it."

"Sounds good to me," Sh.e.l.ly said.

"You said you learned his pattern," Coleman interrupted. "Can you explain that? Do all cheaters have a pattern?" He tilted his head toward Marissa. "Or is that something you could answer, Ms. Kincaid?"

Marissa swallowed and wished the first call had gone to Trent. "I think men who cheat typically cheat again," she said, careful of every word, and also careful to keep her eyes focused on the microphone, instead of Trent Jackson, lounging in the other chair. "But I'm not sure if that's the pattern Sh.e.l.ly is referring to."

"No, we talked specifics," Sh.e.l.ly said. And again, Marissa wondered why the lady didn't simply hang up. Now.

"For example . . ." Speedy prompted.

"Well, the girl he cheated on before me said that his favorite place to take the 'other woman' was the Fuzzy Duck, a bar downtown. Another of the women he cheated on said the same thing, that she'd found out he'd been to the Fuzzy Duck with someone else while he was dating her. So two nights ago, he said he had to work late, and a friend and I headed down to the Duck. Sure enough, his car was parked in the back. We went in, and helped the lying [beep] [beep] and his good-for-nothing and his good-for-nothing [beep] [beep] learn how to wear their drinks and deal with a size-eight stiletto to the learn how to wear their drinks and deal with a size-eight stiletto to the [beep.] [beep.]"

"O-kay," Coleman said. "And you wanted to thank Ms. Kincaid for her help in making all of that possible?"

"Yes, thanks again," Sh.e.l.ly said.

Marissa's cheeks burned, but she remained silent. What could she say?

"Fuzzy Duck," Speedy said. "I've been there a time or two."

"Doesn't surprise me," Coleman said.

"It's one of those places where you don't want to try to say the name after you've had a few beers, you know. I mean, mix up those consonants and you're in a heap of trouble. You ever thought about that, Coleman?" Speedy said, snickering. "Or don't you get it? Swap the consonants, and . . ."

"What I'd like to get is another caller on the line," Coleman said.

The woman in the back room nodded and fed the next caller through.

Never agree to live radio interviews, particularly with two smart DJs and a guy that turns you on.

-MARISSA K KINCAID

Chapter 10.

You're live with Coleman and Speedy," Coleman said. "And who are we talking to?"

"This is Vic, calling from Douglasville," the deep voice bellowed through the line.

Marissa moved her hand to the volume control and eased it downward. Vic was either in a tunnel, or driving with his window down while placing the call. Either way, the guy was attempting to yell over the sound of traffic in the background.

"Welcome to the show, Vic," Coleman said. "And did you call to talk to one of our guests?"

"Yeah, I've got a question for Trent Jackson."

"Go ahead," Coleman said, then pointed to Trent, who sat up in his chair and brought that to-die-for mouth toward the microphone. Marissa leaned back and turned her eyes away from Trent Jackson and toward the three people working the controls in the other room. No need to stay close to the microphone when it was his turn in the hot seat, and she didn't want to be that close to him anyway. Okay, maybe she wanted to, but she didn't need to.

Act aloof, she silently told herself, as though nothing he can say or do will affect you in any way, positively or negatively. as though nothing he can say or do will affect you in any way, positively or negatively. She thought of songs, cheating songs. What would tomorrow's song of the day be? And they needed a topic for next week's AtlantaTellAll poll. Last week had been a s.e.xiest-eyes poll, maybe this week they could do s.e.xiest mouth. She thought of songs, cheating songs. What would tomorrow's song of the day be? And they needed a topic for next week's AtlantaTellAll poll. Last week had been a s.e.xiest-eyes poll, maybe this week they could do s.e.xiest mouth.

Trent moistened his lips, preparing to answer whatever question the caller tossed his way.

s.e.xiest mouth. Judge, we have a winner. Judge, we have a winner.

No. What was she doing? Staring at his lips, that's what, and dammit, he noticed. One corner of his mouth eased a little higher in a caught-you-looking grin.

Marissa moved her attention back to the three people in the control room. The woman held up another finger, apparently to indicate to Coleman that yet another caller was sitting at the ready. Oh, joy. How long was this supposed to last, anyway? She did have to go to work today, after all. Maybe she should remind Coleman and his redneck sidekick hick.

"I wanted you to know that I submitted a quote for the Quote for Marissa contest," Vic said, and Marissa closed her eyes and waited for the worst. "The winning quote wasn't mine, but it was a good one."

"Thank you," Trent said, confidence dripping through both words.

Marissa kept her eyes closed. She didn't have to look at the man in the next seat to know he was grinning.

"But I had to call in and ask why you picked the one you did as the winning quote. Was it because you had personal experience to confirm the fact?"

