“Okay,” I chirp.
“Okay?” Marlow’s head jerks back. “Just like that? What’s your angle, friend?” She eyes me suspiciously.
“No angle. I’ll be there.”
Adam drums his fingers against his leg.
Marlow eyes me. “You have an angle.”
Ugh. “I want to win this bet already so our friendship can go back to normal.” I jostle our joined arms. “That’s my angle.”
Her eyes narrow. Her head swivels from me to Adam. “And you’re helping her find Bigfoot?”
He coughs. “I’m showing her what’s on the trail cameras,” he hedges, his voice suspiciously neutral as he repeats what he told her to begin with. This guy is a terrible faker.
Marlow tilts her head, biting her lip. “And have you guys found anything?”
“Just Speedo Kevin being chased by a territorial wild turkey,” I cut in. I need to save Adam from Marlow’s cross-examination.
“In the Speedo?” she asks with trepidation.
“Yep.” I reach for the laptop. “Want to see?”
Marlow laughs. “Obviously.”
Chapter 24
Adam
It’s Friday afternoon. My secret girlfriend is going on a date with another man in less than two hours, and I have enough pent-up energy to light the coast of Maine on fire. I let my restless legs wander back into the preserve even though I wrapped up work an hour ago. I’m comfortable here.
I am not going to spy on Stevie on her date.
And since Stevie is safely occupied in town, this is the perfect time to check on my rabbits in my ghillie suit. Avoiding my cameras, I wander to the cleared area and settle in while the sun sinks in the afternoon sky. It’s steamy in this getup, and I’m itching to strip my top off. I had forgotten how smothering this suit can feel.
This is good. The old routine will help me get my head on straight. There are no screwball committees, bets, or suspicious friends in the woods. It’s just me blending in with the shrubbery and trees. I might be overheating, but this is the peace I crave.
I’m not thinking about Stevie on a date.
I’m not thinking about it—what Stevie looks like, what they’re talking about, and how the guy might be treating her—for nearly an hour when something cracks behind me.
I slowly pivot my head toward the sound.
My teeth clench. L.L. Bean is at the edge of the woods, scanning the trees. His gaze skips right past me without a second look. The guys said they were going to stay in town for a day or two to check things out. I guess this is something sasquatch hunters do. I don’t care what he does, but I hope he does it quickly and without making a lot of noise.
No such luck.
The guy holds up a clunky phone-camera–microphone contraption, pointing it right in my direction.
I freeze.
His voice carries through the trees, “Okay, vlog. This is the location of Stevie Sullivan’s supposed sighting.” He makes air quotes with his manicured fingers.
I sigh. So much for tracking rabbits tonight. It looks like I’m playing the role of Distant Shrub on this guy’s YouTube channel.
“Let’s see if we pick up anything.” He extends the legs of a tripod, and attaches the cumbersome device to the top. Then he talks ... and talks and talks and talks into his camera until I’m sure he’s scared off every living creature within three miles. I’m not sure this guy has hunted anything a day in his life. It seems like he only wants to hear his own voice.
I tune him out to the point that I’ve almost fallen asleep sitting up, when he says something that makes my shoulders tense.