"The fact?" Trent repeated.

Marissa knew what was coming, and she didn't want to hear it, much less see the thing unfold, so she clamped her eyes closed even tighter and prayed for a miracle.

"Whether liars have talented tongues," Vic said, confirming her fears. "And that liar in particular. I mean, don't take this the wrong way, Ms. Kincaid, but you're one hot number. So I got to wondering if the reason Trent Jackson picked that quote was because he knew that you had a talented tongue. Was that it?"

Marissa's eyes popped open and she shot a look of pure venom to Trent. It was bad enough he put that out on the Net, but to continue that particular lie here would put the final nail in his coffin. s.e.xy or not, he'd be dead. Soon.

Coleman cleared his throat loudly and raised his brows at his control panel team. "Obviously we didn't field the entirety of Vic's question before we sent that one through."

"I'd like to answer the question," the enemy said calmly.

All eyes in the recording area, and in the outer room, turned to Trent.

"And we'd all like for you to," Speedy said.

"I picked that quote because it was the best one submitted, not because I had any actual firsthand knowledge of Rissi's-I mean Ms. Kincaid's-talented tongue. I don't."

"Okay, I'll buy that," Vic continued, still yelling at a semiscream. "But what about you, Ms. Kincaid? On your site, you second another woman's comment regarding Trent Jackson's 'anatomy'-I believe that's the way the two of you termed it-so how about you? You have any firsthand knowledge in that area?"

"No!" Marissa blurted, with a little more enthusiasm than she planned. She took a breath and calmed her pulse. "No, I don't. And I'd like to say that my comments were purely in jest, you know. I certainly don't know a thing about his anatomy, nor do I want to," she said, lying through her teeth. "Ever," she added for good measure. Then she smiled at Coleman, Speedy, and Trent. Chalk up one for the girl.

"So you lied," Vic said.

Marissa blanched. "It was a joke," she insisted, realizing she'd been set up, and realizing it about ten seconds too late.

"But you did lie," Vic continued.

"Hey," Speedy interjected. "Looks like there's a good reason that she's listed on the liar database, and that Trent Jackson is on the cheater one. She lied to him, or about him, or whatever, and he cheated on her. Granted, he was only thirteen at the time . . ."

"I didn't," Trent said firmly.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that," Speedy said, winking at Coleman as though he'd personally struck gold. And in the realm of broadcasting, Marissa supposed he had.

"I didn't cheat on her. It was a misunderstanding, and I'm perfectly able to explain what happened back then."

"Go ahead," Coleman said. "I'm betting we'd all enjoy hearing it."

"Yes," Marissa said. "Go ahead."

"No." Trent s.h.i.+fted in the seat, propping an elbow on the armrest nearest Marissa and leaning her way. "No," he repeated, his voice husky, but even though he lowered his voice, it still rumbled steadily through the headset, and over the air. "I do plan to talk to you and explain what happened, but not over the radio. Not with any kind of audience. I'll talk to you alone, just the two of us, in private."

Marissa shook her head. "That's not happening." The thought of being with him in private bothered her more than she cared to admit, or a.n.a.lyze. "I have no desire to be alone with you, for any reason."

"I've never cheated on anyone," Trent said, his voice disarmingly calm, cool, and collected. "Look at those comments on your site, Rissi. Not a one of them said I cheated. They may have said negative things about me, my body, and hey, even my breath." He leaned closer, so close that Marissa had to press her head against the back of the chair to keep his mouth from touching hers. "Rissi, what do you think? About my breath?" He blew a steady stream of deliciously warm, minty air against her mouth.

"It's-fine," she whispered. But her heart wasn't, and neither was her head, or her senses. And she'd wager that the sense of taste was closer than she realized.

"And you can't say anything about my-anatomy-because, as you've said, you don't have firsthand knowledge, do you?"

"No," she admitted, while Trent cupped his hand against the side of his mouth to hide his words from Coleman, Speedy, and crew, and then mouthed slowly, so Marissa couldn't doubt a single syllable . . .

"When-and-where."

"Sorry, we didn't catch that," Speedy said, then relayed to the audience, "I believe these two are sharing some sort of private conversation. Are you discussing, er, anatomy over there?"

"No," Marissa said, pressing her behind into the seat to force another few centimeters between her and the extremely determined male.

"No," Trent agreed, smiling and not budging one iota from his predatory stance. "I was simply pointing out to Ms. Kincaid that I've never cheated on anyone, and that includes her. If she'd ever give me the chance to explain, alone, she'd figure that out."

"And like I said, that's not happening. Now if you'd please move back to your chair," she said, practically pleading. Or panting.